Howard Fillip Lovecraft

by Hengf

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A large cart pulled by Big Macintosh, dressed in yellow hard-hat and vest of tools as was the garb of a construction-worker, did well to prevent the stories continuance. After halting near the collections of younger ponies, from the cart itself did Fluttershy dislodge. After a wave of good-bye and thanks to the cart’s puller, she moved towards the front of the crowd and spoke with Luna, her countenance slightly nervous due to the number of eyes trained on her at that moment. Arriving at the front of the group, near where Luna sat, she greeted:

“Oh, um, Hello, Princess Luna. I’m sorry I’m late.” Luna’s response came confident and reassuring.

“It is fine Fluttershy; nopony can be expected to be on time always. Come sit, join us,” waving her hoof towards the gathering. With a simple nod, she gave another worrisome look at the group and sat at the edge of the crowd. Once she was settled, Luna began to tell her tale again.

“He left Ponyville that morning following his information gathering rather suddenly,” a look going towards Fluttershy, with her shying away from it, “and, after receiving from Twilight the written request for his audience with me and his access to the Canterlot Library, he made his way to the train station and took the earliest express to the capital.”
“The journey he took was not a long one, for soon he had arrived at the city gates and made his way towards the Library. From what I was told by the guards who allowed him access, he spent many hours there before leaving, the majority of the day spent there as a method of waiting the appointed time for his meeting with me. The then Corporal Randall, said, however, that when he did leave from the study he seemed disappointed, as If he had found close to nothing. Despite this possible unsettlement, he made his way from the Library and was brought to my own homestead on the opposite side of the mountain, Nightholm, as the sun came closer to its setting, where he was met by my own personal guard,” her eye once again catching the figure of Captain Rampart in the distance, one whom had met Lovecraft.

-------------------------

The ground below seemed a far drop as the wind blew past him, the chariot being carried by two of Celestia’s guards, Sergeant Riff and Private Raff siblings as had been told by Celestia when presenting the letter, necessary to prove his credibility towards identification. The Princess was very gracious during their initial meeting and he was glad that she had not requested of him the reason for the audience with Princess Luna, for as his sovereign he would have had no choice but to answer without hesitation, as is proper.

The vision that the lofty chariot provided was of the landscape as a whole, green of the beyond hills and forests visible in the late evening sun, warmed by its solar embrace, but weary of a day’s toil. The proximity to the sheer cliff-face did well to slightly unnerve the passenger. With limbs tucked underneath to decrease their wind resistance, the golden armour which they wore began to reflect the evening sun, until passing beyond its reach in the shadow of the mountain. Their plate-shirts
and crested helmets dulled in the lack of sunlight, and even their majestic wings lost a bit of their lustre.

The entire journey had been made in silence, both due to the usual temperament of the guards but also the habitual tendencies of their escorted. The two brothers, one of ivory, with auburn tail shewing, may have held seniority to his brother, but from their exchanges the younger mustard-coated colt was treated as equal, in lieu of the stark contrast of ranking. Soon the darkened contours of the obsidian palace that was Luna’s own place of rest came into view.

In a huge alcove was it set, deep enough so that Sunlight could not reach beyond the entrance. Candles were lit in preparation for guests, for, as the protectorates, the personal guard of her majesty Princess Luna could see without the aid of a light source. One difference, however, that verified the need for this alcove place devoid of all but artificial light, was that, unlike the Princess, her guards could not easily transit between the dark and light without some pain, and, wishing to keep those who so readily came to her side upon returning to her place as Raiser of the Moon, she made sure that the newly constructed manor, more akin to a city, would be able to accommodate not only herself, but the vast number of guardians as well, with room for the expansion of their own families, should they be capable, in comfortable conditions, so ardent was she in her reparations.

Lovecraft recalled reading about her famous guard, and their infamity at one point in their long history. Once they had been scattered throughout Equestrian soil, and though Princess Celestia had offered to make place for them in Canterlot, they refused on the basis that: as long as their Princess was exiled so to would they be, a testament to their fierce loyalty. Celestia, though she respected this, attempted to allot them land, but again did they refuse saying they would make their own way in the world, until the day came that their Princess returned.

It was said that the night that Princess Luna returned to the land of Equestria, after the initial celebrations by the Canterlot populace, a great black cloud appeared at the waning of the sun; its destination appearing to be that of the city. However, the cloud soon defined as it came closer and closer to the gates, and the guards were unsure of what may onslaught them, but the Captain of the Guard, Shining Armour, told them to lay down their arms, their brothers were coming home. On that night, the streets were filled with the ranks of Luna’s warriors, their numbers swelled over the centuries without her. It was said that upon seeing their beloved Princess for the first time, these scions of a once great order shed tears of the purest joy for all to see. Even the Princess could barely speak so affected was she by their undying loyalty.

The construction of Nightholm began immediately, and with the usage of magic, in addition to aid by the guards themselves, it was brought into fruition with only a fortnight having passed. The obsidian parapets and towers were said to envy that of Canterlot’s, but only those of nocturnal eyes could ever understand its true beauty. Even now, in the evening sun much of the fortress was hidden by the shadow supplied of the alcove, only the great obsidian columns of the entrance visible. Two burning braziers marked the entrance, and though none could be seen, watchful eyes could be felt along the hidden ramparts. It was not unnerving; in fact Lovecraft felt it no different from being eyed by the guards of Canterlot.

As they landed in front of this entrance, he collected his saddlebag, which he had clutched protectively during the journey, unable to secure either flap. Dismounting the chariot, he bid to his carriers farewell and thanks before they left him, guards of Nightholm having been secured to ferry him on his return journey with the rising of the moon. Looking behind him towards the leaving transportation, he took in a quiet breath and sighed the same, and proceeded into the dark confines of the candled hallway, a line of alternating candles adorning the walls, giving direction.

Though not much could be seen down the hallways that he passed, some opening into what could very well have been great squares or bazaars, much could be heard. They were not whispers that disarmed the senses, but the same as what could be heard during the morning hours of any town. The movement of boxes and readying of wares for sale, the laughter of early risers, and even the hasty hoof-falls of playful foals and fillies, were only some of the sounds that his ears caught, and occasionally the flickering of yellow glowing strangely luminescent orbs could be seen, the eyes of the those that occupied these homes. He knew to where he was being lead: the centre of Nightholm, the private chambers of the Princess herself, situated near the Pool of Reflectance.

For long minutes he walked the twists and turns of the blackened cobblestone walk-way, the light clicking under his hooves echoed as he soldiered on. As time moved forward, in pace with his own advance, he heard the slight echoings of flowing water, realizing the closeness with his destination. As the Doppler Effect had its way with his senses, the water of the Pool became more obvious.

How he desired to view it in its full splendour, this memorial of the ones who had held their loyalty through the years. He knew all too well the singular aperture in the cave-top that was closed during the day by a steel hatch, but opened every night, and how the light from the moon would reflect from this point throughout its entire time in the night sky creating a cascade of gentle light akin to that of the stars of the sky, as they scintillate on the deeply ebony walls. The reflectance also plays with the optics of those with nocturnal vision giving a great flowing affect as of the great galaxies and nebulas that also reside in the night sky.

A slight glowing from the water could be viewed as he walked over what must have been a bridge, a simple redirection of candle light, and he could see that the waters passed beyond the field of vision given by the soft flames. Their expanse he could only speculate at, so poor was the extent of the light provided. Soon he walked upon a ramp that must have been the final procedure until at the entrance of the Princess’s quarters. His eyes trailed upwards and in this blackness did he view a multitude of glowing orbs, golden and in many pairs. Fear was not what he felt, but wonderment and awe, for the eyes that looked on were not of frightening creatures hidden away in the night, but of cats’, docile, yet ever aware of your presence. Some of those hidden look upon him as he gazed up at them floating as they were, but soon he returned his eyes to the artificial inclination.

The door, a carved ebony masterpiece depicting the transition of ponies to their nighttime incarnation, had candles suspended from outcroppings on either side. After giving a moment to study its artistic rendering, he looked for some sort of door bell, and, upon finding none, simply knocked. He was met with immediate respond by the opening of the door. Walking in, feeling that he had been designated to do so, he was immediately greeted by a mare of darkly coloured mane and coat, eyes glowing, but not in the usual gold, but rather jade.

“Hello, Mister Lovecraft,” she bade, not allowing him to give a similar response, “Princess Luna is still resting, but should be awake fairly soon, please follow me to the waiting room.” Her cutie mark that of a musical note coupled with cup of some steaming contents, she began to move away from him. The doors behind him were closed, and two guards, both pegasii, looked at him, one bearing a barely visible silver scar in the candle light, their cutie marks hidden by their armour. The mare that greeted him paused, tasseled ears moving slightly, and looked behind her and waited for Lovecraft to continue on, the guards following as he did. Much of the scenery was hidden by the lack of light, but the many eyes of those beyond the lights reach were visible, the fellow caretakers most likely.

Lovecraft was surprised by the range of colours that shone back at him, teals, red, blues, browns, some in-between. He reprimanded himself at this thought however, how could he be so ignorant as to not expect always such diversity in everything? Not wishing to leave this opportunity to uncover some information of this sect of ponykind he asked his guide,
“I do not wish to be rude, but I am curious as to the effect your eyes have with their nocturnality?” As they continued to walk, a now soft carpet underhoof, she replied.

“If you mean what can I see, any with eyes like mine can’t see the all of the same things as you may, we see in a different light spectrum all together in fact. Take for instance these walls, or my mane,” waving her hoof towards the ones that seemed as dark as the rest of the city, “it is richly covered in many colours, some of which you may never see, though it’s not as pronounced as it would be without the candles, because light, the kind you see, interferes with it, like the dark does to yours. The sun looks entirely different to us, it is shades of green and blue, but much too intense for it to be viewed directly.” Thoroughly rapt by this divulgence, he could only listen on in interest, thanking her for the piece of information when she had finished.

“Thank you Miss?”

“Star, Star Treader”

“Thank you Miss Star Treader, for that fascinating piece of information,” his gratitude and sincerity obvious in his voice, though features only slight etched in sincerity.

“No problem Mister Lovecraft,” she said turning her head to the side with a smile he could just barely make out.
Soon the waiting room floor was tread upon, as explained by his guide.

“Here we are, when the Princess is ready to see you I will come get you,” she began to walk back out of the room the candles previously lit for the path having been extinguished, the one he stood next to the only remaining. She said as she passed the guards who had followed them she said

“Nacht, Rampart,” looking to each in turn, her voice almost playful, they moving to attention at the mention of their names, “try to give our guest a little room would you?” Their response came in unison.

“Understood, Miss Treader.” She gave each a suspicious look before exiting the room completely. The two guards moved to either side of the door and then into the darkness that held the rest of the room beyond the candle, their eyes still visible. Lovecraft longed to see what they could see, the simple explanation by Miss Treader enough to excite his mind as to a new vista of beauty just a step out of reach. He felt, though, that were he to of had the ability all his life he would wonder the same thing about the eyes through which he now saw.

Left to his thoughts, he did not seek to move past the outskirts of the candle’s light, unsure of any obstructions that he may trip over, or worse, damage. He looked around to see what he could make out, and the vague outlines of statues were visible near what must have been a wall the way it reflected the light. Looking upwards, he saw the orbs of other staff, on what must have been an upper story landing or balconic walk-way. He did not attempt to speak with the guards, leaving them to their duties, and decided upon checking his watch.

During this inspection, the voice of Star Treader sounded, causing him to look up, hastily returning his watch,

“The Princess is now ready to see you, please follow me.” He Nodded in comprehension and walked after her, the guards Nacht and Rampart again doing the same. Yet again were the candles lit, but this time they took a right turn up a set of stairs. From this vantage point he could hear the talking and laughter of staff, and he found it strange that he was so deaf previously, yet aware now. Shaking it off as simple ignorance or a tricky set of acoustics in the architecture of the building, he continued up the stairs. The candles were held from holders jutting from the sides of the railing, and soon they were in front of a set of carven doors, similar to the front, but with the depiction of the sun and the moon spinning in the cosmos, light spilling out from underneath it. Closing her eyes, the same as the guards that ensued, Star Treader opened the door and let him enter before closing it behind him.

The room was brightened by many candles as a preparation for her more accustomed guest. She stood on what appeared to be a balcony that overlooked much of the invisible city, which was bordered on either side by another. The walls were as bituminous as the rest of the city-state, but with the contrast being the addition of tapestries mirroring the stained glass depictions of the Canterlot audience chambers. The simple round bed held its position at the right end of the room, fit with pillows and other cushions of identical purpose. Betwixt each of the tapestry was there also a small bookcase, covers keeping familiar colours, despite their jet shelves.

The Princess turned to him as the door closed fully behind him, and he immediately bowed very low introducing himself.

“I give my greetings to The Princess, Howard Philip Lovecraft; I seek your audience so that I might discuss a matter with thee.” Her night-sky hair flowed as she moved closer, a look not overly pleased shewing itself on her face.

“Do you wish to mock me by speaking that way?” her tone less than appreciative. Looking up at this question he rose begging her pardon, for she misunderstood his intentions.

“The Princess misunderstands what it is I wouldst seek to convey to thee. I hail from the creed of antiquarianism, and have been entranced with the ways and speech of yore. It becomes difficult to speak with others when I am so of times previous.” Her look softened at this revelation, responding friendlily, reverting to an older method of speech.

“We understand the pursuit thou wouldst endeavour, in addition to the difficulty in adjustment,” He took in her beauty, finding her ability to speak in this manner with relative ease a relief and refreshing, “It is thine Princess’s understanding from Our sister, Princess Celestia, that on the request of Twilight Sparkle, though hath asked this audience in an attempt to have questions that thou holdest be answered. However, We must inquire as to why thine saddlebag is devoid of its buckles?” Looking at her while he thought he replied,

“I was engaged in feat of ponison matters, and was in dire need of compensational means.”

“Then no further will we ask of thine affairs. Now unto what thou wouldst ask of Us.” Her charcoal wings folded neatly against her back as she waited for him to make his request. Not wishing to keep her waiting he took only a moment to choose his words.

“That which I seek to know, has to do with thine imprisonment in the moon, when overtaken by the influence of the miasma,” her features lost some their warmth as he continued, “and things you may have heard.” Her voice, absent of a part of the friendliness, was colder than it had been as she turned away from him.

“As detailed in the writings of Nimaru of Nascent, We remembered very little but the vague dreams of friendly images, and the voice of Princess Celestia.” She seemed to be talking matter-of-factly as she spoke this, a subject she clearly did not enjoy.

“That is why I would ask of thee such things; thou wert wrapped in dreams for a millennial span, and I ask if names I have learned wouldst be known to thee as well.” She continued towards the balcony looking upon the flowing lights that her eyes could detect, relaxed by their elegance.

“Speak what thou wouldst.” His breathing heightened as he called to memory words of nonsense to all who did not know them, a slight shiver taking place in one of his limbs,

“Nyarlathotep, Shub-Niggurath, Yuggoth, Cthulhu, Mi-go.” He could not continued further with these names, thoughts escaping down into the pits of nether where he had heard those horrid sounds, sweat beginning to bead on his otherwise placid face, taking great strides to keep hidden the emotions he felt. Preoccupied by the suppression of his terror, he did not see as Luna struggled to keep her wings from betraying her apprehension.

Though the initial names did little to move her, a feeling of utter terror came over the Princess as he spoke the final three, she knew not why she felt this way, but her mind conjured up vague memories, memories of whispers in the darkness, memories of nightmares betwixt the dreams. A moment passed before, Lovecraft, having done all he may to quell his thoughts, straightened and attempted to steady himself. He looked at her supposedly placid figure, still turned away. Assuming she was pondering what he gave, he awaited her response, hopeful of some repose, his apparent phlegmatism holding fast. However, it did not come, for she asked only this:

“Why dost thou seekest this knowledge?” her voice slightly heightened in strain. Feeling as if he must give of himself to receive what he sought he began to unveil his intentions.

“As I wish for the disclosure of information of a private nature to the Princess, so to should I be expected of the same. The answer is simple; through my own scrutiny I have found that my terror-stricken form is utterly worthless. Though all of existence is as so, the singular allotment by our egalitarian culture is the ease of understanding one’s purpose as is bestowed by our artisan marks.”

“Artisan mark, a term we have not heard for some time,” remarked Luna attempting to mask her own emotions.

“As is my way,” came his reply moving towards her to look out the balcony at the dark city, “in all the years of my life I have never found that purpose which allows the blindness to this bleak reality. However, it is through this that I find that the search for new knowledge and the excitement that it brings nearly overcomes these crumbling truth; it is the only reason I still breathe. I do not know why I continue on, perhaps it is the hope of the recreation of feelings that I held once as a youth on new discoveries, perhaps it is monomania, but all I know is that that knowledge is all that keeps my life in this world. I believe the words I spoke, if words they could be called, are not simple dream-borne phantasies, but something of another reality.”He waited there, his gaze upon the darkness of Nightholm, giving to his sovereign time to answer.
Her answer was swift and forward, barely any time used to think it over.

“We… cannot say we are familiar with what thou hast told unto Us, and feel as if thou wouldst seek to find meaning in dreams that are notorious for their lack of such,” meeting his eyes she continued, seeing the disappointment make a very feint mark upon his features, a note of finality in her voice, “It is Our thought that thou hast an issue with un-mended feelings, and in an attempt to aid one of Our subjects, as we feel is our duty as Princess, I will set for you a meeting with the Canterlot Heart Healer.”

“An empath?” he asked a mixture of surprise and worry hidden behind his mask of stoicism.

“Again, another term not heard by these ears for many a year. Midnight Blossom is her name, and she is quite successful in the ways of empathy. Now,” she said bringing him towards the door, “It is nearly time for the Moon to rise, I will see that you are brought back to Canterlot, and the appointment with Midnight Blossom be made tonight,” going to a desk that he had not noticed at the entrance and withdrawing a piece of scroll and quill, began to write upon it, the blue aura of her magic engulfing it, “and this order should take care of all that is needed.” She gave it to him, and he placed it within his satchel.

He bowed, graciously thanking her for allowing his audience, and as he attempted to take his leave, the Princess stopped him and said:

“Should thou desire to forge ahead on this path, we would ask that thou wouldst keep correspondence through letters with thine Princess.” He seemed unsure of her as he searched her face for something giving discredit, but found none, however, something of a smile did she find on his.

“Of course, my Princess, it wouldst be an honour as no other,” bowing for yet another time. She then smiled at him.

“Good,” and opened the door to the stair-well that had brought him to her chambers, closing it as he left. She breathed a sigh of relief at his departure and he wings opened as those terror-mingled memories returned to her. Again did she move to the balcony, but the beauty of Nightholm did nothing to relax her, for the thoughts of hers were of things she would have hoped lost to time, things that she had never been able to share with any, even her sister, Celestia. Things, she had heard while dreaming, from some whisperer in the darkness.