first of a five or six stories that that will both explore Equestria's other cultures. this one follows the pack "alpha" as he copes with being separated from his pack and learning the lessons of what really is important.
Across every world and time, there is a night devoted to the things that exist only in song.
A night we invite those denizens across, and they, in turn, beckon us. A night when the veil between worlds is at its most permeable
You call it many names, Holloween, Samhain, Nightmare Night.
My pack and I call it Overtime.
We are called the Children of Gaia and we remember our purpose. Until one night, under Mother Luna's light. We found much of what we thought we knew was incomplete or false.
These are the stories of how we learned secrets the awakened would die for and how our very cores were shaken.
Disclaimer: hasbro and the hub own MLP FIM and the people at White Wolf own the World of darkness games, All of them. I only own my original characters , thank you
The air was cool and crisp with late autumn chill. Families bustle around while costumed children rush up to doors with the chorus of "Trick or Treat" even on the edges of the suburbs.
None noticed five people dressed too lightly leaving the constant glow of the streetlights and festivities. At least if the were noticed they were written off as young lovers or miscreants off to the woods to drink away from the noise ordinance in the town. to be fair they were going into the woods.
In contrast the woods are quiet, almost eerie, with barely a gust of wind to rattle the branches. The soft moonlight only sometimes penetrating the trees, The five reach a small pool that seems to still farther as they approach until it reflects the half moon like a black mirror. the Five disappear into it's cool embrace with barely a ripple.
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With a sharp shake the wolf sends water cascading into the grass around him, Immediately aware that something is wrong, the familiar ebb and flow of the world in which he had been walking absent and the air too crisp, the trees too dark. Worse, the panting breaths of his pack-mates jarringly absent. He turns back to the pool, he draws on his heritage and begins to wade in, only to burst out again sneezing and sputtering. Frustrated he looks up at the moon, expecting to see the waxing half moon that hung in the sky when he left, he is instead greeted by an alien sky with a strange moon hanging full above him. His hackles rise and he starts to circle the pool, attempting to open the bridge again, he is again thwarted by water attempting to enter his lungs. He stops him self mid shake as he hears footsteps approaching. He slinks back into the bushes watching a small but well worn path with eyes half lidded to hide their natural reflective shine.
Soon a cloaked figure comes into view, Four hooves and buckets slung across it's back like saddle bags. The wolf sniffs the air trying to scent if it is an entity that should not be. The creature turns it's head and using it's mouth begins filling the buckets from the clear pong before turning to leave. The wolf follows as the creature leaves, keeping to the bushes. The world is strange, the air heavy with essence, he finds his tongue lolling out in the canine equivalent of a grin. Realizing this he snaps his jaw shut with an audible "click" and silently curses. The creature stops, it's hooded head swiveling back and forth before it continues on, slightly faster. The wolf continues following, mostly relying on sound then sight which is why he after a few moments hears a strange lilting voice.
"I should not be so quick to fright, even on such as Nightmare Night". The words sound like a self admonishment and he tilts his head hearing this. That the creature can talk is both worrying and heartening, regardless he must stay on his guard, Soon he is at the edge of a clearing decorated with masks and assorted fetishes. What he would give to have one of his pack-mates there, she could tell the purpose at glance. No use worrying about it now, he reaches out tasting the essence in the air, the clearing tastes of Peace and Protection, so it is a sanctuary of some sort. Turning the wolf retreats deeper into the forest, intent on first gaining shelter, then he can decide on a course of action.
Later he lays in a make shift shelter, and looks over the night. He and his pack-mates entered the pool that was their gate to the Hisil, the realm of the spirits, and were to hunt a hind spirit that they had made a pact with both to sate their natures and to re-mark their territory. It became a nightmare of shadow and flame and they were separated. Hardening his eyes and heart against grief, he looks up at the strange moon hanging in the sky "Thunderbird." he murmurs, then after a pause "No, Mother Luna, Father Wolf, Please watch them until we can find each other." He falls into a fitful sleep, unsure if his request was heard.
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They are running, The ebbs and currents of the world in their little corner laden with essence tinted as peace and prosperity, the trees which seem to be the the embodiment of trees in all seasons flicker by, he can hear brass panting her tongue lolling out in happiness both to be hunting and to be running. A new scent teases their noses and Bright veers off into his part, meant to push the hind closer to where the pack wants it to go. Brass' panting changes, she must have closed her mouth, he notes with amusement. A change in the air smelling like something left to rot, a wound. his lips pull back in a snarl he releases a short howl, answered by Bright eyes they break off their hunt. The smell gets stronger, vaguely familiar and making his hackles rise. Brass is growling, Silver can be heard his footsteps heavier he must have shifted to a larger form, Dove even quieter then normal which is almost terrifying.
He jumps to the side startled as a thorn that should no be their pierces his shoulder. glancing at it his blood chills. darting forward he draws on the speed of Father Wolf and Primal form that Mother Luna offers soon leaving his pack-mates behind as he runs. Rounding a cops of trees he can see the wound, gaping in the ground and air, wicked jade and silver thorns growing out of it. With a low growl he begins circling both to wait for his pack-mates and to look for a way to close this wound.
"Ah just as a well trained dog should, the hound has returned"
The wolf jerks out of his slumber the dream ringing to harshly in his mind. Shaking himself he brushes his shoulder where the thorn had stabbed him, fingers tracing the small puncture, though it should fade by evening. He stands stretching and shifts one hand into a claw. Since he has some form of shelter, and can get water the next order of business is food. It doesn't take long for him to have a small fire and some fish cooking. Not his ideal breakfast but better then it could have been. Strangely the fish sates both parts of his heart, the spirit devouring essence that it should not have access too, and the flesh gaining nutrients. He turns to ask Dove only to remember they were separated, shaking his head he digs a small furrow that he places the inedible parts in. "grandfather would be proud" he mutters as the pushes the rich soil back in place. Rolling his shoulders he drops back into the form of the wolf and beginning in the direction of the hut he had seen the night before.
The hut is as be remembered it, even the essence in the air tastes of sanctuary. He settles down to watch first for movement, but also for any others who may live in this place. Odd smells already drift out of the hut, Monkshood mixed with several others already has his hackles up. Another sniff, acacia, and caraway, so it is a protective mix, easy enough to understand. Shortly the door opens and his jaw drops, the creature is a diminutive zebra carrying a small cup in its mouth. He watches it's movements as the Zebra moves from one mask to another, anointing each with whatever is within the cup, at first it seems random but soon a pattern emerges, each movement clockwise as she moves around the clearing. When finished the essence in the area is more firmly flavored for peace and safety. She then turns "I know not weather you may care, though many say it is rude to stare." His ears drop back as at the light reprimand as he pads into the clearing, even as he sits he can feel the fumes from the monkshood extract dulling his senses lightly, no wonder it is called Wolfs bane Shaking his head lightly he focuses on the Zebra in front of him his own head tilted to the side as he studies it . . . her, the voice was almost painfully female. Breaking the already stretched silence the zebra clears her throat. "You do not seem like a Monster Fell, Where did you come from, if you can tell." He gives her a flat look, causing her to chuckle. He turns, to melt back into the forest outside of her sanctuary his coloring soon lost to sight in the play of shadows beneath the canopy and undergrowth. Soon she hears hoof beats on the path to her home. "Zecora, are you. Oh you’re outside." A lavender unicorn says as she comes around the tree-house “I am as you see twilight dear, but I wonder why are you here?" the Zebra, no Zecora, asks in her peculiar rhyme. The wolf edges deeper into the foliage, careful steps allowing him to move quietly back to the pond it doesn't take long for the sounds of the equines talking to fade even from his acute hearing. Allowing him to start a small search for any hint as to what happened to his pack mates.
This makes up the pattern for the next several days. Up, eat as a human, Pond for drinks, check Zecora's Hut, and continue the ever bleaker looking search. The times he lurks near the hut are almost too amusing as he hears names that Silver would have loved for the puns, more than once having to freeze on the spot when he inadvertently lets out a snort at some of the names. That is until the Morning he arrives at the pond to find he is not alone
"C'mon Twi why are we here anyways" A brash female voice complains, causing him to immediately drop into the wolf shape again. "I mean there isn't even that many fish". He hears a soft squeak and another voice answers "Oh my, there should be lots of fish here this time of year."
He circles a third of the way around the clearing watching the six equine interlopers. Shifting his eyes back to that of the homid he misses the ears of both unicorns twitch in his direction. Peering through the foliage again his hackles rise as he sees a silver thorn press itself towards the purple equine. Lunging forward he gift of draws on the gift of change. Slabs of muscle and bone increasing his size as his claws and teeth sharpen, and his fur becomes more course. Breaking through the cover of the foliage he lowers his head and shoulders the small equine out into the pool, his jaws clamp down on the thorn. The muscles contract painfully as the thorn immediately begins bleeding the essence from his system. Something hits his side, sending him rolling and tearing the thorn from the ground as he rolls to his feet. The sharp, metallic taste of blood fills his mouth as he rises turning towards the source of the strike his vision is immediately obscured by blue hooves just before they collide with his head causing his vision to go black.
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Air that is heavy with moister and mildew causes him to nearly sneeze. Crimson light shines through painting the silver thorns a bloody red. He doggedly runs trying to keep up as they make their escape, his shoes long since shredded by the wicked thorns. Ahead she is running and bounding, almost like a deer, her long black braids flying behind her. Behind them they hear the baying start, not quite human, not quite canine. "This way! Hurry!" she yells back over her shoulder as she makes a sharp turn. Behind the baying gets louder as the 'hounds' catch their trail. Under the baying he can faintly hear a laugh that will haunt his dreams. "Hurry." she is right in front of him, "We can get out up ahead. Follow the moon, I will be right behind you." She pushes him forward. He looks up at the bloody half-moon in trying to keep it in front of him as he runs. Finally he hits the ground eating rhythm grandfather taught him, turning out the baying in favor of the pounding of his heart. Ahead the bloody thorns begin to look silver again, a break in the hedge showing a small park. With a laugh he starts to sprint only to hear her scream behind him. Turning he sees one of the 'hounds' has her and his vision goes red.
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Soft silver light filters over the wolfs eyes as he snaps to consciousness. With many cracks and creaks he drags himself up to all fours only to have the dull clank of metal causing him to look down and see a chain hanging from his neck. Looking around he studies the room he has found himself in, stone walls with a small barred window high on one side, and a stout wooden door sporting the same type of small window. Shrugging his shoulders the wolf sits and closes his eyes, drawing up the dregs of his essence he slowly shifts back to his bipedal shape. Allowing him to slip the collar over his head and off. Reaching up he grasps the bars, lifting himself slightly he looks through the opening, outside the assorted foliage is painted a soft silver portraying peace and serenity. As his eyes lift higher the strange moon in the sky seems to be slowly edging to the waning half. He closes his eyes taking a moment to listen to the world, letting the memory fade. "Let no one see, nor tend your weakness." he murmurs as he lowers himself back to the floor. He curls in to a ball near the door, bracing for what is sure to be a long night.
