Equestrian Tales

by Mossy Mare

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random
Length: 4301

A collection of short first-pony stories.

This is a collection of short, first-pony stories that may or may not connect with each other. Those that are liked and appreciated shall be elaborated upon, deleted here, and given their own story, and those shot down shall remain up as a testament to past mistakes, or, if I like it enough, shall be improved for another try. It's basically my sandbox of ideas, so come, play with me!

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-04 14:54:01 UTC

Luna, Prankster of the Night

I listen intently as the last songbird hushes with the setting sun. The cicadas have been practicing all afternoon, and I nod as they settle into a perfectly synchronized zing, zing, zing. Then I fill my horn with magic, bringing my namesake up into the sky, signaling all of the crickets to begin their nightly chirping. Sighing with relief, I release the moon, as it is well on its way, and turn to the stars. One by one I paint a beautiful twinkling canopy across the sky, taking special care to name and place each one just so.  Once they are all in their places, shining as they seldom have over the past thousand years, I signal the katydids to begin their quiet thrum. Few ponies notice them, but I am enough of an audience to have them practicing until the early hours of the morning.

Finally satisfied that all is in order here, I turn around and head to my corner of the garden. Oh, how I have missed my old friends, who kept me company during the night’s lonely hours! I lean in to sniff each one in turn. Night-blooming Cereus, so sweet that I cannot resist a nibble on one of the petals, Lady of the Night, Night Orchid… of course all of them are collectively called “moonflowers”, but I prefer to know each one individually. Unfortunately, these are hardly recognizable as the tiny cuttings I planted so long ago. I sigh again. So much has changed…

Shaking myself from my reverie, I mentally remind myself that I must speak with the gardener who was able to synchronize their blooming. I idly wonder if magic was involved as I turn back toward the castle. As the two guards who I left stationed at the entrance of the garden fall in step behind me, I begin making my way towards the nearest entrance.

Of course the instant I got back, the first thing I did (after fully enjoying my reunion with Tia, of course) was familiarize myself with the entire layout of the new castle. I spent a few days exploring, with Tia popping in every now and then when she had the time, and am now able to get almost anywhere I wish to in a timely manner. I prefer not to use the secret tunnels when I have guards about, (especially since I have a brilliant prank planned for them later!) so I take the long way around, arriving at my destination in fifteen minutes rather than five.

The royal library. Imagine my surprise when I popped in here one night, only to find other ponies awake! Apparently Tia allows the unicorn students from her university access to some of the archives, and there is always somepony about, reading, studying, or doing something private in a dark corner. I had stumbled upon a few of these couples, and have taken to using the secret tunnels to get around while the guards remain at the entrance. It just wasn’t seemly, in my opinion, but the culture has changed so much since…

Moving on. I cannot allow myself to think about that. I nod and smile in greeting to the librarian on duty, and she reciprocates a tired smile before returning to her novel. Satisfied that nopony will bother me so long as I don’t make a big production of myself, I head in the direction of the tax records. I run the risk of stumbling upon some of the aforementioned couples, but the nearest secret entrance is hidden there. First, I must retrieve a key from the 1652 ledger.

That year had been a slow one, and so was naturally small, made even smaller by the tiny script of the unicorn who wrote it, so some past archivist had padded the back with extra blank pages. A tiny square was cut into each extra page, making it the perfect hidey-hole for a key.

Quickly looking around to be sure no one is watching, and then risking the glow to do a simple revealing spell, I sense another presence with my magic. Following my horn to see what it has unveiled, I am surprised, and relieved, to find the palace cat, Moonpaw.

He is a favorite of mine, not the least because he’s as nocturnal as I. He is black from tip to tail, but when he was a kitten he had snuck into the palace kitchen after a mouse. (It is still a mystery how the mouse got in there, as the palace wards should have kept it away.) As cats are wont to do, he stalked it, following it to and fro through the maze of stoves, sinks, and hooves. Finally the mouse darted into a bag of flour, and Moonpaw’s paw followed it. The black kitten then proceeded to present his catch to the night chef on duty. The chef, seeing his one white paw, named him Moonpaw, and the name stuck even after he had washed the flour off.

Smiling down at the cat bearing my namesake, I gently lift him and deposit him on my back (careful to shield myself from his claws) before retrieving the thick bookmark-shaped key. Finding one of the ubiquitous statues scattered about, I slip it into the stone book it is holding and watch a section of the nearby bookcase open just enough to squeeze through.

Sparing one last glance to be sure I am not followed, I slip into the secret passageway and ignore the resounding click of the closing mechanism. Igniting my horn once again, I use its pale glow to locate a quad of slippers. These had been haphazardly strewn about the corridors when I discovered them, but I had placed a set at each of the entrances I was aware of. Slipping them on, I tap one hoof upon the ground, and am satisfied that my clopping will be sufficiently muffled.

Of course, I could just use a muffling spell, but this tunnel has been disused for so long that if I use magic in certain portions of it, it can be detected by the castle wards. I carefully levitate a lantern to me and, with an extra flare from my horn, light it and take it in my mouth. As I allow the magic focused in my horn to dissipate, I wince, as Moonpaw’s claws dig into my back. I momentarily wish I had a blanket with me before I remember something, something I had forgotten such a long time ago…

Without another moment’s hesitation, I summon a blanket. Ordinarily the summoning of something you cannot see is difficult, draining, and downright dangerous, (especially if you accidentally grab a chunk of whatever’s around it, such as the ground) but this was no ordinary blanket, and it was in no ordinary place.

During the great prank wars of our teenage years, Tia had safeguarded her most prized possessions by locking them in a dimensional pocket. I, of course, quickly picked the lock and made off with them, rejuvenating our friendly rivalry and sparking several minor battles, after which one of us would have to make a new safe place and lock it better. We developed some quite elaborate setups, as I recall, until finally getting exhausted and proposing a truce. Our dimensional pockets were off limits, but the deal was off if one of us opened the other’s or hid something besides personal things in them. It was a nice herald of the eventual prank truce two years later, after both of us had clearly crossed the line…

What I have summoned has been known by several names over the centuries- the Golden Fleece, the Dragon’s Treasure, the Blanket of Many Colors, the Treasure of the Forbidden Palace, and the oldest of all names, (except the Golden Fleece, of course, since it was woven from that) is…

my Blankie.

Tia made it for me originally, from fleece given by the Takin Queen, and we have both embroidered it with so many spells that in today’s time it would probably be considered a dangerous weapon, an ancient artifact of unimaginable power. Of course, by now it probably is, but to me Blankie will always be the warm cuddly thing that I snuggled up in whenever I needed any sort of comforting and Tia wasn’t around. I ignore the spells that call out to me familiarly and magically command it to simply be a blanket, and it happily obliges by turning off its magical aura. I idly wonder how long it’s been since I’ve taken it out and sigh as I place Blankie underneath Moonpaw and make my way down the corridor.

I am headed for a “forbidden” archive, one I helped to create over a millennium ago. Even dear sister Tia did not disturb the files, for she left the magical wards intact when she moved them to this secret recess. Of course, I would not have minded much if she had allowed copies of the material to circulate, but she stated that it was my private library, and mine to command. She probably thinks my diary is in there.

Sighing again at the reminder of all the time I have lost, I make the now familiar turns and arrive at the doorway of a subterranean room. Rekindling my magic and turning my attention to the remarkably complex opening spell, I quietly answer the question the night guardian has used ever since I met him. Of course, Tia could have opened it herself after I … left, but she said she didn’t want to spoil her memories of me by seeing what was in there.

“Man eneth lin?”

“Isildur.”

“Heniach nin? Pedich edhellen?”

“Lau.”

“Hi Luna.”

“Hello Harmavaryon. How’s it going?”

“Fine. How’d the prank go?”

I smiled; Harry’s Old Equestrian was music to my ears. He refused to allow me to use it exclusively with him, though, saying that, “it gives me a headache trying to work with those stuffy old words. I prefer a language that moves and breathes.” It probably did give him a headache- he was magically tied to the books inside him, which updated constantly with new information. He couldn’t help it; he simply knew every new word when it popped up in writing, and so had been helping me learn the new speaking patterns that ponies use nowadays. I wouldn’t want another Ponyville incident, after all, even if it did afford me some new friends.

Remembering his question, however, I frowned and answered, “It didn’t go over so well. Remember the More Harma I tracked down? Well, turns out it was more More than I thought it would be.”

Harry groaned. “Sorry Luna, but your puns have not improved. Seriously, what happened? It’s driving me crazy not knowing about it.”

I sigh, resigned. “I… couldn’t go through with it.”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t go through with it?” If he had eyes, he would have narrowed them in suspicion.

“Well, you know how I wanted to make the entire Day Court smell like garlic? I was going to use the More Harma to make the smell more potent every time someone else tried to suppress it magically. But…”

An awkward moment passes, and when Harry can’t take the silence anymore he snaps, “Just tell me!”

“ItesteditintheguardbarrackslockerroomanditmadethewholebuildingsmelllikemoldycheeseandonionsandnowIcan’tgetthesmelltogoawaybecausethewardsarehardertocrackthanIthoughtIkepttryingbutitjustmadeitworseandTia’sgoingtosendmebacktothemoon.” I blurt out, before dropping to the floor, clopping my hooves over my mouth and hiding behind my mane.

Moonpaw lets out a screech as his perch suddenly disappears out from under him before landing on his four paws and taking off into the tunnels. I can’t say I blame him.

Harry takes a moment to sort through this information before bursting out in laughter. This goes on for a much longer period of time than one would consider healthy before remembering that Harmarvaryon is a being of magic and certain rare woods and metals and thus does not rely on lungs pushing air past vocal chords to produce sound. Finally his guffaws fade to chuckles and then giggles as he feels compelled to reiterate what I’ve just told him.

“So let me get this straight. You tracked down the More Harma from its hiding place in the mountains between the Everfree Forest and Appleloosa.”

I am still mortified, so likely he only sees a large mass of blue cosmic hair nod.

“You then devised this prank, and needed a place to test it. Instead of recreating the prank bunker we used in Everfree, you decided to test it in the guard barrack’s locker room because…?”

There are plenty of reasons. I was too lazy to recreate a magically-enhanced underground bunker with my weakened daytime magic, and too impatient to wait for nightfall. Besides, I wouldn’t want to sully a brand-new bunker with a magical stink bomb. No one was in the locker room at that time of day. There’s always an unpleasant smell in a locker room, no matter how clean it is, so a little background odor would go unnoticed. But the biggest one was…

“I thought that it would be easier if I tied it to the existing anti-stink charms.” I answer in my most apologetic tone. “I underestimated the reaction.”

“That goes without saying.” he answers. “I think I can guess what happened. You tested it in the Day Guard’s locker room, just after the noon shift change. You then spent the afternoon and evening making the smell worse, until finally being forced to stop and lower the moon. You then came here, hoping that one of my books would be able to help you learn how to control the reaction enough to release it in the Day Court. But my question is, how in Equestria did you manage to keep the late shift Day Guards from going into the locker room? One of my books would have told me if somepony had discovered it.”

I sheepishly look up at his gilded form. “I ordered all Day Guard personnel to remove their armor and congregate at the open field on the south side of the gardens for a Shadowbolt performance.”

Once I found out about my sister’s Wonderbolts, I decided to form my own team for nighttime weather displays. It seems that nocturnal storms have become popular in Equestria, since ponies prefer to have sunny days without rain, but also need the water for the plants to be healthy. It’s a win-win that it can rain when everypony else is asleep. This tends to give those pegasi erratic sleeping habits, but by now it’s a time-honored tradition, and really time that somepony made it into an art form. My Shadowbolts can create beautifully complex lightning patterns that simply take one’s breath away, and we even have a pegasus from Fairbucks up north who’s special talent is creating aurora borealis. In my opinion, if my stars are going to be obscured, it better be by something as spectacular as it is helpful.

Harry gave the box equivalent of a grin. (I don’t know how it works. I can’t describe it. It’s just part of his ancient magic.) “And so they’re going to get a little wet?” he asks. “Brilliant! Luna, if you had put half as much thought into your prank setup as you did to this coverup, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. That being said…” He gives me an appraising glance before letting a few stray chuckles escape. “Hard to believe you’ve been wearing the solution this whole time and didn’t even realize it.”

I look at him in confusion before turning to look at my flank.

Of course. My Blankie.

I jump off the floor and give Harry a hug as we both utterly lose our decorum. I am glad that these corridors are deserted, for if anypony had been nearby they would surely believe we had lost our minds. Our laughter finally fades as I flash him a grin.

“I’d better go take care of my mess before Tia finds out.” I tell him. As I turn around and start down the route that will take me back to the library, Harry calls,

“Don’t forget to come tell me how it goes with the Day Court!”

“Of course!” I call back before grabbing my Blankie in my teeth and breaking into a gallop. Behind me, I hear a resounding click as Harmavaryon reseals his secret chamber. I am an alicorn on a mission: those lockers must be clean by the time the Day Guard returns from the performance.

*Author's Note* Thanks for reading! Just so you know, Harry and Luna are saying phrases of Elvish I found online. If I translated anything wrong, please let me know!

Here's what the translation's supposed to be:

"Man eneth lin?" "What's your name?"

"Isildur." "Servant of the Moon."

"Heniach nin? Pedich edhellen?" "Can you understand me? Do you speak Elvish?"

"Lau." "No."

"More Harma" is supposed to be "Dark Treasure"

Octavia's Frustration

I frown as the new jazz solo I’ve been working on suddenly dissolves into a myriad of scratchy notes I can hardly identify. Oh, working in the upper registers is such a chore, but I’ll have to be able to carry myself if I hope to stay within the bounds of the melody. Frustrated, I take a few moments to relax with a simple D major scale, finishing in mere seconds due to my long years of practice.

I let that last open D ring out, satisfied, before returning to the task at hand. Sighing at what little progress I’ve made, I take a moment to retune before returning to my difficult assignment.

My name is Octavia, and I play the double, standup, string, upright, contrabass viol/bull fiddler. This instrument is not electric in any way, (although you can clip a mike to the bridge just fine) nor is it related to the guitar. I repeat, THIS IS NOT AN ELECTRIC BASS. Thank you. IT IS NOT A CELLO, HARP, VIOLA, LYRE, MANDOLIN, VIOLIN, OR DULCIMER. Although every musician eventually comes to a certain acceptance when it comes to people mistaking your instrument for a different one, it helps that my bass is larger than I am and has a 12 inch metal spike on the bottom when fully extended. It is a very memorable hunk of wood ‘n wires, once you’ve seen it up close.

Now that the standard rant about exactly which instrument this is has been dealt with, we can get to talking about me. You see, I’ve always been a little bit upset about my cutie mark. It’s a treble clef. Now, those of you familiar with music know that there is another clef, called the bass clef. (There’s also an alto clef, but that information is not necessary to understand my argument.) Judging by the way all of your ears perked up, I can tell that you’ve just figured out that I was given the wrong cutie mark by whoever is in charge of cutie mark-giving. You also now know why I am trying to get music off of a higher part of the bass than it was ever meant for anypony to go.

So I sigh, recheck the pencil marks I’ve made on my bass, angle my hoof in just the right way, and begin to play. Or try to, as the G-string suddenly gives under the tension and snaps. I am beyond frustrated. Do you know how difficult it is to break a bass string? They are metal wires, and the E is about the thickness of a pencil, not to mention if the bass has an extension or a couple of extra strings. I was, of course, using my standard 4 string bass, trying, trying to have my bass in the proper register for my cutie mark. And, of course, failing.

Sighing, I quietly place my bass back on its stand and exit my home in Canterlot, headed for Strings, Springs, ‘N Things. It’s really more of a metalworking shop than a music one, but their quality of strings is unparalleled. Besides, I’ve had my eye on a new set of their magic-enhanced strings for earth ponies for some time. I’d always wondered how the unicorns used their horns on their instruments, and it certainly couldn’t hurt to have some extra help, especially higher on the hoofboard where everything is squished together. Thinking that only put me into an even sourer mood, remembering my short-lived time as a violinist. Not a fun memory.

It was in this state of mind that I walked into the medium-sized metal smith shop, scowling and muttering to myself as I searched for the string set I wanted. Then a poster caught my eye- METAL: A Headbanger’s Journey. I giggled at the image; it was a brown unicorn, and he had made the rookie mistake of magnetizing his horn. It looked absolutely ridiculous, and lifted my mood enough to accept that 150 bits for a magical set of strings wasn’t that out of proportion. Everything always costs more when your instrument’s a bass.

Sighing in acceptance that I would probably have to eat some regular grass this week, I was headed towards home when a movement caught the corner of my eye.

Luna's Lament

Tears. Their cool wetness trickles down my cheeks, dampening my fur and reminding me once again of how weak I have become. Nightmare Moon would never have cried ...

No. Never again. Nightmare Moon is gone, and I am left alone. Again. Sure, Tia makes an effort to see that I am occupied with activities, but we both know it’s not the same. It will never be the same again, because she no longer trusts me.

Of course she still loves me, but, as one of those Friendship Reports from my sister’s, “prized pupil,” stated, “Losing a friend’s trust is the fastest way to lose a friend forever.” And I think that, even though “permanently” has now come to mean, “for a thousand years,” forever has stayed the same. Forever is forever. And now I have forever to spend with a sister who will never trust me, never fully forgive what I have done. Never truly understand, never forget, never be comfortable with me around, because she knows what I could become. What I did become. And now there is nothing left to do, nothing left for me to change what has happened or lessen the pain.

That was the only good thing about being in the moon—there was a way out. I always knew that I would be free after a thousand years; I was only banished permanently, not forever. But this… I can never undo.

The thought just sends me into another fit of sobbing. Oh that I had not made the mistakes I did!

And now, I think to myself, the saline turning the confines of my room into a blurry blue-purple-black haze, not only does my sister not trust me, but none of my subjects do either. How could they, after they saw me at my absolute worst? Brief flashes of memory form in the back of my mind; small fillies cowering, guards attacking, birds scattering in fear. No, there is no chance of forgiveness. I am trapped, quite literally, within a prison of my own making. I was better off on the moon—at least there I had Nightmare to keep me company. Now, I am truly, utterly alone.

I am interrupted from these thoughts that, I think shamefully, have become the norm, by a loud knocking on the door. A slight burst of what little magic I have left erases all traces of my inner turmoil from my face as I turn and call, “come in!” My voice is the exact mixture of cordial welcome and surprise that is proper on an occasion such as this. (I must admit, the spell came from Tia’s personal archives—apparently she used it extensively after… what happened.)

A young serving mare, cutie mark obscured by her maid’s uniform, timidly opens the door.

“Um,” she begins, then hesitates, quickly looking away, a blush rising to her cheeks, “um, I could come back another time.” Her eyes dart back to the room before hastily returning to the door.

I briefly wonder what the trouble could be. Was there a problem with the spell I used?

“No, it’s ok. Come in. Was there something you wanted to ask me?” I am sure my eyes betray my uneasiness—what could possibly have this mare so on edge? I don’t have anything inappropriate or distasteful in my room at the moment; though I have read a few books on such things to see what has changed in the past few years, I returned them to the library as soon as I was finished. Invisibly, of course.

Her eyes remain locked on the door as she answers, “Um, your majesty, you’re, you’re…” she trails off again, heightening my discomfort.

“Is there something wrong?” Thank goodness the spell is still in effect—that came off with just the right amount of concern, and none of the irrational and overwhelming panic that is filling my mind at the moment.

She dares one more glance at me before replying, “Princess, you’re not… clothed.”

That last part had been almost inaudible, but when I finally realized what she had said I had a momentarily fierce battle fighting down the laughter that was threatening to burst through my outward calm. Allowing a very Celestia-esque chuckle to escape, expressing a perfect rendition of benevolent amusement, I reassured her, “I think I can fix that.” while levitating over my normal accessories. Crown, shoes, and necklace straight and in their proper places, I double-check myself in the mirror before nudging the door further open with my magic.