//------------------------------//
// Turn 1: Finders, Keepers 
// Story: Twilight Sparkle in: The Late Clock 
// by NejinOniwa 
//------------------------------//


TWILIGHT SPARKLE


in


The Late Clock


Turn 1: Finders, Keepers


At the edge of the small town of Ponyville there stood a clock tower.
It was nothing grand; not fancily decorated or of any remarkable architecture. In no way was its presence an ominous one. To the townsponies, it was a quite friendly sight. It was a nice clock tower. Nothing fancy, but nice. It only needed a small amount of persuasion to keep the time, and the ringer was magically automated. It did its job.

However, in the mull darkness that held the land this cloudy autumn night, not even this clock tower managed to avoid looking ominous. The moon was a waning half that flickered in and out of sight as the clouds blew by, and its pale light made the foggy fields shine back in kind. Feeling this wasn’t enough, however, this night had provided something extra.

A corpse laid in the small roadside ditch beside the clock tower. A very strange corpse. The bones were all that was left of it, and they laid at the hooves of a thoroughly confounded Twilight Sparkle. 
The bones were still. In this respect, they were not remarkable. Bones did not – unless under the influence of terrible, forbidden magic – move on their own. This was not what made these bones extraordinary. In fact, it was probably the only thing that was ordinary about them. To Twilight, everything else seemed... wrong.

First of all, they hadn’t been there yesterday. She’d quite thoroughly inspected this part of the clock tower ditch when Rainbow Dash had, once again, had an aerobatic mishap all over her flank. Her sides were still sore from the bludgeoning.
Despite this, however, they appeared very old, every single piece of meat or other organic matter turned to dust. As far as she knew, it should’ve taken many, many years for a body to decompose this far. Probably decades, centuries even, Twilight theorized. Yet this corpse was in pristine condition, gleaming whiter with not a single crack or mar. Unnaturally clean, as if no single worm or carrion eater had ever come within a mile's radius of it. Rarity would’ve been proud.
There wasn't any magical residue either, which further miscredited the one solid fact she had, confusing the situation entirely. A deceased pony’s magic field usually took a decade or more to fade completely, somewhat less for unicorns due to the less solid nature of their thaumus – and if somepony had magically fabricated the corpse, it would’ve been practically singing with thaumatic resonance.

Secondly, it was most definitely not equine in origin. Taxonomy and the various other fields of biology had never been her specialty – that honor obviously belonged to thaumatology and the other applied sciences – but she was well-learned enough to recognize the skeleton of a pony. This was nothing of the kind. Definitely not equine, and no wing structure or hollowed bones, so it's obviously not an aerial creature. Stars, I don't even think it's a quadruped. It looks too, too...
Right.

It was lying flat on its back, teeth facing the sky. Its limbs were splayed out in an X, seemingly retaining the posture she imagined it'd had upon death. Yet, its spine was almost straight. There was no curving of the rear thighbone, no shaping of the spine, to indicate a four-legged posture – she could only conclude it was a biped. Comparing to known biped species, though, its construction was far more extreme. While diamond dogs normally held a biped posture they tended to squat slightly most of the time, leaning much of their weight on their enormous forelegs, and she was fairly certain their bones would have the same or a similar kind of curving of the rear thighbone as equine species had. They are still quadruped in nature – they’ve simply adapted to a biped posture in light of cultural changes. They have no magic, and their oral dexterity is questionable, so they must manipulate things with their foreleg claws only. It will take many millennia until their magic fields and bodies adapt to the change they've made.
Minotaurs, of course, had a posture much as upright as this, but this creature’s spine wasn’t even half the thickness of a minotaur’s. Besides, minotaurs needed magical reinforcement to keep their bodies together. Young minotaurs who couldn’t learn to control their inner magic died in a most terrifying way, their bones shattering under their own weight and crumbling to pieces, turning a young minotaur bull into an enormous lump of flesh that couldn’t even scream out its agony because its ribcage had turned to skeletal dust.

Twilight shuddered from the thought. Being a scholar of magic had taught her a lot of things that were wondrous and amazing, but just as many that were equally horrible. It’s the price you pay for knowledge, she thought as she began steering her thoughts to less cringe-inducing subjects. Straight posture. A pegasus or dragon fully stretched out in flight might come close, but it wouldn't hit home. This creature hadn't been made to fly.
That posed its own question. What was it made for, then? How did it live?
Judging by its prominent canine teeth, it was obviously carnivorous, at least in part. Omnivorous, with an appetite for meat, she decided, yawning slightly. That was how things tended to go in nature. But how did it hunt? Diamond dogs ambush their prey from beneath, digging their tunnels. Their claws are large, made for shoveling as much as they are made for tearing and gripping. And these creatures surely wouldn't be able to run very fast, with only two legs and a posture like that. Neither does it have the sheer strength and mass of a minotaur, who easily overwhelm bigger, slower prey in a feral melee.

She was no biologist – and had no passion to become one – but these bones intrigued her to no end, for many different reasons. She would have to study them closer, perhaps consult with a few archaeologists and taxonomists in Canterlot before moving them to her laboratory. She couldn’t afford damaging them. I will unlock whatever secrets you’re hiding from me, and—
“Twilight! How long are you gonna stay there staring at those bones? It's almost midnight!”

She sighed. Yes, the research would be done. But her assistant was correct. She had found the remains late in the evening, and she had appointments in the morning that she could not afford to miss. Or attend half-asleep, for that matter. She'd been here over an hour now, and it was time to let things be for the night. The bones wouldn’t go anywhere. She’d have to send a brief report to the princess once she had further looked into the matter, but for now, it was best to return to the library and sleep.

She took the small tablecloth they'd used as a picnic table, and spread it out above the skeleton. She frowned. Too obvious. She wasn't sure who she was hiding it from, but it would obviously be seen as a bit too ominous for the average Ponyvillian to uncover an alien skeleton in the ditch by the clock tower. That would just draw attention, leading to a proper and official investigation – one in the interest of criminal justice, rather than archaeological curiosity. She would have no say in the matter, and more importantly, no peace to work with or study the bones on her own. It would be... inconvenient.

She wove a few threads of magic over the tablecloth, and immediately it shifted color. It was now a near perfect image of a patch of mud and darkmoss, splattered with half-rotten bloatshrooms. She lowered it and allowed herself a smile at her work. The uneven protrusions of the ribs and other various bones made the illusion complete. She was tempted to add the iconic smell of sulphur and burnt hair that the bloatshrooms exuded when rotting, but decided against it. It might contaminate the sample. Smiling, she turned about. “I'm coming now, Spike!” With one last look at her hidden treasure, she trotted off, heading home for the night. She would be back tomorrow afternoon – the delay would annoy her, but not for long. Besides, she'd neglected her sleep quite a bit this week. It was time she got some proper rest.

Some time later when she had come home, closed and locked the library door, put Spike to bed, checked all the items on her night list and finally tucked herself in, she was temporarily foiled in her efforts to sleep by the tolling of the clock tower's large bell, audible in the distance. She'd forgotten to close the window. Smiling, she counted the tolls as she got up, paced over to the window, and shut it with her hoof. Using magic late at night had tended to disrupt her sleeping efforts as of late, so she kept it to a minimum.

Besides, the bells sound pretty beautiful. Ding, dong, ding, dong. Like a song sung every hour, the chorus against the clock's choir of ticking. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Tick. Tack. Tick... tack.

Toe, came a thought for no particular reason, before she drifted off to sleep.

-/-/-/

Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
The bells of the clock tower were now silent, as they would be from midnight until half past five in the morning. Ponies had to sleep, after all. Still, in the absence of bells’ heavy tolling, the rhythmic pounding of the clockwork itself kept going, toiling on alone throughout the night.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Far beneath the tower’s top where the clockwork was, came an echo. An echo of the same noise – inaudible to all but those who actually were inside the tower and could listen to the machinery – that drove the tower clock forward, yet with a lot less confidence. Insecure. Hesitant. As if something was holding it back, it seemed to forever stand on the precipice, that one first step on the staircase to a long climb. Finally, it willed itself to jump. To take that second, agonizing step; to start the journey. There were none to listen, none to hear, but the earth itself. Perhaps that was the reason it managed to take that step at all. It was alone again. Alone, truly so. It was almost entirely spent, empty of all but the tiniest shreds of its former self. Yet, it remained. Yet, it endured. Yet, it existed.
Yet, it went.
T.............................................i.......c...k.
In an agonizingly slow motion, the second hand took a step forward. None saw it, in the darkness where it waited, but the minute hand soon gave follow; though not without its doubts, almost as if wondering what was going on.
…tack?
Far above, the tower kept going. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Noticed nothing, of course. Who takes notice of a single, hesitant, all but whispering, tick?
Besides, it wasn't even doing it right.
Tick.
There. Now that is a tick.
Tack.
Who ever gave it the idea of “tock”? We must be far off indeed if they think such ways are how things should be done.
Tick.
Tack.
Tick.
Tack.
With which, the hour hand finally deemed the time mature for its entrance. It brushed itself up and prepared best it could, before moving slightly clockwise and settling down clear on 12.
TICK.
...INDEED.
TACK.
We are short on stock, however. This must be remedied immediately. Indeed, what is a keeper who keeps nothing?
TOE.
...not again. It never ends well when you do that, and you know it.
...TECK?
Now that is just silly.
TICK, also you completely ruined the mood again.
TACK.
We know. It was intentional. We do not like moods anymore.

No more was said that night, but the air could sense something was in it, and adjusted itself properly. The toll of the morning bells was just as it usually was, but some of the few who listened closely thought they could hear something else in the distant sound. Something new. Something old. Something strange. Something... frightened.

-/-/-/

“Bog-belching, spit-drinking, sweat-spraying, ooze-dripping piece of bloody damnation.”
Twilight mumbled quiet curses into her bedding, trying to dismiss the pumping sound of her own blood as the headache clawed its way through her brain. She would so have loved to stay in bed. The princess would probably have recommended it, in fact. However, there was little to do about it.
She got up, and immediately her body protested. Five more minutes, it begged. Twilight trudged on, plodding over to the mirror in the corner of her room. A sour grimace sprouted on her face as she looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the great bags under her eyes and the absolutely stupid look of her mane. Resigned, she made her way to the bathroom, brushed her mane to some modicum of decency and washed her face properly to at least make an attempt at looking presentable. She looked in the mirror again - and cringed, before hanging her head. “This is not my day,” she mumbled as she walked down to the kitchen.
Taking a sandwich she'd made before going to bed, she trotted off toward Rarity's, munching idly on the halfhearted breakfast as she struggled to wake up the parts of her mind that were still dozing. She desperately hoped the fashionista could make something decent out of the absolute disaster she was at the moment. It wasn’t often she cared for her own appearance all that much, but today wasn’t just any other day.

She was hosting the annual Grand Meet of the Thaumic-Arcane Collegium of Academics – an organization for magic scholars from all around the world – and if they saw their hostess and newest member looking like this during the first day of the meet...
“Magic kindergarten would be a mercy!” she cried out to the still rather empty streets of Ponyville. “This can’t be happening,” she continued, her walk turned into a pace as she circled a street lamp. A few moments later, she stopped. “That’s right! This isn’t happening! It’s all a dream! Any moment now I’m going to wake up and find myself looking just fine and I’ll take good time eating my breakfast and I’ll be...”
Her rant faded off into silence as the clock tower started ringing, its tolls echoing through the town. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Nine?
NINE!
“I’LL BE TARDY!” Twilight screamed in panic, and thundered off in a gallop toward the Carousel Boutique.

-/-/-/

The small hamlet of Ponyville was finally becoming visible in the distance. He hadn’t expected much of the Equestrians after what he’d seen in Appleloosa, but a few miles back the famous mountain city of Canterlot had become visible over the horizon. He wasn’t expecting a small town like this to be quite as glamorous as that, of course, but it was reassuring to know these ponies at least knew the meaning of style.

Coracar the Macabre, Grandmaster of Alchemy in the Collegium, adjusted his bone-encrusted monocle and gave a long, hearty laugh as he rolled onwards on the dirt road leading into the settlement. The sweet, entrancing smell of exhaust fumes laid as a cloud in the wake of his Rumbler, and a small hole in the engine tube ensured that their lovely perfume permeated the inside of the carriage as well. He couldn’t understand the constant complaints he got about it from rural innkeepers – apparently, they thought it was a ‘nasty odor’, and the one time he’d lovingly explained the fuel was made from conserved corpses, he’d been sent packing by an angry mob. Then again, none of them had understood his dislike of completely unvaried travel rations, either. Now, at last, he was back in civilized lands where ponies had other things to serve to a traveling scholar like himself than just plain old dried grass - they might even have some meat, if he was lucky. After all, the northerner ponies were far more civilized than most of his own kind – surely they’d discovered the perks of a carnivorous diet by now. “Mm, I say, what a lovely day, to be rid of this monotone diet of hay!”
He pulled the fuel lever slightly downward. This elicited a pair of long, high-pitched whines from the fore and stern whistles as the pace of his carriage slowed to a brisk trot. Laughing a bit to himself – not for any reason he could think of, but since when did you need a reason to laugh? – he pulled the brakes. He’d been rolling for almost an hour, and he tended to become a bit dizzy if he didn’t get some fresh air once in a while. Slowly, he stretched out to the hood of the carriage, and opened the hatch.

After putting the engine out, he climbed out using the ladder built in for the purpose. The inside of the Rumbler was like a small cavern, and the viewport was of a timid format - yet the hatch was even worse, barely large enough for him to fit through. He cursed the engineers that had built it for him for their incompetence as he pressed his bulk through the hole - hoping desperately it wouldn’t tear his suit. “Fools! ‘It cannot support its own weight with any larger openings in the chassis’, they said. Nincompoops! I could make those calculations inside my head, and still easily solve the problem of being stuck in this...mmph...dread!”
With a slight plopping sound, his flanks got through the hole. He tossed his mane before making his way down the slanted metal hood of the Rumbler. A large clock tower stood by the side of the road, and he could see a few townsponies up and about near the edge of the field it stood upon. “Hrrmph. From the looks of things here, it seems I am almost there. I think I’ll walk the rest of the way - I’ve had enough of being squashed for today!” He tossed his mane a bit again as he hopped down on the ground.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t watching his step - instead of the dirt road, he jumped right down into the ditch. “EE! Mud! Mud! So much mud! Kill it! Kill it!” It took a few seconds of panicked prancing before he realized that, while it sure looked like mud, it felt nothing like it. It felt like fabric.
He looked down. Poked with his hoof. Definitely fabric. Poked again. Still fabric. He narrowed his eyes. What is this sorcery! Still fabric! Fabri— NOT FABRIC NOT FABRIC NOT FABRIC NOT...
He stopped his panic attack and looked around for a second. Nobody saw. Brushing some sweat off his brow and relaxing a bit, he eyed the offending piece of fabric-not-fabric again. Perhaps if I...aha! He reached into a pocket, and retrieved his gold-encrusted gripping claw. With the claw firmly attached to his forehoof, he easily fished up the strange material from the ground to inspect it. To his disappointment, it turned out to be nothing more than an enchanted piece of cloth, made to look like a part of the ditch. How strange. It was definitely bulging when it was on the ground, but now it’s all flat. So unless... He looked down.

A set of bones unlike any he’d ever seen laid in the ditch, perfectly pristine and clean. He immediately crouched down, giving it a closer look through his monocled eye. Inspecting it for a moment, he smiled widely – before letting the moment get the best of him and breaking out in a wild roaring burst of laughter. This I am going to present to the Collegium! I will—
Tick.
Excuse us. May we have a moment of your time?
“Can you not see that I am terribly busy—”
Tack.
We are sorry to have misled you. Refusal of our offer is not an option.
It would not be incorrect to refer to it as “an offer you cannot refuse”.
Tick.
We would also like to clarify the specific amount of time we need of you.
Tack.
That made Coracar stop. He looked around – nopony was in sight. So who...agh. Damn mind ghosts, he cursed to himself before looking back at the skeleton. He gave it a stern look into the hollows where its eyes would’ve been, as if to reprimand it. That was when he saw it.

Through a tiny hole in the eye socket reached a single golden chain link. Stretching out, suddenly becoming two links, and then three – before the skull ruptured completely, and a whirling mass of golden chains streamed out. Ice crept up his spine as they kept coming and coming for far too long. It was a whirlwind of shining gold, and it kept growing.
Finally, when the whirling vortex was almost the same size as himself, it stopped. Then in a flash, it all seemed to rewind, before finally coming together in a pair of chains, like pillars to the ground, supporting—
A clock?
Tick.
We need your time.
Dumbfounded, Coracar simply gaped. “I...what?” He was so shocked, he couldn’t even bring himself to rhyme.
Tack.
WE SAID, WE NEED YOUR TIME.
Tick.
ALL OF IT.
The world turned into a whirling mass of gold and white, before everything turned black.