Made of Stories

by Gnarlwood

Howl

As with most things, it started out small and took on a life of its own. Growing, sprouting, spreading in every direction like a neatly pruned orchard suddenly given free reign to strangle itself in branches with no idea where it was going but somewhere that wasn’t before. Life was like that, with creatures given no choice but to move and forced to pick a direction, they often crossed paths in the strangest ways. Applejack was no exception, and so she met the storyteller.

“Thanks again for visiting AAAAAAPPLE-LOOSA, cousin Applejack!” Braeburn’s too-loud gratitude thundered in her ears as he did his level best to grind her spine into powder with a hug. “Y’all come back real soon now, hear me? Ain’t nowhere near finished thanking you for that green hoof of yours!”

Being used to the stallion from long experience, Applejack dexterously unwound his forelegs from around her shoulders and planted them back on the ground, before clapping him on the shoulder in return with enough force to hammer a fencepost into the ground.

“Weren’t nothing to be so all-fired up about,” she declared, grinning back. “You and your kin here are just still getting used to the earth in these parts, and you know it better’n I do, certain. Just needed another hoof and an outside look at things. Glad I could help.”

Braeburn chuckled, rubbing his now-sore shoulder, then went quieter.

“I don’t mean nothing by it, you know that,” he said with a sheepish smile, kicking at the dust with a forehoof. “Just seems like you ain’t never got time but to do what needs doing. Wish I could really show you the West outside our little town, what got me interested in coming out here in the first place. Ain’t nothing like it back in Equestria proper.”

He shook his head, laughing to himself again. “Aw, shucks, I ain’t no good with words. Just…you could gallop for days and not hit nothing but more plains. Sky goes all the way down to the horizon. Got elbow room, I mean, makes everyone feel more special, y’know? Ain’t crowded at all.”

Applejack nodded, her eyes going soft.

“You’re good enough to make me see it the way you do. But when you first came out here, was just you, weren’t it? If you liked it so much the way it is, why’d you ever set to building this town?”

Braeburn nodded back slowly, fiddling with his hat as he looked down and away.

“Thought about going back to the real old days. Being like the buffalo, where your home is just the folks around you.” He shook his head with a rueful shrug. “Couldn’t do it.So I’m trying to have it both ways, I guess. Trying not to let this town get too big for its britches.”

Applejack let out a low whistle, glancing about at the bustle of activity all about them on the street. Appleloosa was young, but growing steadily, and the rough-cut, bare wood of the first settlers’ homes and businesses was already being replaced by ones and twos, giving way to brick, stone, and coats of paint in every color, new buildings pushing up against the border agreed to with the buffalo.

“Well, you got yourself a mighty task there and no mistake. Ain’t easy stopping ponies once they get going. But I surely do wish you the best of luck.” She leaned in for one last hug. “Now get going, you big lug, before you spend all day wishing me well. It’s too darn hot for it.”

He promptly swept her into another crushing hug, laughing fit to burst.

“Ain’t nothing but fine summer weather here in AAAAAAPPLE-LOOSA! Safe travels, AJ!”

Finally turning her loose, he tipped his hat and trotted off, leaving Applejack with a slight ringing in her ears and a wistful smile on her lips. That colt better marry someone with cast-iron eardrums. Shaking her head, she turned about and made for the railway station at the heart of the town, already hearing the musical notes of a locomotive whistle approaching fast. About time. Don’t fancy spending too long standing in the sun out here. Her joking words notwithstanding, it really was amazingly hot. The town was baking under the dry and dusty summers of the plains and the sky was pitilessly blue with no clouds in sight. Most ponies were off the streets and those that were sweated on the anvil of the parched earth without a whisper of shade.

But as she hurried along the splintery wooden sidewalks, past the coaches, wagons, and other agents of travel, she found her smile turning upside down as the train came into view at last. What in tarnation is going on?

The locomotive was moving very slow, even for when approaching a station, with every turn of the wheels seeming to come at immense cost, the great iron beast wheezing and coughing with some terrible sickness. At long last, with a few more bursts of effort, the train staggered into the station and promptly let off great jets of steam from either side as though gasping for breath. An earth pony conductor threw open the doors of one of the coaches almost before the train had stopped moving and shut it behind him before raising his hooves for attention.

“Good creatures,” he called out, “Our sincere apologies, but we’ve had mechanical difficulties of some kind, as you can plainly see. We’re afraid the next leg of our journey will be unavoidably delayed until it can be attended to.” A growing rumble began to rise from the gathered crowd. “Let me assure you,” he hastened to add, raising his voice, “That the Great Western line will refund the cost of your ticket if you wish to cancel your trip and provide compensatory vouchers for any future trips to those who are willing to be patient. I repeat, we are not taking on passengers at this time. The moment that we are certain of ensuring our customers’ speedy and safe passage back to Equestria, we will let you know. Please don’t wander too far, we aren’t going to search the town when that time comes.”

With that, he lowered his hooves and turned his attention back to attending to the disembarking, leaving a very unhappy group of travelers.

Applejack fumed but didn’t turn her head towards the ticket booth as some of the disappointed would-be passengers did. Dagnabbit! Dern thing sure picked a fine time to conk out. She sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out again, before turning her steps towards the travelers’ hostel that adjoined the station house. Well, ain’t gonna do any good to kick up a fuss. Might as well get some shade and a drink while I’m waiting.

The hostel wasn’t a large building, or a particularly well-appointed one, but as Applejack pushed through the swinging wooden doors, wiping sweat from her brow, she found it still had a certain well-used charm, along with cooler air. A long bar occupied one wall of the common room, with that half of the floor scattered with tables and chairs. The other side was where the front desk and dining tables and benches were crammed. She, along with several other newly stranded ponies, made for the bar. After managing to corral a tall glass of water, she went about searching for a seat.

One table in the corner of the room caught her eye, as a few creatures were there already and looked to be in the midst of a poker game. A lordly-looking unicorn stallion, an earth pony mare in a banker’s outfit, a male griffin with a well-worn set of armor, and an earth pony frontier stallion dressed all in grey, face mostly hidden by a broad-brimmed hat, all casually chatting while cards turned and chips rattled. It all seemed wholesome enough aside from the game itself; Applejack, as with most of her family, took a dim view of those who fell into the trap of games of chance, and with most folks, poker was always that, when it wasn’t just getting thrashed by those that knew how to work the thinking side of it so as to overpower the luck of the draw.

At the same time, though, she glanced over at the other occupants of the room, where conversational groups had already started to form, and saw little enough worthwhile talk there. A lot of complaining, from the sound of it, and would likely be so for some time yet. If they were going to be stuck here for a good few hours, it might well be worth paying for a decent conversation. At about that time, the stallion in grey seemed to sense her interest and raised a hoof her way, pushing his hat back with the other to reveal a wide grin on his face. His voice was like good frontier coffee, deep, warm, and with a fair bit of grit.

“Care for a seat, friend? Won’t say it doesn’t cost, but fifty bits for a stake isn’t going to be too much, I hope. And I for one would enjoy a chance to talk with a member of the famous Apple family.”

Applejack winced a little but walked over anyway. “Fifty bits ain’t cheap neither, friend,” she replied mildly. “And there’s better things I could spend it on than compliments.”

He chuckled quietly and touched a hoof to his hat in salute. “Fairly said, ma’am. I’ll tell you what, for every five bits you lose, I’ll tell you a story. If you think you don’t get your money’s worth out of every last one, you’re free to take back what you lost in the hand and walk away. And for every ten bits you win, I’ll tell an even better story.”

Applejack caught herself smiling, but it came with a slight frown too. She rested her forelegs atop the free chair at the table. “If’n I were a more hard-bitten pony, I might suspect that during the time you’re telling me all these fine stories, I’ll wind up losing more bits and have to sit through more stories and go on into something of a downward spiral.”

He just smiled on back, a merry twinkle showing itself in his eye, and raised his hooves modestly.

“Oh, we’re all in no hurry in this game and I can talk fast enough when I’ve a mind to. Besides, you’re more than welcome to sit out a hand or two while you’re listening. Not to mention, I hardly think I would even be able to dirty the game with such things with the Element of Honesty sitting across from me. And if I somehow managed it, well, it’d be quite the story for you to tell, at least, eh?” He chuckled again. “Ain’t that so, everyone?”

The others at the table all murmured or nodded agreement. Applejack sighed, shaking her head. Oh, I’m going to regret this. But derned if he ain’t a silver-tongued sort. She pulled out the chair and reached up below her hat to retrieve her bit pouch.

“All right, you old rascal, you’ve got me. Cash me in. Can’t promise I’ll stick around too long, soon as my train gets some doctoring, I’ve got to get a move on. But now you’ve got me curious.” Her money hit the table and the pony in grey deftly shoved a pile of chips her way.

“A fair chance is all I ask, ma’am,” he assured her, dealing out another hand with quick flicks of one foreleg. “And I promise, your curiosity shall be more than satisfied.”

If anyone had asked her about it afterwards, Applejack wouldn’t have been able to say exactly how long the poker game ran on for. She wasn’t a card shark by any means, but neither was she any slouch at the frontier pony’s national game and indeed, she found that, far from losing hands, she was picking up chips at a steady pace. Most of the other players just weren’t that good. The griffin got good cards but didn’t know how to use them right. The unicorn stallion just seemed to hold onto cards based on what looked the best in his hand. And for every ten bits she won, the pony in grey told a story in between the other conversations of the players, just as he had said he would. Applejack remembered little else about most of the game but those wonderful stories.

She couldn’t figure how it was done, but when he spoke, the warm, sunlit air thickened into lustrous amber and the world held its breath. Dust motes glittered like fireflies, hanging in the brilliant webbing of words he wove. Everything beyond the table and the players grew faint and petty, the same shade of grey that the storyteller wore.

She couldn’t even remember the exact details of the stories, truth be told. When she tried, some of the words were there, but faded and brittle as autumn leaves. He spoke of rogues, devils, luck both good and bad, and good-hearted fools that had her laughing fit to bust, nearly falling from her chair in guffaws. She must have made quite a scene, but she couldn’t have cared less, and no one bothered her about it anyway, so the rest of the hostel couldn’t have been too offended. She almost missed it when the griffin cut his losses and stood to go, but he too was soon forgotten. When had it gotten so quiet between stories?

The pony in grey told of true love lost, lives shattered, and lands brought to ruin, drowning in dust and sorrow, and Applejack’s handkerchief was soon wet through with tears. She had to sit out a hand or two to recover, but soon came back into form, enough so that the banker mare busted out and excused herself soon after. He talked of a dash of wistful yearning making the joy glow all the brighter, of lives well lived, wisdom hard earned and rightly used, and the soul-deep love for home and family, warming Applejack’s heart until it fairly fluttered. She couldn’t have remembered what the cards were like afterwards to save her life, only that they were just as kind, for before she was quite aware, the unicorn stallion had gone for some reason or other. Maybe he’d gotten a lesson from the stories he wanted to put into practice.

At long last, the only creatures left at the table were Applejack and the pony in grey, sitting together in the dimming reddish-gold light. Both of them had considerable piles of chips stacked in front of them. His was bigger, not by much, but enough that she mentally tipped her hat to him as the better player.

“Last hand?” he offered, tugging his hat down a touch to cover his eyes.

Sure hard to read a pony with him hiding them peepers. But heck, why not?

When she lifted the cards, it took every bit of self-control she possessed to stop her eyes from popping out. Sweet Celestia! This’ll be one for the grandfoals to hear about! It was a good hand, a great hand. The best hand in the game, in fact. Ten of Spades, Jack of Spades, Queen of Spades, King of Spades, and Ace high. A royal straight flush. No matter what he had, it couldn’t possibly be better. Then, he went and outfoxed her anyhow.

“How about we make this last one interesting?” he said, his smile turning a bit predatory, teeth gleaming white. “All in.” He had just bet his entire pile of chips on whatever hand he held.

Applejack gave up on keeping her own poker face and ground her teeth. “Tar-nation!” They both knew full well she couldn’t match that bet and would have to fold. Not that she was unhappy with the end results, but it hurt something fierce to have to throw away the best hand of cards she’d seen in years like that. But, as she was about to throw down her hand, he raised a hoof to stop her.

“Wait up, there, if you please! I see that you’d have called me if you could and I hate to disappoint such a gracious listener. If you haven’t got the balance of the pot on you or just don’t care to hazard it, I’ll take your word to even the scales.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow and carefully set her cards in a pile, tapping the table with a thoughtful hoof.

“Much as I appreciate the high value you place on my word, you’ll forgive me if I’m wary about wagering it. Seems to cheapen the worth of the thing. ‘Sides, what, might I ask, would you be using it for?”

“I’ve travelled far and won a lot, but I’ve lost a lot too,” he replied. “So I’ve taken to asking for such things sometimes from trustworthy folk. If I’m ever down on my luck, odds are I’ll have a friend or two that will set me back on my hooves.”

She should have pushed for more. Should’ve been warier. But, woulda-coulda-shoulda, as Granny Smith always said. And she was charmed, however much she didn’t like to think of herself as the charmable type. Those tales of his did the trick. She did check her cards one last time, feeling them up to make sure there wasn’t a trick in them somehow, and held the lot of them tight to her side.

Applejack spit on her free hoof and held it out. Heck, I ain’t gonna lose anyhow. “My word on the table, friend.” He chuckled, spat, and pressed his own besmeared hoof against hers for a moment.

“Well then, let’s see what you have,” he invited, waving for her to proceed.

Applejack burst out in a great HA, grinning fit to burst as she slapped down her winning hand…except it wasn’t a winning hand anymore. It wasn’t even a hand of poker. She let out a strangled whinny as she gaped at the sight. Are those them fortune-telling cards Tree Hugger’s always laying out? Whassit…Tarot, weren’t it? What in the gosh darn Sam Hill?

The pony in grey casually laid down her missing royal straight flush on the other side of the table.

“Well now,” he said, straightening up and removing his hat for the first time, setting it down on the table, “That’s quite a hand you have there, although not for the game we’re playing. I’m afraid you owe me.”

Applejack looked back up, drawing breath to yell and holler for the sheriff, but stopped again. There was no longer a pony in grey across the table, but a grey-furred wolf, fiery green eyes burning into her and long fangs glistening in a downright hungry smile. Then too, as she glanced about, she saw they weren’t in the hostel anymore. Just a patch of it, the table, chairs, and a bit of floor and ceiling, all washed in cold grey light. The rest was a dark blur of color and shadow and they were alone. A hint of song drifted into her ears from somewhere far away, a drumbeat, a fiddle, and the twang of a guitar.

“Who and what are you?” she asked, her voice hollow and shaking. “And what do you want from me?”

“Who am I? The storyteller isn’t as important as the story. As for what I want? Just what you owe me,” he answered, striking a match, and lighting the table’s small lantern. The flickering yellow light threw dancing shadows about them as the darkness pressed in closer, seeming angered by the illumination. “I’ll be holding you to your word.”

“Now just you hold on!” Applejack burst out. “You cheated! I won that hand fair and square and you swapped our cards with some sorta low-down magic trick! Who says I owe you anything?!”

The wolf’s eyes narrowed and he raised a paw. Applejack felt an icy fist closing around her heart. Her breath grew short and her vision began to blur. As she desperately gasped for air, he spoke again, sharp and cold.

“If you’ll think back, I never said what game we were playing. I also never said it would be fair. Your word binds you, as you can see, and if I decide that I’d like your life to pay the debt, I could have it, here and now.” He relaxed his paw and sweet air flooded back into Applejack’s lungs. She crumpled forward, leaning heavily on her forelegs and breathing deep.

“And I do,” the wolf finished, good-humored once again. “But not in that way. I have a task for you, one that should prove no trouble to a mare of your appreciation for tales and remarkable honesty. I’m glad you liked my stories, by the way. Not many ponies appreciate them. It’s something of a lost art among your people, hence my need for you.”

“Glad you ‘preciate my truth-telling,” Applejack muttered numbly, swallowing hard and straightening back up. “Wish I could say the same for you. And what, you saying ponies don’t like tale-telling no more? That’s horse apples, that is.”

“I’m saying that few ponies appreciate truth anymore, the kind that creatures tell about their own lives.” His paws turned to the cards on the table, idly shuffling them back together and dealing out another of those Tarot cards, Justice. “This world is made of stories, whether anyone wants to see that or not, the ones creatures tell themselves and each other. History is just the ones that some creatures have agreed upon and written down. A laudable attempt to preserve the truth of them, but for most creatures, it’s trying to read a book at ten paces distant.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, the small stories of your tribes are rarely strictly true and the big story is mostly a lie. And yet, they all started somewhere…with a seed. A truth that was told and retold and passed around that became something you might know…and likely, a lie, growing wild and unbelievable in the telling. Like Hearth’s Warming Eve, Nightmare Moon, or any others you might care to name.” He flicked out another Tarot card, The Moon, gently sliding it off to the side this time.

“You saying the history of the pony tribes is a lie?” Applejack said, a bit of her spark flickering back. “Don’t know as I care for such talk.”

The wolf chuckled, showing off a one-pawed cut-and-shuffle. “History is written by ponies with opinions who choose how to tell what happened, what details to weave into their larger work, and which ones get left out, and their words become stories too, which are then picked over by other ponies looking for their own tale to tell and choosing bits and pieces of those older works until at last, the truth can only be seen from far away…for those who bother to look at all.”

He jabbed a claw at her. “You tell me, outside of your friend, Twilight Sparkle, how many ponies do you know who care more about history, let alone primary sources, then what their teacher told them? And yet…a few true stories always survive. That’s what I do for my own people, take care of those precious seeds of truth, do my best to plant them when I can, and reap a harvest of wisdom.”

“Reckon I might have heard of you, now,” Applejack murmured, frowning over at that tooth-filled smile and licking dry lips. “Little Strongheart warned me to keep an eye out for you. Said you could be right clever, and plenty cruel, and always open to a laugh at other creatures’ misfortune. Ain’t you supposed to be a coyote?”

He shrugged. “My task would be quite a chore if I was always one thing or another. Ponies talk about wolves, not coyotes. They do know me well out here. Just your bad luck you didn’t recognize the signs. But I’m not all bad. Despair, hunger, cruelty, and sorrow, those are all part of stories too…the parts not often talked about, and all the more important for it.” He dealt out a card labeled The Devil. “Besides, I believe she also told you that I tell true stories about the buffalo. I haven’t had similar success with ponies, I’m afraid. I lack that power. But I do like the pony tribes and I’d hate for them to lose their way to wherever they’re going. Judging from your cousin’s work, you might well be the future of the plains. As you might also know, I like to hedge my bets.”

Applejack squared her shoulders and settled herself in the chair.

“All right. You think we’re losing our way and it’s ‘cause we don’t care for true stories no more. What do you want me to do about it?”

“You’ll pay your debt to me with stories,” the wolf replied. His paws moved like quicksilver, cards practically dancing through them unasked. “Your task is the same as mine, but with the pony races. Gather truths and tell them onward. Plant a few seeds and see what sprouts from them. Do take care, though. This isn’t like your apple orchard. Ponies need variety in their tales. Most will grow tangled and twisted, but now and again you’ll find a true story that grows straight and tall, one that’s important, the sort ponies tell you about themselves. All too often they’re choked out in the undergrowth of lies and fantasies. Treasure them and carry them onwards above all others. Make sure they break out of the undergrowth and into the light.” He dealt out a fourth card, The Tower.

“Don’t know if I have your talent for it,” Applejack mused. She glanced about again, but if anything the darkness about them was only deeper. “And how many of these stories you wanting planted ‘fore my debt is paid, exactly?”

“As many as it takes, of course.” The wolf chuckled again, fanning the deck out across the table and riffling it back together. “Until the great big story of the pony tribes has got a little more truth to it and a little less of the shining lie. It’s really up to you. Tell the right tales to the right creatures, and you’ll get there soon enough. I’ll help you out, though. I’ll give you the gift of seeing the true shapes of creatures and things. Not many who can do that.”

Applejack brought her hoof down with a bang, leaning forward with a scowl. “Now look here, mister. I got a homestead and family that’s relying on me. What are they gonna think if I up and vanish to wander my way across Equestria looking for stories? What are they gonna do without me? You can’t ask me to leave them, s’cuse my phrasing, to the wolves.”

The wolf’s smile faded and Applejack felt the unthinking terror of her ancestors at the low growl that rose deep in his throat. Her fur stood on end and she leaned slowly back. Then he relaxed again, but ceased his working of the cards, merely tapping them with a claw.

“Oh yes, I could,” he said, far too calmly. “A tragedy is often a more successful story than one of joy and hope. The newspapers of your country say as much. Maybe that’s one of the things you’d like to work on changing? But have no fear. The great tapestry of the ponies is far too vast a thing to be changed by only Equestria and only your time in it. I’ll give you another gift, that of wandering. When you lay down to sleep, you may not wake up in the same place or time. Where and when you go is another thing that’s mostly up to you, but it also depends on what kind of story you’re gathering, or telling. You have all of time and place spread out before you, my friend. Make the best use of it you can. I’m jealous, in some ways.” He turned over the top card of the deck to reveal The Lovers and flicked it to join the others.

“D’you have any idea how long that’s gonna take? I might well up and die before I finish with this gol-derned errand of yours?!” She sighed, rubbing at her temples. “Lemme guess. You got that one handled too.”

“Didn’t need true seeing to spot that one, now, did you?” the wolf asked, his smile creeping back. “I’ll strip the flesh from your bones to make the journey easier. Not more comfortable, or any less hungry, thirsty or deadly…but nothing will be the end of you until your task is done."

Her eyes widened and she leaned back in her chair. “You’re gonna what now? Hold up now, I like my skin’n’bones just the way they are, thank you very much!”

He met her gaze easily. “Well, if you’d rather wither away to leather and twigs on your journey, that’s your decision. I’m thinking of your welfare, you see. It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

Applejack was quiet a long moment, and her voice came out small. “…will it hurt?”

“Depends on how attached you are to it. In your case? Maybe.”

She was quiet a moment, then straightened up again, tugging her hat down tight. “And when it’s all done, I come back here, or back to Sweet Apple Acres, same as the day I left?”

He nodded, spreading his paws amiably. “If that’s what you’re looking for, yes.”

She snorted. “What in Equestria else would I be looking for?”

He bowed his head with a slight wince. “Forgive me if I seem cynical, but just about everyone I meet is looking for something better. You know, the Green Fields, Elysium, the Court of Stars, the Celestial Heavens, that place just over the ridge where they all say the water tastes just like the sweetest wine…or perhaps the best cider, eh? If your farm is truly what you’re looking for, then you shouldn’t have any troubles of that kind. Either way, I hope you find it.”

A locomotive whistle blew, coming from a long way off, somewhere in the dark, and the wolf folded his paws with an air of finality. Then, almost as an afterthought, he gathered the cards he’d dealt and handed them to her. She considered them a moment with a frown, then carefully tucked them inside her hat.

“Ah,” the wolf said. “Sounds like my train’s ready. I need to be going, I’m afraid. I’ll send you on your way before I do, though. Maybe we’ll meet again, or maybe not.”

“Don’t much care either way,” Applejack said, scraping her chair back and standing up. “Just so long as I get where I’m going. Hoo boy...Twilight and the gang ain’t never gonna believe this.”

“By the time you get back,” the Dire Wolf said, standing up as well, “You might be surprised at what they’re willing to believe. Truth, as they say, is stranger than fiction.”

Author's Note:

I'll admit it, I absolutely love well-done crossovers and wanted to try my hand at writing one that I suspect no one else has done yet. It also means I don't have to come up with a plot out of whole cloth too.

I can't promise regular updates to this one since it's not finished at the time of posting, and I'm currently (at the time of posting) looking for a regular editor, but I'll get there eventually. I also can't recommend the game I'm crossing over with highly enough. Where the Water Tastes Like Wine is top-notch, especially in the soundtrack.

Comments

[anonixar]

great story! can't wait to see more of it!

[Gnarlwood]

11359366
Aw, thanks! I'm doing my best, but between my real job, a pending career change, starting a blog, and running a tabletop game, my time is limited. But I am working on it, I promise.