The Lord and The Stallion
The Lord and The Stallion
Long ago in the mythical land of Equestria, there lived a Stallion known far and wide for his bravery and courage. From the frozen mountains of Vanhoover to the dusty plains of Appleloosa, everypony had heard of this Stallion at one point in their life, and the stories told about him could almost be seen as legends, since they held such a special place in the hearts and minds of everyone who heard them.
Foals gathered round their teachers as they told the adventures of which The Stallion was said to had undertaken, while their older siblings would sigh quietly, wishing dearly for a life of fame and fortune. Stallions wanted to be him, mares wanted to be his, children re-enacted his tales as they played in the fields, sometimes long into the little wee hours of morning.
And yet nopony ever knew the name of this heroic Stallion. Nopony had ever met him and for generations, he remained an unsolved mystery, an enigma worthy of song.
Writers spun new stories around him and made more money than what any of them had ever deserved, and the ponies of Equestria swallowed the books like they needed them to breathe. They read about dark towers, enchanted mirrors, evil wizards and monstrous creatures, all of which The Stallion had bested. Hydras, drakes and dragons, undead ponies and demons. None ever stood a chance against The Stallion.
Yet nopony knew his name.
Then on a stormy night, as the rain beat heavy upon windowsills and wind tore the branches of the trees, a group of stallions and mares had gathered within the warm halls of the Ponyville inn, huddled close to one another by the fireplace as the bitter shadows of the night grew ever near.
“I sure am glad I am not outside at this hour,” a rather big and burly stallion said.
“Much better here, with such fine company,” agreed another, accompanied by smiles and nods from the ponies around him.
The gathering of ponies sighed in almost perfect unison, pulling their blankets tighter around their bodies, glad to be inside yet wishing the night to be over.
“How about a story?” asked the burly stallion, eager to tell one of his favourite legends about the famous Stallion.
The ponies around the fireplace mumbled between themselves before one by one agreeing to the proposal. The burly stallion’s face lit up with a devious smile, a smile that scarcely left his lips as he begun to spin his tale.
“Very well, it all began on a cold and stormy night much like this one, countless moons ago. Deep within the Everfree Forest, hidden by thick brush and thorns, there lays an old tower. A king of the Old Era built it with slaves he bought from the Crystal Empire, for he had mountains of gold and precious stones and cared little for the lives of others. It was said that his greed had overshadowed him to the point of his eyes turning to purest gold, forever cursed by the desire for more. Once the tower was completed, he gathered the slaves and-“
The story ended abruptly, and the stallions and mares looked around the room to see what was going on.
A knock on the door.
Slightly startled, they all turned to the storyteller to seek advice. Seeing no other options, the stallion arose from his seat on the floor and anxiously made his way towards the oaken door that kept the night at bay. He took a peak through the small window next to it, but saw nothing besides darkness and drops of rain whipping against the glass. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should open, fearing that whatever was on the other side could bring harm to himself or his companions.
Another knock rang out from the door, this one harder and louder. He could see the sides of the door vibrate ever so slightly from the impact. Swallowing, he reached out and with shaky hoof, he unlocked the old iron bolt lock.
The heavy door slid open. Without a sound, cold drops of rain instantly rushing through the doorway, as if it was trying to escape the darkness outside.
“Who goes there?” asked the stallion, sensing the presence of something before him. “Show yourself!”
Silence. Nothing but silence and blackness came to answer. It seemed as if even the wind had gone quiet as it held its breath together with the now shaking stallion. He was sure there was somepony out there, he just wished he could see whoever it was.
“Hello?” he tried again. “If this is someone’s idea of a joke...”
He looked back to the gathering of ponies behind him. Their faces looked equally as shocked as his own, clearly holding back no small agree of fear. As the stallion made an attempt to shut the door, he felt something grab hold of it and stop him. His blood turned to ice in his very veins.
Someone entered through the door in silence, stepping out of the shadows and into the warm light of the fire. Everypony watched this self-appointed quest quietly, and the air suddenly became not only unnaturally cold, but filled with a feeling of unease so intense and fierce that it felt difficult to breathe.
A black cloak drenched in water covered most of the strange, new pony, leaving a trail of filthy water on the floor behind it. It looked as if the pony had walked straight out of the ocean, rather than a thunderstorm.
On its head rested an equally black hat, with brim as wide as nothing they’d ever seen. It covered most of the ponies face, and all they could see was a rather sharp and pointy chin covered by red fur.
After a few moments of silence, a mare broke from the group by the fire and hurried towards the new pony.
“Dear, you must be freezing!” she exclaimed as she came closer. “You simply mustn’t go about in such wet clothes. Why, you’ll surely catch a cold!” She reached out to grab the drenched cloak.
“Leave it.”
The mare recoiled, startled by the voice. It wasn’t just a simple sentence, it was a command, and the voice was deep and booming. There was nothing else to do than obey. With eyes glowing from fear, she made her way back to her friends and sat down without a word, without looking any of them in the eyes.
“Now, listen, I think it would be best if you just turned around and returned from where you came,” said the burly stallion with a stern voice in an attempt to take control of this odd situation.
The cloaked pony who they now understood was another stallion, didn’t respond, nor even acknowledge that someone had spoken to him.
“Did you hear me? I asked you to leave,” he continued, his voice now a little shaky. “Look, you’re scaring my friends, sir.”
“You know nothing of fear,” whispered the cloaked stallion as he took a few steps further into the room, seemingly headed towards the far corner covered in shadows. “Fear is for the weak.”
No one answered him, for no one knew what to answer such a thing. Instead they just exchanged worried and confused look whilst mumbling quietly back and forth. As they whispered, the cloaked stallion took a seat in one of the many small booths that littered the inn, this one in the furthest corner, in which he was almost completely covered in darkness.
“You were telling a story,” he suddenly said to the stallion that had let him in. “Continue.”
“Well, I…” The storyteller turned to his friends yet again, and most of them nodded nervously. “… Where was I?” He sat down on the floor as he quickly went through the story in his head to find the correct place, and then started again.
A flash of light illuminated the corner with the cloaked stallion, followed by a crackling sound and the smell of smoke after a few moments. It was clear that the strange stallion had lit up a pipe he’d been carrying somewhere.
“Anyway,” the storyteller said once the smell of smoke had settled in. “When the tower was finished, the lord invited all of the slaves to a banquet in the highest chamber of the tower itself, promising them freedom in exchange for this one last favour; to be his company and friends for a night. The slaves accepted, and together they drank, ate and sang to their hearts content. And then they all fell died to the floor. The lord had poisoned the food and drink, and nopony ever suspected their fate.”
“Why would he do something like that?” asked one of the younger mares by the fireplace. “Who can be so vile?”
“Greed corrupts everypony. The lord had gotten it in his head that they wanted his gold, especially his bright eyes. He refused to let his riches fall into their hooves, so after they’d all died, he gathered them up and removed their eyes. He then strung all of them up by their necks from the highest balcony in the tower. Nopony ever entered the tower again, and the lord was never seen. Some say he went mad and took his own life. Others claimed he dabbled in necromancy and achieved eternal life. some say his ghost wanders the tower, others that the ghosts of the slaves have made it their kingdom. We may never know.”
The stallion paused for just a little while, hoping to create some sort of dramatic effect before the next part.
“But that is where The Stallion comes into the story! He entered the tower, completely without fear and-“
“That is a lie.”
Everypony’s heads turned to the stranger in the corner. A few lines of smoke had gathered around him, and a tiny speck of orange light appeared as he took another puff off his pipe. For just a second they could see a red face with green, emerald eyes.
“Excuse me?” the storyteller asked. “What do you mean ‘lie’?”
“The Stallion have not yet been to that tower.”
“And how do you know that?” asked the other stallion, annoyed that this stranger had interrupted the ending of his tale.
“Trust me.” Another puff of smoke blew out of the cloaked stallion’s mouth. “I know.”
The storyteller scoffed. “You’re not insinuating that… you are The Stallion?”
The stranger said nothing, merely blew another puff of smoke from his pipe.
“You… are you?” asked the stallion. “I mean, I understand that if you were, you probably wouldn’t admit it, and… Oh, my word, it is you! Isn’t it?!”
“I believe that when I see it,” said somepony in the crowd, and instantly, the rest seemed to agree mumbling.
“He could go to the tower!” exclaimed another pony. “He could find the lord’s hidden treasures and make us all rich!”
The stallion that had told the story of the lord sighed. “Have you learned nothing of the power of greed?” He then addressed the supposed Stallion yet again and spoke. “Sir, if you truly are The Stallion, would you prove it by entering that cursed place?”
“He could spend the night there, then I’ll believe whatever he says!”
Without a sound, the strange stallion was up on his hooves and made his way towards the door in silence, the wide brim of his hat still hiding his real face.
“It’s deep within Everfree Forest,” said the storyteller. “You’ll have to cross the river and then continue west. If you reach the Rambling Rock Ridge, then you’ve gone too far.”
The stranger seemed to sigh and nod before opening the door, once again letting in the cold rain and the blackness of the night. A few seconds later he was gone, swallowed by shadows.
“Could it truly have been him?”
*
The lone stallion trotted in on the heavy rain, not caring about the wind or the cold, his cloak offered perfect cover from the elements, and the wide brim of his hat made it easier to cut through leaves and vegetation. He’d been going for a long while now, and a sneaking suspicion that he’d gone too far begun to take form within his mind.
Then he saw it, rising high over the treeline in the distance.
It looked massive, to say the least, and he could just about imagine all the hard work that had gone into building it. All the lives that had been lost in the process.
As he came closer, a strong stench reached his nostrils, the unmistakable odour of rotting meat. He suspected there was a dead animal nearby, or worse, a pony. It wouldn’t surprise him the slightest to find a corpse or two in such a place.
He stepped through an old portcullis, its iron bars rusted into place over his head. Vines had begun to grow in the cracks in the stone wall surrounding the tower, and they rustled in the wind. For some reason, the sound made him think of bare bones grinding against rock.
The tower itself was made out of a different stone than the wall, one that he was sure had been clear and bright as daylight at one point in time. Now the stoneworks lay covered in moss and vines as nature slowly but surely reclaimed this pillar of purest white.
It wasn’t hard to find the entrance; it seemed to be the only thing untouched by plants. A big oaken gate awaited him, and creaked quietly as he pushed it open and stepped inside. The air was stagnant, the smell of mould and dust heavy, seeping into every crack and crevasse it could find.
And then there was the darkness. Blacker than anything he’d ever seen, it was as if he stared into a gaping maw, a black abyss of nothingness. Without hesitation, the stallion took a step into the shadows. His hooves echoed loudly against what could only be a marble floor, and the sound seemed to pick at his ear drums like it wanted to break through his skull. It was overwhelming.
Deeper within the darkness, the cloaked stallion finally saw a light in the distance, and set off towards it. When he came closer, he could see that it was a ray of light shining through a tiny hole up in the ceiling, casting its light on the floor and creating a perfect circle. He entered it and look up into the light, feeling quite confident that the light came from the moon outside.
He sat down in the middle of the circle to rest after the long walk; it was only now when he stopped that he realized the steadily growing ache in his limbs. He cracked his neck back and forth before stretching out his front legs. They creaked even louder than his neck had done.
It came as no surprise to the stallion when he saw a pair of glowing eyes right in front of him, just outside the circle.
“Good evening,” the stallion said calmly. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
The eyes narrowed. “Why have ye entered my bastion?”
“I am but a simple traveller,” the stallion answered. “Merely seeking refuge from the deluge outside.”
“Liar,” said the golden eyes. “I know who you are, oh yes! The one the call The Stallion, the hero of legends and songs! For my precious gold The Stallion longs, does he not?”
“I have no desire for gold and riches, my lord,” said The Stallion. “May I ask what you would want with me? I only want to sleep.”
“What we want?!” boomed the voice of the lord. “Come one, come all, gather here and be enthralled!”
“I didn’t realise you had to talk in rimes if you became an undead,” stated The Stallion with a calm voice.
“Don’t be shy, tell our guest your deepest desire, whatever you felt in your death so dire!”
Suddenly, The Stallion could feel the presence of more ponies around him, moving in the shadows, breathing, wheezing. He felt them breathe down his neck and into his ears, but he remained unaffected and calm.
“I thought of nothing as I died, but of all of whom I had deceived and lied,” hissed a second voice from the somewhere outside the circle.
“My mother I wished for, so that she could take my place dead on the floor!”
“All I can say, I thought only of the mares I wanted to lay!”
“Never thought you’d be so busy in your dying moment,” answered The Stallion as the voices stopped.
“Now you may jest, Stallion, but you are my guest, and I will skin you alive at best,” the lord whispered.
“Rend the flesh off his bones!” shouted another, but The Stallion remained calm.
“Now I’m afraid you visit has come to an end,” hissed the lord. “If only a quick glance at my eye you would lend.”
The Stallion, still feeling no trace of fear in his heart, braved the eyes of the lord and stared deeply into the golden glow before him. And as he did, he felt something within him change. Something uncoiled itself in his chest, and his heartbeat became even more slow and relaxed than he thought possible.
“Come now, my friend, don’t be meek,” the lord said. “Tell me what it is you heart truly seek.”
“I want ponies to know my name,” answered The Stallion. “To recognise me face and my mane. I want to be known and loved by any and all and not have died in vain. I just want them to know my name.”
“And what is your name, Stallion? Enlighten us before we leave you for carrion.”
The Stallion opened his mouth and whispered his name, and instantly felt the word around him melt into nothingness.
*
He never came back the following morning, or any morning ever since. The ponies that had met him in the inn braved the forests and creatures within to find him, but the tower seemed to have vanished. They never found The Stallion or the tower, despite walking right by it. He saw them pass as he peaked out through a window, and felt only the urge to lure them in so they could join him.
But they never saw the tower, nor The Stallion.
And so it came to be that The Stallion, known for his courage and bravery passed from the world of the living, doomed to wander the tower for all eternity. Restless and broken, his body never to be found, he observed the world in silence.
His greatest strength, that of feeling no fear, had become his downfall, as his heart never stopped him from falling under the undead’s spell. His legend lived on for many generations more, the stories of his adventures growing even bigger as the years went on.
Yet no pony ever knew his name.
