Lyric Investigates Intrigue at the Inn
Lyric Investigates Intrigue at the Inn
And Then, There Were None
The town was cracked and crooked like any self-respecting little town should be.
“Traditional, old and warm. Quite nice actually,” the mare thought to herself as she stepped through the street. Tall, curved lanterns bent into the road’s centre, as if watching the cloaked, green-maned passerby, carrying a bundle on her back, with curiosity. The houses did much the same, the ground floor of each somehow smaller than their overhanging higher levels. Stranger still was how they all seemed to fit together perfectly.
“An odd feat of engineering,” she mused.
The town inspired curiosity to the point of overflowing. Narrow, winding streets, dimly lit passageways, cobblestone roads- everything screamed old-fashioned.
Finding herself led towards the sound of song and merriment, her stroll ended with her face to face with a town inn. Wasting no time, she pushed the door open and entered.
The many merry, rosy-cheeked ponies were garbed in clothes and accesories thought lost to the world, yet had remained a hallmark of fashion here. Each pony hoped to find answers at the bottom of a tankard. Still, the tipsy were good for storytelling and fun discussions. The inn itself was small and horseshoe-shaped. The bar lay to the right, whilst tables rested against the opposite wall. Each table- enveloped by high-backed sofas that secluded each from the next- allowed for private conversations without interruption from neighbouring groups. The room was abuzz with movement; all tables were overwhelmed with partying, drinking, loud, playful arguments. All except one.
A couple of figures sat at the middle table. Both were adjacent to the bar so they faced the entrance. Of the two, the taller caught the mare’s eye. Its green-tinged skin had an almost… translucent look to it. Upon her inspection of the ghostly creature, its eyes fixed on her. They were the same colour as its coat and its pupils had that same wisp-like look to it. She stared for what she thought might have been a touch too long. The figure next to the ghostly creature stirred. The cloaked stallion sat slumped, still, head kept low so only his grey muzzle showed. Oddly, the rest of the room's light seemed dimmer around that table.
Heading further into the inn, many ponies hustled and bustled about the young mare, spilling drinks and stumbling heartily as they went. The bar was packed with row upon row of busybodies and the mare couldn't see any chance of getting a drink any time soon. She sighed at her realisation. Turning to leave, she found her way blocked.
A set of ghostly green eyes stared into hers.
With a little yelp, the mare backpedaled, begging pardon as she did so. “M-my apologies... sir.”
The stallion leaned in slightly, taking in her face. The mare took another step back.
“Excuse me,” he said eventually. “Do you frequent this bar often?”
“N-no, it's my first time in this town actually,” she replied, feeling she should have chosen a different answer.
“Good,” the motionless stallion said as he awoke from his stupor, throwing his cloak back. The ghost placed two drinks on the table before disappearing. “I'm in the the same boat, and I don't fancy befriending a herd this evening.” He looked at the jeering rabble around them.
The mare stared at the place the ghost had been prior to vanishing into thin air. “I've…never seen this kind of magic before. How do you do that?”
“Oh, you can do almost anything with practice. Anyway, whom do I have the pleasure of talking to this evening?” He smiled.
“My name is Lyric. I'm a travelling bard of sorts.” She stretched forth a hoof, letting out a small laugh. “And the pleasure is all mine, Mr…?”
“Mel. Call me Mel.” His eyes crinkled, as he gave her fore hoof a light shake.
“I always thought Mel was a mare’s name,” Lyric puzzled, cocking her head slightly.
“Never heard that one before.” Mel rolled his eyes. “More importantly, a bard, you say? What kind? You tell stories, songs?”
“Of course.” She beamed, eyes twinkling with mirth, taking her instrument into her hooves. “I play the lute and love old tales.”
“So I have to tell you one you don't know, then,” A glint formed in Mel's eye.
“If you can,” Lyric laughed.
Mel leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chin slightly. A simper formed on his lips again. “How about-” He paused, “-The era family? They are the reason why each time of the day has a separate name.” A look of celebration crossed Mel’s face when she gave a small shake of the head.
“I'm going to tell you how the times of day were named.”
• • •
As you know, when the sun rises, we call it morning- a time for waking up, making yourself ready for the rest of the day. Parents go to work, children go to school, teas are made, teas are drunk, more teas are made. Once the sun is at its highest, we call it noon, the warmest part of the day. The effects of morning start to fall away as we settle into the time beyond noon- afternoon. At afternoon’s end, the sun falls; we reach the evening. But these weren't always called morning, noon, afternoon and evening.
A long, long time ago, ponies woke up to the great rising. The sun climbed the sky through celestial powers as it does at the start of every day. Townsfolk and city goers alike would greet each other with the words “happy rising” to stress their gladness at starting a new day. This was normally acceptable in the early hours. After this, standard greetings replaced “happy rising”.
Once the sun passed overhead and made its descent back towards the horizon, ponies normally called this “good fall”- a time of rest and recuperation. This led to such jokes as: a stallion decides to walk home late after too many drinks at the local inn. He had a good fall.
There was no equivalent of noon. It was either happy rising or good falling.
And that’s where our protagonists came in. Once there lived a very powerful family, fair and just as any royalty should be, and as such, they were beloved. And much like many other royal families, each member held control and responsibility over something that governed the world around them. This family was unique, however. They were the Era family.
Two powerful unicorns controlled the sun and moon, long before the two alicorns that do now. The wife, Lady Shine, was often described as one for mischief and loved to play games. The husband, Lord Glow, was calm and reserved, yet loved the playfulness his wife often showed. They were both strong, regal, beautiful, and very much in love. They were a perfect couple, admired by all who met them, and, likewise they loved all they’d meet. Lady Shine brought the sun up and lowered the moon. Lord Glow raised the moon for the wife and lowered the sun.
Their child, Master Noon, was too young to understand the responsibility associated with his parents’ gifts, and was not yet ready to inherit it. But of course, like any child raised into power, he thought he was entitled to it. He expressed his feelings about it often, and just as often, his parents dismissed him. Whilst he was kind at his core and his parents loved him very much, time sowed a bitter seed in his heart, one that soon grew deep, choking roots. Each day he asked, each day he was rejected, and each day he became more resentful. But even with a compassionate heart, he had not yet grown to become strong. Strong against the evils of the world. And that is where the story begins.
A year did the young prince lust for power, for his name to be remembered throughout the ages. For a year, the prince ritually sat and begged for his time to come. For a year, he made hopeful deals in the dark. And the dark listened.
On the eve of young Master Noon’s birthday, a visitor came to see him.
In the recesses of the night, under a heavy, shrouded cloak, he made his way through their castle. All guards who approached the figure fell under his spell, falling asleep where they stood. Unchallenged, the figure reached Noon's room. He forced the doors open with little effort and found the young prince waiting for him.
Greeting the prince with a low bow and charming smile, he stated his business with a deep, disarming voice. The young prince smiled a devilish smile as the figure offered him his heart's desire.
The figure entered the bedroom and the door closed behind him. As the prince watched him make his way to the chairs and table in one corner of the room, he noted the silence the figure moved with. He noticed the shapeless form underneath the hood. He watched a shrouded hoof move the chair before he took his seat.
Once the prince took his own chair opposite, the figure conjured a quill and paper. Handing the parchment to the young prince, words bled through it as if from grievous wounds.
“I hereby consent, under want for power and pure immortality, to give up my body in exchange for an indestructible form so myself and my name will never die as they echo down the centuries,” glistened in bold crimson at the top of the contract.
The prince, only reading what he wanted to see, snatched the quill from the air and put it to paper. Signing the contract, the prince ignored the itching feeling passing up his hooves. The further through his name he got, the more he itched.
The cloaked figure smiled a toothy smile.
As the last letter was scribbled down, the pen burst into cinders; the contact followed soon after, floating as wisps into the air. The clock struck twelve. Noon looked down as the itch erupted over the entirety of his skin.
“For nothing in this world is free.” The figure smirked.
Eyes wide with horror, Noon watched as his body burned from his hooves, the skin breaking and peeling into ashes as it disappeared into the darkness. The last sound he heard was of the hooded figure’s deep cackles. The last he saw was the room go dark, all except the figure’s black eyes and sharpened teeth.
He found the figure was a trickster.
And then, there were two.
• • •
“You want another drink?” Mel paused; silence reigned between them for a few moments.
“Huh, what?” Lyric snapped out of her daze.
Mel motioned toward the empty tankards.
“Um, sure,” Lyric responded. “But this story, it does not answer the names of the day at all.”
“I know, I'm getting to that point.” Two more tankards were placed before each of them. “Best thing about creating ghosts is you always get the bartender’s attention first.”
“But why did you stop?” Lyric tilted her head.
“Priorities,” Mel laughed, clinking drinks with her.
• • •
There was little joy at the Prince’s party that day. Guards searched every crevice of the castle, every bush, tree and hedge of the grounds. Patrols spread to nearby towns and villages. All the while, the parents despaired for their lost child. The Lord, as the story goes, held himself well, never leaving the hall. He stood, waiting for the moment his son would wander in. He and his guards did all they could. Hope.
But the Lady dared not show her face. Locking herself in the master bedroom, she wept. And every day she prayed for her child's return. Every day, she made deals in the dark. Every day, the dark watched them, and listened.
As more and more guards left the castle each week in search, the Lord and Lady became less and less defended. After a year, their castle, save for a few, was deserted.
Once again, in the recesses of the night, under a heavy, leather cloak, an uninvited visitor stepped through the halls. Once again, all guards who approached were ensnared by his spell and fell asleep where they stood. The hooded figure, unchallenged, reached the master bedroom. He forced the doors open with little effort and found the Lady of the castle waiting for him.
Greeting the Lady with a low bow and solemn gaze, he stated his business with a deep, disarming voice. The Lady cried a lonely cry as the figure offered her her heart's desire.
The figure entered the bedroom and the door closed behind him. Approaching the grieving mistress, his hoofsteps echoed around the chambers. He stopped before her.
Once she looked up, the trickster conjured a quill and paper. Handing the parchment to the weeping Lady, words bled through it as if from grievous wounds.
“I hereby consent, under pain of loss, to give up my life to see my child once again,” glistened in bold crimson at the top of the contract.
The Lady read no more, and snatched the quill from the air and put it to paper. Signing the contract, she saw another figure shimmer into view. Ignoring the stinging in her eyes, she continued. The further through her name she got, the more the young prince came into view.
The cloaked figure smiled a toothy smile.
As the last letter was scribbled down, the pen burst into cinders; the contract followed soon after, floating as wisps into the air. And as the clock struck twelve, Shine looked up into the eyes of Noon. Fresh tears erupted from her face as she reached out to him.
“For nothing in this world is free.” The trickster grinned a wicked grin, removing his hood to reveal the same coat and mane as Noon.
Eyes blurred with heartache, Lady Shine watched as her child’s body faded from the world once more, the skin dying to a translucent form before disappearing into the darkness. The last sound she heard was the hooded figure’s deep cackles. The last she saw was the room go dark, all except the trickster’s black eyes and sharpened teeth.
She found the trickster was the devil.
And then, there was one.
• • •
“LAST ORDERS!” The bartender's voice rang out amid the quieting hustle and bustle of the inn.
“Ah, damn it. It's that late already?” Mel glanced over at the bar. “If we're quick, we can grab a few more before the end of the evening.” He turned back and smiled.
Lyric polished off her latest drink. “Ah, that sounds like a wonderful-” three dozen tankards fell onto the table “-idea,” she finished, a slight look of surprise on her face.
“Glad you agree,” Mel chimed, grabbing a drink from the top of the pile. “Feel free to tuck in!”
• • •
Word spread throughout the land. The raising of the sun was no longer celebrated. The ritual became a sad reminder of the land’s most beloved Lady. Every sunrise, the citizens shed tears and shared their condolences long after the soft Lady’s demise, quickly becoming the longest mourning period in history.
First the child, Noon, disappearing at midday, then the fair Lady passing one year later, soon after “Noon’s time”. Tensions rose as trust and community slowly drained from the city. The land was quickly deemed cursed. Superstitious folk spread word of an adolescent spectre that wandered the city only to disappear after Noon’s time. Conspirers and anarchists grew in numbers as those afraid of what would happen next fled from their homes in hopes of safety.
Realising his guards could no longer help, the Lord relieved them of their duties. Some left of their own accord, fleeing in fear. Tales of murderers and demons plagued the lands. Stories of ghosts and creatures that vanish before the eyes in broad daylight.
Taking up his new mantle of control over the sun, Lord Glow continued his wife’s work in silent halls and dusty rooms. Alone, he waited for the devil's return. For a year, the Lord plotted revenge. A year he hid behind a plea to see family again. For a year, he made deceitful deals in the dark. And the dark listened.
Once again, in the deep recesses of the night, under a regal, blood-red cloak, he made his way through the empty castle. Unchallenged, the figure reached Glow’s hall. He found the doors left open and discovered the wise Lord waiting for him.
Greeting the Devil with a low bow and stern gaze, the Lord stated his business with a deep, disarming voice. The Devil smiled a devilish smile.
The Devil entered the hall and the door closed behind him. As the Lord watched him make his way to the throne beside him, he noted the gloating tone the devil spoke with. Taunting the Lord with how easy it was to take the body of his child. Revelling in how quickly his Lady gave up her life. The Lord watched, as the Devil stroked the arms of the chair and took Glow’s seat.
Once the Devil looked at the Lord, he conjured a quill and paper. Glow stopped him, interrupting the devil as he gave his offer. The Devil paused, amusement never leaving his face, as he reassessed the Lord. And then the Lord spoke, naming his terms.
Long past midday the pair discussed their agreement. The sun began falling in the sky. And once both sides felt the deal was even, the Devil picked up the paper and quill once more.
Handing the parchment to the wise Lord, words bled through it as if from grievous wounds.
“I hereby consent, for want to see my family again, to give up all power and land and, in exchange, to share my life and immortality with the owner of this contract,” glistened in bold crimson at the top of the parchment.Glow read over the document, calmly took the quill from the air, and put it to paper. Signing the contract, the Lord set his horn ablaze. The further through his name he got, the fiercer his aura became. The Devil in his arrogance paid attention to the contract alone. And as the final stroke fell, the magic surrounding the Lord’s horn exploded into dazzling wildfire.
The room instantly caught alight. The raging fires created by Glow spread from the floors and climbed the walls, the hall a-dance with yellow and burning orange. Through it all, the malice in the Devil’s eyes burned the fiercest.
For two years, the Devil had plagued his house. For two years, the Devil had brought pain and suffering to his family. Finally, as the sun began to set over the horizon, Lord Glow found himself evening the score.
The flames engulfed the house of Era, a towering inferno that blazed until all was consumed by its greedy touch. It was the perfect prison.
The last thing the Lord heard was the fire's crackle, the wood creak, and the Devil scream in anguish. The last thing he saw was the searing eyes of the Devil like the roaring flames about them as he melted away.
For he found the Devil was no more.
And then, there were none.
• • •
“So…” Mel tried to stifle a burp. “There w-we are. The, the, the…er... origin of each... thingy, whatever the dooberry… was.”
“But I don’t understand. What did that have to do with daytimes and ‘dooberrys’?” Lyric responded, an amused grin spreading across her face.
“I’M GLAD YOU ASK-gofph!“
“Shushchsssshssh,” Lyric hushed, stuffing a hoof in Mel’s mouth, hastily looking about them.
Once Lyric retracted her hoof, Mel copied her “shushing” action before sitting up and temporarily sobering. “The Lady left the world in mourning, Noon left the world at midday and, finally, the Lord’s vengeance, evening the odds as the sun fell.”
“Well, that is a good story. But you’re missing one. What about afternoon?” Lyric interjected, watching as her companion placed his forelegs on the table in a steeple position with as much grace as he could muster, before slipping off the table a little, resulting in him scrambling to recover.
Hoping no one noticed, Mel continued, “Noon’s time was shortened over the years. Legends of the little Lord’s fate still haunt the taverns of many a crusty, old drinker.” Mel’s eyes trailed off. “Word sometimes travels around about his ghost… a mysterious figure that disappears once noon passes.” He finished the last of his drink. “I was not the first to go looking for the prince and I certainly won’t be the last. But from what I can gather, once the time passes midday, Noon will not show. I gather this means it is after the time you can see Noon. Therefore...” Mel motioned at Lyric.
“Afternoon,” she finished with a wide grin, the sparkle returning to her eye.
“Exactly,” Mel clapped his hooves together, giggling like a school-filly. The ghosts took this as their cue and returned to his side.
Lyric marvelled at their presence. “Whoever even uses ghosts these days? And just what, exactly, are you two? I mean, I never thought to ask you.”
“Don’t worry,” a ghost said, ignoring Mel’s wittering as the other took the inebriated stallion into his hooves. “We’ll look after him as best we can.” The unburdened ghost then stumbled into and subsequently through a wall. A loud clattering of bins could be heard on the other side.
“Oh jeez, I’d better go see if he’s okay. Thanks for this evening. He seemed to have enjoyed himself.” The second ghost pointed at Mel, who was currently struggling to find his balance. “He didn’t tell you that bloody day story did he?”
Lyric nodded her head. “Yes, he did. It was fascinating.”
The ghost gave a hearty scoff. “Ha, sure. Never believed his stories m’self. As if ghosts exist. Phaaa!”
“Well, looks like I’m off,” Mel slurred. “S’been a pleashure”
“Wait, wh-where do you live exactly?” she called after him.
“Eh, somewhere, I think, I don’t know. My head is too full o’ liquid for me to care.” He giggled heavily, stumbling a little as he grabbed the doorframe for support. “Keep up the good work lute-le lit player. Hope to hear you write a song about my story one day!” Mel laughed to himself as he barrelled out the doorway with more vigour than his molassified legs and alcoholed mind could keep up with. As the door swung closed, the strange stallion and his company’s voices carried an old, lilting song.
Lyric finished the last of her drink. After inquiring about renting a room for the night, the barkeep showed her to her sleeping quarters. As she stood, the room swam a little, and she climbed the stairs, somewhat unsteady on her hooves. Locking the door, she spent a quick moment brushing her hair and combing her teeth. Removing her cloak and lute, placing them on the floor, she made her way to her target, the bed, and swiftly fell into deep dreams.
Soft birdsong woke the bedraggled mare from her sleep. She took a moment to collect herself, and then her things, donning her cloak and swinging her instrument onto her back. Taking her leave, thanking the innkeeper for his hospitality on the way out, she stepped out into the open air.
The town looked a lot cosier by day. Small shops lined the streets, their signs and billboards now visible in the bright sunlight. The odd couple of passersby paid Lyric no attention as she made her way to the edge of the settlement. Rolling green hills adorned with the odd tree stretched as far as her eyes could see. Blue skies met the horizon and reached far overhead.
Taking her exit, Lyric continued down the road, leaving the sleepy town behind her. As she climbed the first hill, Lyric heard the chime of the clocktower. Looking back over her shoulder, Lyric’s eye was caught by a nearby stallion leaning against a tree. His white coat and handsome, brown mane caught in the wind. He waved at her as the bell continued tolling. Lyric returned the gesture.
As the clock struck twelve, the figure smiled softly. His body faded with the final chime of the bell, the skin dying to a translucent form before disappearing, akin to parchment upon a fire, under the bright sunlight.
Author's Note
I don't own Lyric. She is a very special OC from a very good friend. Not many have had the pleasure of talking to Bard face to face, but I'm sure, as those who know her would agree, she has always been a pleasure no matter what.
Please go check her out. She's better at this than i am. And writes a lot more.
https://www.fimfiction.net/user/The+Wandering+Bard
Lyric is a fascinating character to read about and I'm glad I've finally got this story done. Finally we meet Lyric. And i get drunk in the process. Typical. ¬_¬
