Fear: The Equestrian Mythos
I Offer You Revenge, Miss Lulamoon.
"The Great and Powerful Trixie demands to know what you are talking about," the mare snarled at the pony sitting across from her, hoping to intimidate him into compliance.
They sat the corner of the seediest bar in Appleoosa, which was currently filled with various flavors of scum and villainy lurking in the night for an easy target. The scent of hard cider filled the air so thickly, any flies that happened to enter soon spiraled to the ground in giggling, drunken stupors.
The 'Great' and 'Powerful' Trixie sat in her usual booth, her once grand starred cape and pointed hat reeked of booze, betraying just how enamored she became with the bottle following her humiliation. Her eyes were glazed over slightly, her fury both fueling her desire for and robbing the power of her buzz.
The Stallion sitting across from the showmare smiled as he regarded the fallen mare. “You heard me, Miss Lulamoon. I can offer you the means to your revenge,” he said coolly, slipping a small object wrapped in dark gray cloth onto the table.
Trixie looked from the parcel to the Stallion. His mane was a black and scruffy mess sitting atop his head, as if he had stopped combing it years ago. He wore what was once a sharp black suit and tie, now tattered from years of travel and dust, atop of his stark white coat. The strangest thing about him was the red sock he wore over his right hoof, which entranced her with its color. The deepest red she had ever seen, the red of pure unbridled passion, the crimson blood of broken enemies…
The Stallion moved his hoof over the covered object, snapping her back to reality. Now gleaming in the dim lights of the bar was a strange black and red amulet, and the room seemed to grow colder in its presence.
Trixie, ever the arrogant foal, scoffed. “A necklace?” she asked in disgust. “Why would The Great and Powerful Trixie need such a trinket to defeat Twilight Sparkle?”
The Stallion sighed, and pulled a flask from his suit’s inner pocket. He took a brief swig, and offered some to the showmare. It took one whiff for Trixie to realize there was more than just strong alcohol inside. “What in Tartarus is in there?”
Seeing her reaction, the Stallion explained the scent. “Vodka. Infused with Wormwood. It’s an old favorite of mine,” he said simply, still offering her a swig.
The Stallion smiled as Trixie took a hesitant gulp from the flask, waiting for her to finish swallowing before finally answering her question. “I suppose, seeing as this hasn’t seen the light of day for – Lord, has it really been four centuries? – I can’t blame you for not recognizing it by sight. But perhaps you know it by its name,” he said, trailing off slightly for effect.
“The Alicorn Amulet.”
Trixie’s eyes widened at this, her mind suddenly becoming sober as she remembered the ancient texts, all of which stated the Alicorn Amulet bestowed arcane power that was nigh unmatchable. “Where did you get that?” she asked in hushed and urgent tones.
The Stallion waved this off with a smug grin. “That is irrelevant to both this conversation and yourself. Your real question is, ‘What do I have to do to get it?’”
Trixie gritted her teeth, not wanting to admit the Stallion was right, but unable to argue her sudden desire. “What price do you expect the Great and Powerful Trixie to pay?”
“Nothing. I just wish to be there when you use it.”
The rest of Trixie’s sobriety returned with this simple statement. “What?” she asked, stupefied.
The Stallion took another swig from his flask before speaking. “You heard me correctly. I don’t want you to pay me anything. I have no use for such artifacts, no matter how ‘Great’ or ‘Powerful’ they may be.”
Trixie spluttered in utter disbelief. “There must be a catch,” she accused half-heartedly.
The Stallion waggled his hoof playfully. “You see, while the rest of the world has strings attached to something, whatever I offer have none. At least, not by me,” he corrected as a hindsight. “I offer you what you desire more than anything on this green ball of rock, with no need for payment up front.”
His grin became predatory, one reserved for prey bleeding helplessly in the center of a clearing. “I live to see my deals bear fruit. I make my offer, tell them all that they’ll destroy themselves, and they take the deal. Every. Single. Time.”
The Stallion continued to smile, his gaze boring straight into Trixie’s. “They think they can avoid what befell every pony before them, that they’ll be the ones to prove me wrong,” he said with a rueful chuckle.
The Stallion sighed contently in his seat. “In about twenty seconds, you and I will part ways. I’m willing to bet that you’ll walk out of here with that Amulet around your neck,” he said, holding out his hoof expectantly.
Trixie now stared at his red right hoof, then back at the Stallion. “The Great and Powerful Trixie demands to know your name first.”
The Stallion’s smile became triumphant. “Call me Jack. Jack of All.” He nodded to his hoof, not breaking his gaze as he did so. “So what do you say? Shake to make it official?”
Trixie hesitated for all of a second before smiling. “Pleasure to do business with you, Jack of All.”
Their hooves met as they shook, sealing the deal with three pumping motions. Trixie felt an odd pricking in the base of her hoof that grew stronger with each second. It felt as though someone was forcing a hot poker into her leg, but Jack didn’t seem to feel it. Rather, he began to laugh harder and harder as the room spun around them, the bar blurring into grays.
Trixie felt a weight settle around her neck, feeling the Amulet’s power flow into her amidst the disorientation. She tried to look at Jack, but her gaze became locked onto that red right hoof. It pulsed with a horrible crimson light, much like the light taking over her irises, but she began to hear things. She would never remember what they said, but she stood alone outside the bar when the world stopped whirling.
Trixie looked to thank Jack of All for the Amulet, perhaps even ask for another deal, but she could not find him anywhere. No one in the bar claimed to have seen a stallion in her booth that night.
Meanwhile, walking away from the town under Luna’s light, there was a strange bipedal figure. Not quite a minotaur, as he was much leaner with no horns or hooves to speak of, but something else entirely. He passed a sign that said “Ponyville – 20 miles”.
“An easier mark than Luna ever was. I owe Slendy twenty bits,” he said to himself, flexing his red right glove in anticipation.
There were deals to be made in Ponyville.
