“Are you certain this is the place, Chancellor?”
The sniveling doubt of Snails pierced Neighsay’s ears as he surveyed the wasteland before him, ignoring the cowardly cretin behind him.
The former settlement, now christened Hollow Shades, clung to the land like a rotting wound. Houses, once filled with the sounds of joy and ponies eager to greet the day, stood as charred skeletons that swayed and creaked against the nighttime wind. Dying weeds and dust laid their claim to the surrounding fields. Cobblestone roads, formerly pristine, now lay upended. Bleached bones, once flesh, and blood ponies remained in some ruins or scattered about from the feast of former scavengers.
He turned his attention to the parchment clutched in his hands, carefully plotting the following action.
“Yeah, how can we be sure he’s even here?” The other fool, Snips, had to chime in what would pass for thought, drawing an exhausted sigh from his lips.
He turned towards his less-than-intelligent cohorts, eyeing them with a sneer of intellectual superiority before responding.
“Because, my dearly dimwitted minions,” he began the lecture, pointing to a single spot on the map. “This is where Star Swirl the Bearded had managed to seal our master away for the last decade. Understand?”
Both stallions looked at each other, then back towards Neighsay, their eyes dull and as vacant as they could be. He sighed again, rubbing his thumb and index finger against his eyes as the two brain-dead stallions before him couldn’t register the explanation. One would wonder how they lived as long as they did without so much as a brain cell between them. He collected his thoughts and tried once more, shuddering internally at the thought of dumbing down any of his words for the sake of them.
“Star Swirl put our master here because he couldn’t kill him. So, instead, he locked the master away. We need to unlock the door and let our master back in. Now you understand?”
The pair vacantly nodded in reply, eliciting another sigh.
“Good, now hand me the rope,” Neighsay commanded, turning to the well in the center of what remained of the city.
Despite all the ruination and blight of the settlement, the central well remained remarkably intact. A stylized shadowy figure etched into the brickwork was visible, a warning to deter the ever-curious tomb raider or curious foal foolish enough to brave the ruins.
But not this day. One of the bunglers provided the requested rope correctly, a rare sign of competence.
Neighsay quickly secured a section of the cord around a stone jutting from the earth. He turned to his hench ponies, tossing the rest of the rope down into the well.
“I shall enter first. Once I am at the bottom, you then shall, one at a time, climb down the rope after me. Think you can manage that?”
They responded with a salute or would have had their hands not collided with the other’s face.
“Idiots.” Neighsay could only think as he repelled down the rope to the bottom of the well. Rather than earth and water awaiting his arrival, instead lay a large antechamber. Ornate columns stretched the room's length, and flickering torch lights and shadows danced along the walls and floor. As he proceeded, mosaics depicting ancient battles sprawled along the pathway. Warriors and gods, hordes of monsters and ancient evils beyond the veils of time and history itself. A smile parted his lips, admiration for such craftsmanship swelling in his chest.
After the private art tour, he reached the end of the chamber, a large stone doorway greeting him. Carved into the stone, a swirling spiral of shadows, the sigil of his most gracious master. No handle or lock appeared in sight, but there was always a way to open a door.
He reached into his saddle bag, grasping for the necessary items to begin the ritual. In no time, he found the artifacts needed. As he readied the runestones, chalk, and various magical bric-a-brac, a sudden thud drew his gaze.
Snails dropped into the chamber, his cohort Snips not far behind, landing on his back.
Neighsay could barely sigh as he returned to the task, carefully drawing the appropriate ritual circle and placing the runes in their precise places while his hench ponies stumbled into meeting him.
Once all was in order, Neighsay focused his magical energy into the summoning circle, the brilliant light traveling along its marked path and into each runestone.
The points glowed, and the stones levitated. The room shuddered and shook. Snips and Snails stumbled and tried to keep their balance while he remained rooted like a mighty tree. The power flowed towards the massive stone door, swirling into the sigil.
With a flash of lightning, the door shattered into pieces. The debris rained down as his cronies ducked and made for any cover they could find while Neighsay remained safe behind his magical force field.
“Snips! Snails! Come forth!” Neighsay bellowed as the smoke and dust began to settle. The trembling clatter of their footsteps echoed behind him as all settled, revealing a gaping darkness beyond the doorway. An ancient musk wafted from within, as did the silence.
The minutes passed, and the silence remained. Neighsay furrowed his brow, the magic shield dissipating.
He pondered in increasing worry. The efforts he'd gone through, meticulous tracking of the runestones, deceptions, payoffs, and the occasional slit throat. And all for what? An empty tomb of a dead god?
“You two, get in there and find the master.” He demanded of his stooges, grabbing them by their tunic collars and throwing them into the chamber.
Snips and Snails vanished into the pitch blackness, and the sound of them hitting the floor echoed.
Two faint glows of their magical energy appeared like little fireflies in a meadow. Neighsay watched as the pair split off, searching each side of the inner chamber, their footsteps reverbing as they inched their way around.
One glow evaporated like a snuffed candle. The second glimmer ran to the other side, then all around the room, trying desperately to find its partner. Neighsay could only watch as the additional glow vanished. No scream, no noise of any kind.
Neighsay cautiously inched to the doorway; the curiosity and the utter silence piqued his macabre interest.
Glowing white eyes answered him. He recoiled as they marched to the entrance. A chilling air ran up his spine as an arm wreathed in ancient darkness clasped the stone frame, followed by an armored foot stepping out into the antechamber.
His smile and eyes widened as the shadowy figure stepped entirely into view. Blackened armor covered the ethereal form of an imposing stallion. The figure stood two heads above Neighsay. Its mane and tail billowed and flickered like clouds of smoke, as did the cloak clasped around its neck. The horn jutting from the skull curved like a saber, glinting in what little light there was.
Its glowing gaze turned its attention to Neighsay, who promptly prostrated himself before the figure.
“Who dares come before me?” The figure began, its voice wispy and soft. “Who dares impress themselves before the Lord of shadows, the living void, Emperor of the Abyss?”
“Your most humble servant, Lord Stygian,” Neighsay replied, cranking his neck to meet his master’s cold gaze. “I am Chancellor Neighsay of-”
“How long have I been imprisoned in this wretched tomb?” Stygian inquired as Neighsay rose to his feet.
“Ten years, master,” Neighsay answered, coughing into his fist before recomposing himself. “In those ten years, the world as you know it has-”
“A mere blink of an eye to one as eternal as I.” Stygian interrupted as he strolled to the chamber's center, ignoring the puny mortal before him. “What matters is I am free to continue my reign on this mortal world once more and seek vengeance upon he who has imprisoned me.”
Neighsay followed, attempting to keep pace with Stygian, who, despite being imprisoned for so long, managed to stay steps ahead.
“My Lord, wait!” He barked, trying to gain his attention. “I have dedicated the last decade to free you from this prison! I-”
Before he could complete his plea, a sharp, searing pain coursed in his chest, Neighsay stared in horror as a long black tendril burrowed into his flesh, oozing darkness crept along his body, and faint gasps of air escaped his lungs.
“Shall continue to serve my whims.”