Howard Fillip Lovecraft

by Hengf

Rating: everyone
Tags: Sad, Princess Luna, Original Character, Fluttershy, Crossover, Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 27632

Lovecraftesque character in the setting of Equestria.

Nightmare Night has again arrived, and Princess Luna, to honour a promise long made, visits the town of Ponyville and tells stories to those gathered. There is one pony which whose story has been requested over the years: Howard Fillip Lovecraft. Though Equestria is certainly a land of general happiness for all can gain purpose with confidence, the evidence ever present on the flanks of those that find it,but , this pony, the brother of Fluttershy, is crushed by his worthlessness in the world due to his lack of purpose. He is only left with the seeking knowledge in an attempt to mitigate his feelings. The need to find this sends him out over the lands, his only correspondence with that of Princess Luna through letters. However, the gaining of this knowledge is not necessarily what was desired.

Published 2012-08-03 18:34:03 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-03 18:34:03 UTC

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The fullness of the moon was enough to fill the eyes with a beauty all its own, and Princess Luna saw it with a mix of disdain and awe, for not only was it her former prison, but also her namesake. These thoughts were soon cast to the void, as she began to recall the reason behind her current voyage: tonight was Nightmare Night. That promise she had made so many years ago to that young foal was something she was not soon to break.

As her eyes beheld the view of the land, she was entranced by its twilit beauty, the chariot soaring above the great oceans of green, the hills of stone and earth upon the distance mere looming goliaths of their day-time glory, as was the way of the night Luna so cherished. Her mane flowing as the silver streams of starlight they were, her voice rose high above the screaming winds:

“Make haste, I do not wish to arrive late for the festivities tonight!” The bat-winged pegasii that drew the chariot answered in unison to their beloved Princess’s order, voices deep and adherent,

“Yes, Princess.” The pace of the flight began to accelerate and their celerity was enough to mitigate Luna’s desire. Always pleased was the Princess at the willingness to serve of the guards who had long ago pledged their fidelity specifically to her and her night. Their bright yellow, feline orbs contrasted brightly against the dark colours of their face, coat, and armour, and the darkness of the night only served to accent this quality to the point of them being frightful. However, any who would see them would be accustomed to these late eve rides of Luna when the day marked Nightmare Night. Even the chains that bound the drivers to the chariot shone a bit, but their obsidian bindings reflected only the moon’s light, and were not themselves luminescent.

She wondered as to whether they ever regretted the change in appearance that had been enacted upon them over the centuries. These thoughts began to displease her, for soon they brought to the surface of her memory the former feelings of hatred towards the world, and how that millennia must have felt to those who ever held the mark of their service to her. The emblem of the eye that they now bore with pride and honour, must have at once brought them disgrace and the fear and hatred of others. The scorn they must have felt, and guilt began to once again invade her mind. However, soon there was a relieving tone, for she knew that her sister, Princess Celestia, sovereign of the sun, would have cared for them in her absence. 'Why was it tonight of all nights that she would think of this?" she thought.

Soon these thoughts too were cast to the wind as the roof-tops of Ponyville began to shew themselves, a juxtaposition of regular geometry against the organic and non-Euclidean shapes of the tree-tops, a smile beginning to form on her lips as the memories of the ponies who enjoyed her company so began to enter her mind, and shoo away the bleak thoughts of the antedated. Twilight Sparkle was the first in her mind, for she had always held a special place in her thoughts ever since her liberation from nightmares, but the others, Fluttershy, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and Pipsqueak soon followed suit in her mind’s eye.

Earth fall was soon made, and the high tops of those thatched roofs and the bulbous covering of the patisserie that was Sugar Cube Corner were slightly dulled in the candle-lit night that was such a celebration in the lands. As she alofted from her seat upon that sharpen vessel, blue eye present on the anterior with pointed outcroppings jutting from the posterior , she gave her guards a bow and said:

“You have given unto me a safe and quick journey, and I ask that thou wouldst allow themselves a repose for the night. Be merry, for you service for me has halted in the time being.” Her guardians bowed in return, but the left most one, a rather surly stallion with a raven black mane and silver scar running down his left cheek, retorted with a reluctant nay, saying:

“We are first and foremost your servants great Princess and, though it is expected of us to follow you without question, we will remain here and periodically circle town as wards against possible threat to you or your transport. However, should you be in danger we will be at your side in a moment’s time.”

“Always so protective of your Princess, yet I feel there shall be no threat to my being tonight, as it has been every night for the past years.”

“Yes, my Princess, but your safety is above all, our first and foremost concern, and this will always be, so we shall remain at our vigil until you bid us to bring you from hence.” Luna held herself a bit higher at these sayings, for again this dedication to her did her heart well. Soon she again spoke to those who had done her so great an honour.

“If that is what thou wishes, then so it shall be. However, I will have refreshments brought to thee regularly throughout the night, so you may enjoy thine watch to some degree.”

“Thank you Princess Luna,” spake the other, as bulky as the first, but with mane of deep blue and the slightest signs of wrinkles on either side of his eye, both bowing in turn, he continued, “we take great solace in the commodities that you provide for us so generously.”

“I bid thee farewell, and thank thee for thine constant and unfaltering loyalty.” She bowed, for yet another time, and again her guards returned the gesture saying in unison:

“You do us great honour Princess, we hope the celebrations are to your liking,” and with a nod, Luna left them both there, the honourable Captains Rampart and Nacht. In the past forty years they had brought her here and back and held the role of personal guard. Captain Rampart had even suffered that scar in the protection of her during the assault of Nightholm by the changelings so many years prior, a feat that had earned him his rank. Only Old Captain Nacht shewed the signs of aging that would one day even creep onto the face of young Captain Rampart, though his lack of seniority was by no means a lack of prowess. Even their ancient generations had once claimed the same position as they now so hold with pride.

As she transversed towards the library where Twilight was waiting her arrival, she looked back once more upon those guards, the thoughts of the oncoming returning once again. She said aloud, although quietly; “How much sorrow have I brought unto them, and their kin?”

Suddenly a small pony leaped from the shadows, the visage of a toothed dragon face red and spouting paper flames fully visible in the sights of Luna.

“Princess!” exclaimed the masquerade dragon in a surprisingly squeaky voice, “You’re here!” After a moment’s hesitation Luna arrived upon the realization that: this individual was the young, at least in respect to Luna, Pipsqueak.

“Pipsqueak, it is good to see you again on this glorious night,” Said she, smiling all the while.

Lifting up his mask, Luna was given sight to a young slender face that held a brown spot over the left eye, and still held that boyish smile that she had seen the first night in Ponyville he had met her.

“It’s good to see you too, Princess. Twilight’s waiting for you at the library.”

“I was just on my way to see her. Will you accompany me?”

“Of Course I will!” and so the two began to walk, bantering on about the goings-on in Ponyville and what was permitted to be discussed of the courts of Canterlot. The costume he wore was off a red scaly material, almost as fish scales that did well in its convincing of his draconic appearance. Luna, as always, was dressed in her usual attire, with those blue glass hoof-coverings and necklace depicting the same image as was to be found as her cutie-mark: a black background with almost gibbous crescent moon. The grass was cool beneath her hooves, and soon she found the conversation at an end, too soon in her mind, for they had arrived at the library.

“All right Princess,” spoke Pipsqueak, “I’m gonna go and collect candy with Pinkie and the others, but I’ll see you again when you tell the scary stories?”

“Yes, of course” replied Luna, and with a nod she watched as he donned his mask, and leapt off after Pinkie Pie, who was dressed in an old costume of the Mare-Do-Well, and being tailed by many groups of four-legged beasts, goblins, and other things of merrimental fright as was the custom. Shaking her head in humour, she proceeded forward towards the Library. The orange of the sign that displayed an open tome, would have been dulled by the night, but for the addition of a brightly burning candle allowing its colour to bloom as it would never in the presence of the sun. The usual screams and squeals of joy and mirth could be heard from all sides now, and the far-off screams of the latest victims of friendly pranks were received as well, the culprit Rainbow Dash in the most likelihood. The red door of the library, with candle emblazed now with some sort of magic, most likely a minor spell of Twilight’s, held a thrumming base as Luna knocked upon it. From inside she heard a muffled:

“Coming!” the voice of which could be none other than Twilight Sparkle herself. However, a loud crash was heard subsequently, followed by the sound of an exclamatory “Oof!” Luna’s wings splayed open at the current upset, and she nearly called out to Twilight, when the door opened inwardly, and the strangely bearded visage of Twilight appeared. Upon further inspection she was dressed in an older costume, with floppy and pointed hat, in addition to a coat of many stars and constellation, the one of Starswirl the Bearded, the one she had worn upon Luna’s first attendance to Nightmare Night.

“Princess Luna! Good to see you here,” bowing slightly, her breathing steadily beginning to slow “Just on time as always." The scruffy white beard hung upon her face, upturned at the tip, rather loosely and a small portion of her neck remained uncovered between her chin and the beginning of the prosthetic beard. The head-covering she wore was a brimmed night-blue hat with a bronze bell that weighed down the tip to give it a bent appearance. The brim, along with a strip a bit above it, was a lighter more regular blue when in comparison to the majority of the hat and is adorned with equally spaced bells, identical to that of the one that holds to the tip. Towards the precipice the images of stars and fat crescent moons can be seen. This keeps into the cape she wears which is held upon her by a golden link coupled by an azure coloured amulet, with a white frill emanating from beneath it. The following segment of cloth fell to beneath her hooves and dragged slightly upon the ground. In addition to the yellow stars and blue crescents, it began in that midnight blue and, in the following two tiers became visibly lighter until it can to edge which had reverted to the initial hue, with the inclusion of still more bronze bells.

“Starswirl the Bearded, yet again?” inquired Luna.

“You can only have so many ideas,” she replied with a hint of humour, “and still no-pony knows who I’m dressed as,” shaking her head with the mentioning of the recognition of others. Her Mane held a moderately purple hue, and the hair that was exposed was a mixed of a deep sapphire blue, with a streak of brilliant rose juxtaposed next to a thinner line of violet that was of a moderate shade, identical to the irises of her eyes, which currently held the golden reflection of the candle shining nearby. Her coat held a slight outline, as the warm light from within silhouetted her slightly, but the light mulberry colour with grey tinge was still as visible as it would have been were this a day of typicality.

“Come in, Princess, I want to give you a heads up of tonight’s schedule. I’ve got the list all written up”

“Of course,” Voiced Luna as she followed Twilight into the library. The wainscot shelves held their usual tan hue and the multitude of books, each organized accordingly, all held a plethora of different coloured bindings. The hallway leading below the Library was visible in the back of the book-keep, and the stairs leading to Twilight’s lodgings were present immediately next to said hallway. Images of hearts lined the bottom most step, but the usual centre table with carven horse head atop was absent, probably stored away on account of the evening festivities. The purple aura of her magic surrounded her horn as she used her magick to open one of the many drawers that lined the book-shelves.

“Might I ask as to the location of Spike on this eve?” inquired Luna during this process.

“Oh he’s on a mission of peace with the dragons, seeing as how they have been rather bothersome these past few months. Speaking of which,” she said as a small note-book with purple aura about it was held suspended in mid-air near Twilight’s head, “Applejack and Rainbow Dash are also on missions for Princess Celestia in the Mild West, for the citizens of Appleoosa, and the Buffalo tribes, respectively. Even though they have had most of their problems settled they have their occasional bouts of arguments, and it was rather severe this time around. Anyway,” she said opening up the small note-book, “I don’t have you scheduled for your stories until about an hour from now. I wanted to give the young fillies and colts plenty of time to gather candy.”

Upon each fifteen minute increment was a small picture including a small caption, ranging from a setting sun to an image of Luna herself. Underneath her own picture read the words Scary story tellings by Princess Luna, and she shook her head at the extent that Twilight’s organizational skills would take her. Feeling the need to interrupt before she sought to progress she spoke:

“Twilight,”

“Yes Princess?” inquired she, halting her commencement of speech,

“Forty years have come and gone, I believe that I am well aware of the schedule that is to be kept tonight. “

“Of course, I was a bit… short-sighted,” looking away rather coyly, the bells sewed upon her hat jingling.

“It is alright, I am mainly curious if anything will divulge from the usual pathway of the celebration?”
Giving herself a moment to ponder, she replied:

“Not that I can think of. Being what the night is we’re not really much from the usual, but we do have a new game this year.”

“Game?” said Luna a hint of eagerness coupled with interest present in her voice.

“Yes, Rainbow Dash was out near Las Pegasus and as soon as she saw it she had to have it here, she was almost heart broken when she needed to commune with the Buffalo tribe, but duty calls.”

“What exactly are the particulars of this game?” asked the Lunar Lady.

“Well, it’s called the Rainbow Tumbler, and it’s quite a fantastic piece of craftsmanship.”

“Please continue,” bade Luna, as she allowed the other to leave first from the Library in which they had been speaking, and Twilight continued her explanation as the two walked towards the centre of town where the merriment was made in the form of activities both solo and multi-faceted. An hour given her she meant to spend it having fun and enjoying herself. The obscure surroundings were given a hue of silver by the moon and a touch of titian by the flames. It was a sight to behold, and a night not to forget.

As an hour was beginning to be struck a small crowd of young fillies and colts had begun to gather in preparation of a usual event: the telling of frightful phantasies. The scene was set, and from the rooftops one could view the myriad of colours that had come about from this combinational event of multi-coloured creatures and other un-savory creations for the purpose of fear and mirth, those two opposite emotions that may yet still reside within the mind in tandem.
Upon a slightly raised platform did Princess Luna set, legs betwixt her and the wooden floor. She surveyed the crowd with growing apprehension, for she knew all too well the story which they would desire, but her thoughts of the journey afore made her feel as if the retelling would be a bit much on her nerves that had been agitated this season for unknown reasons; however, she could see no cause for not allowing the younglings to hear what they wished, for it was for their sake that she would proclaim these tales.

The presences of a rather banded individual was see at the foremost of the crowd, facing toward the on-lookers as opposed to the soon to be speaker. Said individual kept this striped appearance throughout her and it was obvious through conjecture that the forefront was the local sage, Zecora. As costume she held a simple shawl over her giving an eerily hidden appearance in addition to flowing wisps of ebony smoke wafting from her countenance. Her coupleted voice served well for this announcement as she spoke in her usual tone.

“Welcome to you on this night under the Moon, and I hope your interests to be given a boon. To-night on this Nightmare Night, we have prepared quite a special sight: a telling of a terrifying tale that is sure to cause fright, in the absence of light. If questions you may have, you must wait; until the end, for your minds to be sate. And now, without further adieu, Princess Luna, and I eschew.”

Towards the halting of her speech she had begun to withdraw a small bit of dark powder and, upon completing her announcing tossed it to the ground, and darkness fell over her exit. The quite gasps of the younglings were of astoundment and fascination, for that superficially contrasted individual never ceased with amazing feats of the apothecary. Cleverly fleeing, Zecora snuck to the back of the crowd where an anticipatory Twilight was awaiting her.

“Good job, Zecora,” congratulated Twilight.

“You speak as if you had a doubt, I would have thought your position a bit more stout.” The bibliophile gave a slight smirk at this comment and shook her head, saying:

“Of course I had confidence in you I…”

“Fret not my good friend, mirth is the only message I send,” interrupted she.

“Oh,” replied Twilight giving a grin “I see tha… oh she’s starting.”
A hush began to settle over the crowd as the Princess did well to project her voice across the small gathering, well enough that the two whom had been conversing could hear her without strain. She began with a slight and steady tone, allowing for the cognition of those assembled.

“Welcome to all who would come to hear my stories on this celebratory night. I do hope that everyone has enjoyed their night so far?” A loud exclamatory came in reply originating at the front from a brightly pink pony in a mare-do-well hat, a pile of candy piled in front of here, Pinky Pie nonetheless,

“You bet your hooves I did!” Slight giggles could be heard throughout, as she resumed the devouration of the heap of confectionaries. Luna could not even help herself in a small smile, and brought her hoof up to her mouth to hide a slight chuckle, but the joviality could be heard in her voice when she spoke.

“That is good. I am curious as to the story of which you would have me recant to tantalize your minds and shudder your nerves.” There was a slight murmur throughout the younglings, and then a teal coloured filly, in garments of an apparent mad scientist, with lab coat and wildly spiked white hair, proclaimed in a soft voice:

“Could you… um… tell us about Mister Lovecraft again, please?” The general consensus of the grouping could be inferred by general noddings and voicing of approvals. Surveying the mass of frightfully fastidious faces, she felt certain that the decision was made with the lack of spoken language.

“Very well then, I will tell the tale of the late Mister Howard Fillip Lovecraft.” Again the crowd began to shuffle and give off slight soundings of approval, but the over tone of hushing soon quieted this as all gathered listened intently to hear the story of this confounding colt. Even the older of the group were rapt listeners, and soon nearly all goings-on ceased to be partaken in, save for the wind’s whistling and the voice of the Princess.

“Westward there is a path seldom travelled by ponyfolk…

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Thoughts were the main concern of the one who walked along that path, darkened by the shadows of trees and other vegetation, with such purpose. Upon his brow lay a light patch of well-kept hair, flowing aft unto his back and repeated at his tail, a mane of simple brown. Upon his shoulders he wore a simple vest, buttoned at the abdomen and from the side fop protruded a small golden link, swinging as he walked. He carried with him a simple tan saddle bag with a simple silver buckle holding its contents of tomes within. With pale coat, appearing more so in the light, his thin stature suggested a lack of food, or perhaps a lack of hunger for physical nourishment. His eyes stared forward along the pathing, a hue akin to both that of coat and mane; an ecru appearance.

The auburn bows and stumps of trees mixed together with the green of spring leaves performing a contrast between the base and extremities of the surroundings, and the gravel of the road aided in tiering further this environment into sectioned areas. Sparse patches of nothingness allowed for the viewing of parts of the hills beyond, burgeoning and monstrous in their ponderous ways giving silent watch to the valley through which he transgressed. Such hills caught the eye of this wayward traveler, and he halted to take in the sight. The monomania of movement faltered there as he looked upon them with an admiration of not their beauty, nor awe at their scale, but of their steadfast nature and solidity.

This reverie was soon past as he began again down the trail of macadam, a burnished mahogany sign now visible in the distance. The individual’s eye widened slightly and he gave a slight anticipatory exclamation of comprehension. His pace quickened to meet the oncoming declaration with more celerity. At the reaching of his goal, the black letters, with their twists and loops, proclaimed the location of Ponyville, the wanderer’s apparent destination, to be just around the bend. Looking behind him, he felt as if not many transversed this route much, for so overgrown were the details that it seemed almost unkempt and certainly under-traveled. The trees, even, held a thick roof, to the point that he was unsurprised that he had not seen the roof-tops from his approach if the sign indicated the truth of his proximity to his destination. He leaned against the sign’s post and let his head fall slightly, breathing rather heavily. This was soon past and, his thoughts once again of travel and other items, he commenced once again his ageless stride, the steady walk of the wayward, the steps of the searcher.

No longer than a few minutes had he left behind the sheltering trees then had he stepped foremost into the outskirts of a town of cream coloured homes with thatched hay roofs. Searching for a street sign he could locate none, feeling it strange that not even the houses held numbers of identification, however, he was able to connect the ideas of locality and size with great ease, and the problem was now as nothing. Looking towards his left he could see the great expanses of an apple orchard and knew from his own research it to be orchard of the Apple family: Sweet Apple Acres. The many groves of trees expanded and soon disappeared over hills which blocked from sight their downward descent, which were sure to contain even more fruit-bearing trees. Towards his right were but more trees and hills, with a mountain even visible in the most posterior of the roving landscape.

During his surveytion a rather awkward pegasus flew by and very nearly crashed into a set of trees just astern of where he current stood surmounting both his surroundings and the current implications of the situation. Her auric mane and tail were long and a flowing, with a coat of steely grey, and a mark of bubbles present upon her flank. She shook her head as she looked upwards at the very trunk she nearly drilled into headlong, and turned to see this newly arrived individual looking on in what was a strange mix of curiosity and what appeared to be indifference hinted with concern. Her eyes looked from different origins in their sockets and their pigmentation matching that of hair and tail, if in a more profound manner. Tilting her head to one side, they looked at each other with almost parallel contemplations.

The miss was the first to break the vision with a friendly wave of one hoof, and a grin of warmth and a welcoming nature. He did not return said grin, but rather proceeded closer to her, face nearly blank and reserved. Slightly intimidated by this, she looked away, biting her lower lip. When he arrived in front of her he gave a low bow, and said

“Good day, Madam.” The voice that spoke was cool and well-thought, and of a tongue more proper than heard by most, and this was by far the most off-putting feature for the mare. Crossing her left front leg over the right nervously, she replied in a nervous tone, gaze evasive:

“H...hi, um, mister.” After speaking she seemed a bit more confident and looked at him if still a concerned look upon her face, her irises once again returning to their opposing positions.

“I have just arrived and I was curious if you could direct me to a location I am seeking.”

“Sure, be happy to,” responded she. Concern and nervousity banished as she once again held a smile upon her lips.

“I wish to find myself in the presence of the town library and in the company of a Miss Twilight Sparkle, the local keeper of books?”

“I know where that is easy, just keep following the road and look for a tree-house with a book sign near the side.” She pointed towards the centre of the town down the road he had already planned to follow. He gave a slight smile in thanks and told

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Derpy. Derpy Ditzal Doon. And you?”

“Lovecraft. Howard Fillip Lovecraft. Thank you, again Miss Doon.”

“No problem, Howard,” smiling after saying this with eyes closed and head tilted.

“Lovecraft is fine,” he said, smile gone once again from his face.

“Oh, sorry, um Lovecraft.” Once again did she look away with embarrassed expression.

“Twas nothing, good day and thank you again.”

Giving fare well, he began to set off, but paused suddenly back still towards her and said aloud, head turned to the side so that she might hear him more readily,

“Oh, and Miss Doon, concerning your eyes,” the expression now became one of regret for having greeted him, and she began to protest the expected question when he finished with:

“They are very beautiful,” and continued onward no faster, nor slower, but with intent nonetheless, leaving the golden headed mare there, his face this same placid sheet of phlegmatic expressions. Miss Doon remained there stunned for a moment or so, but then lifted herself high and trotted away rather gleefully, eyes closed, and brimming with a new found confidence.

His proceedings down the road continued him past the many homes of this village, each similar in general outline, but dissimilar in character were they to be juxtaposed with one another. Much more of the populace was now visible under the burning sun, a myriad of colourful, full spectrum ponies. Some held the stalls that sold general goods of food stuffs, where as the more specialized shops held their own facilities and the passing of a herbal shop was seen by the passer-by of ashen complexion. The one called Lovecraft examined the surroundings with that way of generalized disconnection that was shewn with the previously encountered mare, and it was minor in belittling an obvious separation from most others, with spectral figure in tow.

The tall spire of the town hall was now obvious and lacked all dubiousity that would have come from a simple account from a fictionalization, and the flowing river held its usual sounds as it washed along the slight shore and underneath the bridge he now crossed. Tents and other pitched cloths of more frivolous natures were seen as he circled around the distal of the centre, and he could see atop the highest point a flag unfurled with the insignia of the land of Equestria, a swirl of light and dark, depicting the balance betwixt the sun and the moon, the two regal sisters: Princess Luna and Princess Celestia. The grassy streets of the town would have suggested a lack of concern for travelers’ needs were it not for the fact of its well-kept nature and soft undertones. The rose stalls that inhabited those grassy paths were a bright sanguine, and the satisfactory visage of potential patrons would suggest the flavour to be as robust as the colouration.

The abodes were becoming almost tiresome now, and a nagging sensation of false direction crept towards the back of his mind, however, he soon reassured himself by spotting the very tree that had been indicated by the antecedent mare who had greeted him with such cordiality. The suddenness with which it twisted and coiled were of an adverse to the encircling frameworks as to deal a fatal blow in sharpness and realism. Organic was its placing with its conniving branches, red door with emblazoned candle, windows at odd intervals across the front, and an out of place telescope topping over what appeared to be a precarious balcony, though the strength of ancient, and elder bindings was sure to br enough to hold such a structure.

Halting at the entrance, he looked about in an attempt to gauge its likelihood of inhabitance. Though he knew well who resided here, there was a sense of uncertainty in whether its function as a public place of reading had been compromised. His self discussion lasted but a few minutes, though his intent contemplation had caused some on-lookers to wonder about the business he had. His bearings straight, he decided finally upon the need to knock. His hoof connected with a steadfast door, and a knocking of thrice followed in suit.

After several minutes of careful waiting, ears pricked, he heard nothing to suggest the current occupation of this reader’s haven. He sighed, letting his head fall low, and began to wonder whether he should go search for the one he sought, or wait. The simplest answer would have been to wait, but he had an aversion of remaining here to-night, and therefore needed to find his quarry with much haste. Two ponies were also in need of his visitation not including Twilight Sparkle, and each was of equal importance. He allowed himself to lean against the door and breathed a heavy sigh, not one of disappointment, but rather one of the weary. Soon this passed and with head held up again, he performed an about face, and surveyed the area for possible indicators of the location of any of those he sought. Luckily, a group numbering three was passing close by, and one of said group was of a mulberry coat with a mane of sapphire blue, streaked with a moderate violet and brilliant rose.

Seeing this stallion standing in front of the door to her home she gave a shout from her place at the furthest right of the group, a yell of greeting rather than a shout of displeasure. The two others with her, a pale rose -maned mare with a pale yellow coat accompanied by a pegasus of fair cerulean with mane of many colours, a full spectrum example of rainbowic hues. Both looked onward questioningly, and upon spotting the stationary individual, the latter of the two began to walk with Twilight, while the other shewed recognition in her facial expression, and moved slowly and somberly to follow the others attempting to not make contact of the eyes with the soon to be acquainted.

Not wishing to let them walk all the way just to speak with him, he met them mid journey, and gave a low bow greeting with;

“Good day, Madams,” his gaze falling upon each in turn giving a slight nod of acknowledgment and smile to each, but said smile nearly faltered upon meeting eyes with the pegasus attempting to hide behind the others, a tinge of some unsavory emotion reflected in his face for but a moment, but was gone in that same instant.

“Hello,” replied Twilight, “Do you need anything from the Library?” giving a friendly grin as she inquired his business, head ever so slightly pitched to one side.

“In a way,” he said nodding, “I am engaged in the search for the caretaker of this place, a Miss Twilight Sparkle, I hold some business related to her works that must be addressed. She should be expecting my arrival, for I have been in correspondence with her for a short time before my trek here.”

“Well,” in a cheery tone of understanding, “Look no further. I’m Twilight Sparkle, and that means you must be Howard. These are my friends Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy,” she said nodding towards both in to match their mentioning. He cringed at the saying of his first name, but said nothing until she was finished. Giving nods to each of her companions he greeted them yet again.

“Miss Dash…Sister.” The last part of his statement resulted in a an exchange of surprised looks between both Twilight and Rainbow Dash, in addition to eliciting a soft reply from fearful Fluttershy almost below the hearing of those present.

“Oh, umm… Hello Howard.” However, the ears of the newly introduced brother picked up this and he gave a dissatisfactory exhalation of air through his nose and said rather brashly, though not without a still present part of gentleness,

“Please, I would prefer to be referred to as Lovecraft.” Mouth open in incredulous gasp, Twilight returned with:

“I didn’t know Fluttershy had a brother, she never mentioned anything about it, and Rainbow how come you never told me, you two grew up together right?”

“Well yeah, but I never heard about any brother.” Both of their lines of sight turned away from Lovecraft and towards the one cowering behind them, eyes pleading to have their questions placated. However, the saving grace did not come from the frightened pegasus, but from the newest addition to the family lineage.

“As you may be able to tell from superficial observation, I am of the flightless variety, where as my sister is of pegasii birth. I could not reside in Cloudsdale, and frankly nearly died from falling were the hospital attendants no so attentive and realised my lack of wings. You would never have seen my presence Miss Dash, for I almost immediately was removed from residency, due to safety concerns, and was reared in Rode Island, a long trek from Cloudsdale, with a our Grand-sire, Mister Whipple Van Buren. As to why my mentioning is non-existent, it may be attributed to my lack of importance in her life and in that of our guardians. Now, please Miss Sparkle, may we proceed with our afore mentioned business?”

The lengthy explanation finished, and questions fulfilled, the group could do nothing but follow behind Twilight as the group was allowed access to the Library. As they entered the door, the ashen arrival requested of Twilight that their business be kept between themselves, and that the carry-ons be asked to give them privacy. The response of Fluttershy was a quick yes, and soon she was gone from their sight, however, Rainbow Dash began to go against this, but Twilight was able to convince her of leaving, despite the reluctance present till the very end. Unsure of the length of time needed, she asked them to go on with their day until she caught up with them. The conversation was far from rude, but rather reasonable, and this reason was something even the stalwart Rainbow Dash could not refute. The sounds of Rainbow Dash fervently questioning Fluttershy about this new sibling could be heard as the both of them vacated.

“Thank you, Miss Sparkle,” bade Lovecraft “I find my goings-on to be mine alone, and again give to both your companies and yourself thanks for respecting this desire of mine.”

“It’s no problem How… Lovecraft.” The inside of the Library was not impressive, at least by the standards of this pony. The table with carven horse head held its centre-piece vigil in the room and from an observation the windows could be seen to lead on to the balconies to view the town from different perspectives. The tanned oaken interior was quite a difference from the almost magenta-red exterior. The shelves, spanning almost the entire circumference of the space, were filled with a bounty of bindings nevertheless, and he looked on wondering at what ones were not a part of his own library.

“Now what was it exactly that you were after again?” asked Twilight, “I haven’t looked over your letter recently.” Breaking his vision from the cover-bounds he made contact with her eyes and remarked that:

“You own a very well collection of writings and many are the magnum opus of great ponies,” his eyes once again to the items of which he spoke, “and it is for this reason I am here. Lately I have been giving into the fancy of mine having to deal with my antiquarianism, and from a slight investigative inquiry of some fellows at Canterlot, through postal means, I discovered you to be the most prevalent and knowledgeable in said field in the immediate area.” His gaze once again fell upon her, and the same placid facial features with it. Despite his smooth method of speech and well versed diction his words, or at least his voice, sounded as if strained.

“Thanks for the compliment,” said she a piece a pride present at this building-up of her collective interests, “So, what books exactly are you looking for your… um… antiquarianism?” Looking with an unsure smile, she awaited the explanation behind the obviously foreign word. He glanced toward her with another blank expression before turning back to the tomes remarking:

“If memory serves, I detailed what I sought in the typings I sent to schedule this meeting.” sounding almost exasperated, a section of books to the far right attracting his attention, eyebrows raised in interest, he proceeded, albeit slowly, towards it.

“I’m sorry, like I said I haven’t had a chance to look at it again recently, so could you please explain what it is your after?” pleaded Twilight, embarrassed at her apparent unpreparedness, looking away meekly, crossing her forelimbs and rubbing the topmost upon the other sheepishly. Halting mid stride he said:

“Then perhaps you should forgo your reveries in preparation for a guest rather than have him arrive only to have them speak again of what they so painstakingly described through previous correspondence,” his voice crescendoing to the point of being vociferous. A rebuking stare followed, causing Twilight to avoid his eye contact all together.
As he looked upon her countenance his look of outward disdain turned inwardly, and he blinked, a look of shame and regret overcastting him. He walked towards her and with his neck genuflected, and in a tone very soft he said:

“Madam, I apologize for that remark, I had no business saying that. I myself have never been one of perfection, so I have no ground in expecting it from others. There is no excuse I can give for that outburst, for it was both cruel and rude beyond normal constraints. I implore you once again for my forgiveness for such a brash inflection.” The regret was very obvious in his voice, and she understood this to truly be the brother of Fluttershy. The meekness now altered in origin, she placed her hoof on his shoulder.

“Its fine, I should have had everything prepared, and I am honestly surprised I didn’t, because I’m quite the stickler for organization.” His eyes rose from their downward focus upon her visage and the warm and forgiving smile that set there. His face was sorrowful, but more so did the eyes hold something else. With a blink, however, this quality was absent and he slowly raised his head to meet her on an equal plane. He gave a pained smile in reply, and looked back towards the shelves and began to speak of his reasons.

A pause was taken in by the speaker; a stop of foresight based upon the previous years of recital. The scene, a lack of monotony, was a collection of curious faces for such a phrase as was the unknown antiquarian that even those who had heard it in the few years of this stories relevancy tended to become forgetful of the particulars. A moment of respite was given for one of the group to work up the courage to ask. Finally, a young colt, a coat of sea green and mane of auburn, in the vestments of a Canterlot soldier, the sewn seems of his garbs obvious about the rim, arose to the occasion. Holding the same timidity as others he said

“Um… Princess?”

“Yes, Aquan?” A bit of confidence was restored in his demeanour at the mention of his name. He continued with struggling with the correct pronunciation.

“What does antiqua... qu… quaran…”

“Antiquarian?” proffered Luna.

“Yeah!” he exclaimed excitedly, “that. What does it mean?” A smile given at first in reply, Luna surveyed the gathering and asked aloud,

“Does anypony know what this word means?” But yet again was she met with an initial silence, however, this time with greater speed was her question resolved. A hoof rose, one of teal connected to a wild-haired filly, the youngling who had begun the night’s story. Rather eagerly did she keep her hoof aloft, moving from side to side in an attempt to further her additive. Nodding her head towards the appetent pony she recognised her by name, smiling warmly.

“Yes, Lute?”

“A… uh Antiquarian is someone who really likes old stuff! I… I think.” She said jumping up initially, but ended timorously, suddenly unsure of herself upon realizing the amount of gazes that fell upon her.

“Yes Lute,” gave the Princess with a slight chuckle at her shrinking away, “that is correct. However, an Antiquarian does not simply ‘really like old stuff’, they are enchanted by it. Ponies of this creed look to the past for enjoyment, and as such could be observed in the mannerisms of Lovecraft.” As she mentioned this her gaze looked off towards the lunar body in the heavens, and look of recollection holding its ground on her face even as she continued.

“He loved all that was of times past to the point of his entire style of living being based around ancient times, at least to an extent. However, this infatuation with those older epochs also resulted in a love of the strange and lesser tread paths. It was this that brought him the need to seek out knowledge of those past times and was the purpose for his arrival here in Ponyville.”

“Um… Here are some books by Nimaru of Nascent detailing the rise and fall of Nightmare Moon,” spoke the fair voiced Twilight, “and here are some on the origin of Discord, are any of those helpful?” The pony with which she spoke was the pale faced Lovecraft, but rather than the usual phlegmatic depictions, he had a twinge of emotion about his brow, as these fonts of information were referenced, as if in pleasant remembrance.

“I have read multiple scribings,” he told, hoping to narrow the specifications of his search to make both the seeking and the acquiration of the cover-bounds all the simpler, “depicting the origins of the Princess Luna and Princess Celestia, I know well the writings of Nimaru of Nascent detailing the Miasma, and the usage of the Elements of Harmony by Princess Celestia and the five embodiments at the time, Rook, Winter Willow, Crabapple, Luau, and Rose Petal,” his voice more towards longing as he spoke further, “I even have read writings on the origin of the kaotic Discord, but it is what is antecedent to all those that truly haunts my mind. I am resolute with hope that with your own resources you may give aid to my cause.”

Having been listening intently, the lightly purple pony looked again toward the organized brackets that held palpable speech, and kept her silence as she prolonged the staring into the depths of her mind, hoping to find that which this stallion so desired. The information of which he gave as previously examined was astounding to the point where she felt trumped by what must be a near plethora of lore and erudition locked away in the recesses of his conscious thoughts. It was this wish for understanding that enthralled her to give assistance so willingly, for it was akin to her tendencies as a youth.

Moments passed, and only after the span of a few minutes did she finally come upon a prospective answer.

“I feel like I can only offer one possible solution. There is a book around here that I borrowed from the Canterlot study a while back that I never looked through thoroughly, or returned for that matter. It was about old tribes of ponies, ones before Discord had ruled and of a lot of strange things that they believed. It was really quite silly. I remembered it talked of the creatures they thought were real, although most of them were, like manticores, cockatrices, et cetera. It’s just… I remember there being something weird that they were almost obsessed about, but I can’t remember.” Her idle musings had the effect of his eyes widened hopefully as he felt as if a minor part of the past that eluded him may finally divulge from its hidden house, but the subsequent uncertainty exiled this, at least part way.

“I would very much like to read from the pages of which you speak,” the longing gone from his voice replaced by the usual observational tone, “as I do not have access to the rich collections of scrolls and scribings held in the Canterlot athenæum.” He was about to add additional when the environment without caught his attention and he looked through the glass-framed apertures with mouth slightly ajar. With a quick hoof did he produce the attachment that was held by the golden link: an old pocket watch of similar material to the chain. An inspection was given of its innards for only seconds before it was returned to the fop it had previously occupied.

“It is becoming quite late, and I would hope to see this book, however, you are not the sole pony of whom I shall give visitation to. I would have hoped to avoid prolonging my remainder here longer than the day, but it seems that I must concede this to be unsure and unlikely. I intend to attend the company of two addition ponies during my stay. They are a Doctor Whooves, and a Miss Zecora. Unfortunately, I am unaware of where they make their livings, and I would hope you to be able to direct me towards the correct areas.”

“You mean Mister Whooves?” she asked curiously.

“Are there any others by the name of Whooves, spelled with a double-v?” returning her curious look in turn.

“Double-v?” she mentioned quietly, flabbergasted at its strangeness, but able to understand his meaning, “Oh, yes. He is the only pony who goes by that name, at least here in Ponyville; though I didn’t know he was a doctor. Anyway,” she said shaking her head in an attempt to focus,” Mister Whooves’ hourglass store is just down Stirrup Street, on the left as you walk out, it should have a painting of an hourglass on it, and Zecora’s can be reached by taking the same road, but following it until at the outskirts of town and you should see a path leading into the Everfree Forest, the only one there. Then just follow the path until you see a hut, it’s also the only one in there.”

After a nod of both recognition and thanks, the entryway was close at hand and he very nearly departed without further word, except he halted at the door and added:

“I apologize, again, for my outburst earlier, for you are taking from your personal time to see me,” the remorsefulness heard once again, “and I would ask if you could aid me in entry to the Canterlot library, in addition to possibly locating the book of which you spoke for inspection as well. There is another matter of which I would also request of you, but I will wait until a later moment in time to ask that of you,” all the while keeping his back to her, poised to leave in an instant. At first dumb-founded at the request, Twilight soon found her senses and gave a firm reply.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t help you see the Canterlot Library, but stop by later after I triple check, plus I should have found that book.” Moving again towards the portal he very nearly gave his good-days, before she added with a heart-full grin, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” This caused him to stay his action and mumble quietly,

“I hope I do not,” his visage taking on a combination of fear and despair. Not hearing, as was the intent, Twilight gave,

“What was that?”

“Good-Day Miss Sparkle, thank you again for all your help.” He turned his head towards the side and bowed it, and promptly left without additional comment. Twilight, unsure as to the character of the one to whom she had just spoken, but soon shook off her betwixt and between thoughts and began to search for the codex of which she had alluded, failing to notice as the pale pony once again stopped wearily in his progress when none were observant, only to regain composure upon the introduction of prying eyes.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“His visit to the house of Twilight Sparkle was certainly short-lived, but his exploits were always well mapped previously, so that he could always prepare.” At this point in the speaking a thin limb rose to the air its purple colour darkened due to its central position in the group of young fillies and colts. Registering this, Luna stopped talking and acknowledged the youngling with her name,

“Yes, Mica, what is it?” the cyan eyes trained upon the inquiring body. And a pair of metallically grey eyes peered back in response through the slits of crafted helm of some substance akin to steel. The effect on the voice that arose from the armoured head was to be muffled and nearly echoing as the highly pitched vocalizations were made loud.

“Why did he want to talk with Mister Whooves?”

“I was just about to go over that, thank you for reminding me, Mica,” was her replay so as to not openly revoke the young filly. Continuing on the path of her speech she began.

“Mister Whooves, or as Lovecraft called him, Doctor Whooves, or even sometimes simply the Doctor, has a history in xeno-equinology, a pseudo-science, a purely speculative science,” explained she, not wishing to use the word false, “which means the study of cultures of alien races, though it technically means a study of alien pony cultures, the idea is a simple association. Mister Whooves is very knowledgeable of legendary creatures foreign to our own, but are said not to exist on this planet with us, but rather on others in the endless cosmos.” As she said this she raised her hoof and spread it across the sky to accent what she meant. Wonderment was expressed through the quiet gasps and frequent whispers of awe-struck younglings; however, soon all was quieted as she once again spoke.

“Mister Whooves’ knowledge is nearly universal and he spoke with Lovecraft for quite some time about strange cultures and creatures. Humans, pinkish violent creatures from a system with eleven planets known for their resentment towards the different, the Horta, peaceful creatures born from lava that could eat through solid stone and do so to survive with fierce protection of their young, and the Daleks, mechanical creatures that only know destruction, a scourge of other races with a constant mission to exterminate all others, were only some of the things they discussed over the lectern of the Doctor. Some have even accused the Doctor of fabricating all of this, but our story’s namesake did not see this as so. However, there were creations that even the Doctor knew little about that Lovecraft desired information about. Soon he left the abode after having a discussion with Lyra Heartstrings, a self proclaimed ‘anthropologist’, another pseudoscience, and regular converser with Mister Whooves, about some legend held by the humans. Of which they spoke was very particular if speculative, of things that transversed to other worlds, things that needed resources from other planets to keep up the existence of theirs that would stop at nothing to keep their presence hidden, nameless though they were.”

The faces of the crowd varied through the ages. Some of older ones who had previously heard this tale were accustomed to the mention of these creatures, having spoken with Mister Whooves about the legends, though Mister Whooves did not think them to be so, and had dismissed them as too fanciful or perhaps too dreadful at times. The younger ones though held a certain fear of these, having also heard the hourglass maker’s speeches on cultures alien to their own, believing it full-heartedly, even if some tried to hide this from their peers. The mixture of these emotions was reflected in faces that were not disguised.

“With talking done at his first destination he proceeded towards the second, the home of Zecora to discuss some of the legends of her people.” As she paused to give herself a break to breath, she felt relief that none had asked for a more precise description of the nameless things of which Lovecraft had truly discussed fervently. Their names were not to be described any longer and details only mentioned haphazardly or with great subtlety. All inquired upon always blamed a lack of information or faulty memory, but Luna truly knew why this was so, as was her personal decree to all involved.

A great collection of trees was present at the forefront of a rather pallid pony. The great oaken defenders of forested secrets held their ground at the steady onset of this singular invader of their peace. The flora about the forest floor was a vibrant heaping of queer hues and spectro-graphical designs. The atmosphere was so utterly extra-ordinary as to inspire wonderment in the normally phlegmatic walker. The sun becoming lower in the sky, but still hours from dusk, did little to enlighten the darkened pathways inside the confines of its silent watchers. This, however, did nothing to deter this new-comer, nor did it seem to faze him whatsoever as he simply kept walking. The dusty path on which he trod was masked in the shadows, and so was his visage from the view of nonexistent on-lookers.

Walking along the path he stumbled, and failed to catch himself before striking the ground. He gave an outcry of pain, as the corner of one of the books he carried with him dug into his side, adjusting to assuage this malady. However, rather than arise from his stupor, he simply lay there, eyes closed, breathing heavily, as if the fall had injured him to the point of impairment. A closer inspection, however, would have warranted the result of simple lassitude keeping him shackled to the ground. In addition, the lack of observant by-standers allowed this transaction to take place. Laying there in thought about this random occurrence and the convenience of its allowance for a moment of quietude, a musical voice of concern was heard, startling him from his calm.

“You there, fallen stallion, are you injured or just some rapscallion” He took not moments to ponder this voice, attempting to arise as hastily as his body would allow, not wishing to be caught any further while displaying this weakened disposition. Despite these attempts to rectify his current position, he found himself on the verge of lethargy in his lack of strength to pick himself up. Again the voice chimed.

“I can see now this is no joke, nor the work of silly folk,” and a hoof endeavoured to aid him in his reascension to a non-prone bearing. His resistance, however, was made clear by his saying between ragged breaths:

“That is quite alright…Madam, please; I can manage on my own,” attempting to gain yet another more adequate standing, but again failing.

“That is nonsense, especially in my presence. I can see you are ailed by famine, for this I need no further examine,” helping him to his hooves despite his previous protest. The black and white of the stripes allowed for the easy identification of whom it was that had discovered him during a display of patheticism: Zecora. As she guided him deeper in the woods, towards what must be her hut, he took his time between heavy breaths to introduce himself as best his achy form could, in addition to confirming her identity by inciting from her a self-proclamation. His introductions were prevented further by the one who gave unto him his well needed, if not desired, aid, bidding that he focus not upon what he spoke, but on how to stay woke and walking.

Though the beauty of the supposedly terrifying terrain was not lost upon him, he did not spend the time he may have wished to linger upon it due to the urgency of his condition, and, sooner than he would have expected, though he focus was certainly not upon the elapsement of time, they were inside the hut where she held residency. During the journey his delicacy truly shewed as he began to sweat, the condition only becoming more deplorable as he began to fight to stay conscious. A pain had begun to burgeon in his side, towards his stomach, and he knew well the cause.

The inside of the hut was welcoming, at least to those who find the bizarre wonderful, but he had looked upon similar masks and decorations previously in his studies and knew their meanings to be that of a friendly nature. He was helped to lie down, head rested against some object her was unaware of, unsure of the location of his attaché. His extrospection was soon cut short, however, as he slipped into unconsciousness while residing propped up against a collection of soft bolsters, made of local plants fibres sew together for such a purpose, awaiting treatment.

Though she knew that cooking was to be done in order to restore this foolhardy pony, she needed to keep him conscious, or risk his entrance into a comatose state for a dangerously prolonged period. Seeing a small pot of water, she contemplated the rudeness of his waking, but found it necessary for the keeping of his life, and bespattered him with its contents. Initially he did not wake, but laid there motionless and unreactive, causing her turquoise eyes to widen in alarm. She approached him and placed a hoof upon his shoulder and lightly shook him saying,

“This is not the time for rest, and your death I would detest.” He chest could still be seen to rise and fall with his breath, and she breathed a sigh of relief at this, and with the addition of another nudge, he awoke somewhat, eyes open, but not necessarily furtive. Confident that she could keep him this way with the application of thinking she proceeded towards the simmering centralized cauldron and began to collect ingredients for her stew, as she spoke melodically,

“If Lovecraft is your name, I would not have seen you as lame, though I can see your need of food, and I would hope you not see me as rude, but: how is it you came to be so strewn? And since when have you eaten, for hunger certainly has you beaten?”

The many oddly shaped flasks and glasses through which she searched clinked and she used her time to find what she thought. Lovecraft, lying there in his dependent state was having trouble focusing, but his mannerism imbued him with the need to not let her questions go unanswered. Looking around at the brass coloured room with rather muddled thoughts he recalled his previous stay in Ballymare a few days prior and attempted to recount if with some difficulty.

“Be…before,” came his faint voice taking pauses to find his thoughts and choose his words,” I arrived he…here… I was lodging in Ballymare, at the Stal…lion Crossing Inn. A lack… of pecu…pecuniary funding res…ulted in the ina…ina…bility to supply my…self with foodstu…stu…stuffs,” A selection of carrots and local herbs were added to the now fully boiling cauldron, followed closely by a strange, yet fragrant spice. The warmth of the bellowed fire, in addition to this odour, did well to restore a bit of activity in his sullen limbs and mind.

The conversely achromatic and atramentous zebra that looked over her shoulder at him, while she was selected something to give the stew body and another herbal remedy that would repair this broken individual, curious at his silence. The angular blotches of black covered her body rather regularly, except on her forelimbs, followed into her hair which stood rigid across her forehead. The sounds of light tapping, the movement of the rings that adorned her neck and left leg, could be heard as she returned to her preparation seeing him awake. This light tinkling, in combination to the roiling bubble of the heated water gave an ambiance strangely soothing. His eyes moved towards the hanging glass flasks suspended by ropes as he continued, language much less faltering.

“That was three days prior… to the date of today, if I am not mistaken. Since then I have traveled here to speak with certain indi…viduals, as yourself, in addition to others. The others,” he took a break to close his eyes and breathe, a stitch of pain running through his side again, “I have paid visitation to antecedently to our own encounter however constrained. To answer your auxiliary question with more forwardness, it has been about three days since last I et.
She looked at him with a curious look of speculation, for she did not understand why he would have kept his hunger so under borne for so long. The next thought to occupy her mind was nearly converted to an auditorial and questionary form were it not for his continuance.

“I, rather clumsily, fell at the beginning of the path to the Everfree Forest and my languescences attained the better of me, for I thought none would discover me as I rested.”

“That is a strange thought,” replied Zecora, “especially if you hope to find what you sought.” He mulled this over shortly and retorted kindly.

“I should shew no lack of physicality in the presences of others for I do not wish them to divulge from their normal thoughts with worrisome ones, for such ideas are not a boon upon the mind.” A ladle was brought from a hook towards the opposite end of where he sat and now the aroma of the cookery was beginning to induce more hunger pains, and he wished to be rid of it.

“A strange and kindly way of thinking, yet of an ancient cup you may be drinking. To this I ask you, why not ask if hunger had you askew, of the ponies you attempted to view?” As the question came within his hearing, he lay down his head and closed his eyes as he replied.

“I already asked favours of them in my search of what they knew, and I have no currency with which to reimburse those I would gain from, nor can I proffer any services that could be used as collateral. Too many favours have I asked today and it pains me that I cannot provide payment for them, so asking for sustenance has been utterly out of the question. Additionally… I must request of my sister lodging under her roof for lack of the means otherwise,” giving the last piece of insight with a remorseful cringe of facial muscles. Zecora, preoccupied, did not take notice of this reaction, but continued her questioning of him to the effect of keeping him roused.

“Such morals would be unfamiliar, were I not of a culture very similar. However, when I pony dies of hunger, his morals are then his blunder. A saying of that culture, helpful when caught in a sepulchre.”

“’Tis better to die with one’s morals in tow, than lose them in the throes.” The words that came forth were of a brand so atypical to guests of usual attendance she stopped what she was doing and looked over the invalid lying against his rest with surprise at the expressionless face that had just uttered them. After a few seconds she shook off her general astonishment, and returned to the cauldron, and sought to question him further, but upon a subject of different class.

“The brew of which I prepare should be finished and soon be brought to bear.” Upon saying this, his head arose rather abruptly.

“I cannot accept your attempt to supply me for I cannot provide you with reimbursement, pecuniary or otherwise, nor can I provide and aiding service for the quality of my work is worth less than the dust upon which you may trod.”

A phrase as self-destructive as this was again to the amazement of Zecora, unexpected as it was, and, with an attempt to forgo this, replied with:

“I feel as an obligation to keep alive those I find, and I can see no alternative in my mind. Of my stew you must eat, myself I will not repeat.”

“I apologize for my refusal, but with my mentioning earlier, I am steadfast upon my standing.” The face that gazed upon her was so stalwart that she felt as if nothing short of forcing the consumption would be necessary to make mending possible.

Moving over to a collection of ceramic pots next to a selection of oddly shaped herbs and other plants of different colours, she selected one in particular, a red pot with yellow and blue stripes creating a quincunx pattern across the perimeter, and gathered a small hoofful of a blue-yellow dust matching that of the decoration. Lovecraft, head resting with eyes closed once again, was heedless of what was to take place and she approached him, throwing into his face the pulverulence.

He gave a gasp in surprise and promptly coughed in an effort to dislodge the foreign powder from his air-ways. Once the expectoration was finished he looked upon her visage with a look of confusion seeking for a plausible reason as to why this had taken place. Unsure of the circumstances enough to be unknowing of her guilt he inquired,

“What,” a wayward cough making its way into his throat, “what was that?” Turning back towards the large cooking container and collecting lingering ingredients she answered:

“I am sorry for the trickery, but you simply must eat from the crockery. The powder, of which you have breathed, is to the purpose of making you relieved.” As she said this his mind became rather fluid in its motion and inability to keep a solid decision. “Worry not about the duration, it will soon come to its summation. Long enough to consume, what is stew you may presume.” The final additives in place, she brought from a shelf of empty bowls a mud-brick vessel, and filled it with a bubbling brew heaped with carrots, celery, and other vegetables, the aroma startlingly fragrant. Placing the dish before him she bent down so as to hold his now befuddled head with one hoof and feeding to him the soup with the other.

The process lasted for several minutes, not including the addition of two addition bowl-fulls. During the last addition some control had began to return, but wishing to not be the receiver of another dosage chose to consume the brew more willingly. When complete volition was regained he gave what was akin to a glare towards the figure laying across the room consuming from a separate bowl the same mixture that he had just involuntarily feasted upon; however, the stare that intended to wither fell upon a resolute face, and soon it was mitigated, as the weakness previously holding his legs shackled began to disperse with the warmth that the stew provided; he felt he soon could stand without support.

As Zecora calmly and almost laughingly ate her cooking, eyes closed during sips, he began to flex his limbs in test of their reliability and soon rose above his previously semi-comatose place-holding. His gaze once again upon the now mischievous zebra.

“Though the usage of chemicals to gain my will was certainly uncalled for, I must remark upon the success of your trade and the celerity of which it takes effect.” His shoulders underwent movement to correct the alignment of his vest as he looked around the room for his saddlebag, finding it next to the aperture designated as the entrance. With all in order he sat down at the area where he had previously lain, Zecora still consuming her comestible in silence, patient for his readiness. Searching for his watch he gave check to the current time and, with an additional look towards the sky without, nodded in understanding that he still had ample time. After the return of the watch, and a collection of his senses, he said:

“I have been here for no longer than three-quarters of an hour, yet still you were able to prepare a stew, in apparently a fraction of the normally allotted time for such a feat. I ask how this would be achieved, for it would be quite a resource to acquire for my personal usage.” His breathing once again stable and his words their usual flow and selection, it seemed as if his sudden recovery were all the more astounding. “Additionally, I cannot say I am not surprise by my recovery, for from any correspondence I made with the mention of your skills, only the best could be said. Though I do enjoy much of modern medicinal means, I must admit that sometimes they are quite futile in comparison to older more ancient ways of the curation of ailments.” His compliments did not fall upon deaf ears, but as she set the bowl down, its content fully drained, her smile was of a clever sort, a smirk if nothing else.

“I thank you for these words; though I feel your speech is like that of lords. As to your question, a herb I use without suppression. The name of such is from my language, but its local name is Cook’s Age. It speeds the cooking time of all stewing applications, though it loses force in other culinary stipulations.” Quietly he muttered the name to himself, hoping to recall it later, before he said:

“I thank you again for my restoration, but I would have hoped the use of slight-handed means to be forgone, I will attempt to post to you an equivalent of the amount that was wasted upon my ponson when available.

“No such amount will be told, if I may be so bold. I gave to you as a charity, for I do not treat life like a parody.” Said she coolly, Lovecraft, however, attempted yet again to make effective his attempt at compensation,

“Then you may receive an amount in the post of an adequate setting as such,” alongside a slightly imperious smile, a similar was mirrored in her face.

“The mail cannot always be successful, and its destination not always reachable,” her eye brows rising as she sought to put to an end this dispute once and for all.

“Very well, I can see that no such measure can be made and will quiet myself to this end,” giving a nod of concedence he continued, “I feel that before time gets the best of me, I should move towards the goal that I had originally sought in my arrival.” His smile had disappeared by this time, his emotionless features reasserting their hold, an identical overcoming Zecora as well. “I apologize that I was unable to arrive under less appreciable circumstances, but as it appears this was unavoidable I must also extend my regret that I could not make more certain my purposes in my visitation through letters, but the achieveal of this was bordering on the strikingly unlikely. Though I understand that you were able to gain a letter detailing my plans of said visitation, for you knew outright who it was that you provided aid for at our initial meeting.”

“I did so receive such a letter, and lack of guests let me know better. As well I know a basic of your goal, of ancients’ legends you seek as old as coal, however, which they are I do not know.” Arising to retire both bowls used to a wash bin underneath a small setting of shelves while she said this.

“I am glad that you are aware of this, for from my research has turned up but little as of yet, and I find myself fortunate that I was within such easy distance from a fellow that may know the legends germane to your people, but specifically I seek to know the legend of the” she had placed one of the bowls into the water, and held the other in her mouth about to do the same when he finished, “Mi-go.”

Upon hearing this name mentioned aloud her eyes sprung wide open, mouth ajar, and the bowl fell to the floor, shattering. Standing up in alarm, Lovecraft, thought something must be awry to cause the previously dexterous individual to falter. Her breathing began to increase in pace and she wheeled upon him shouting in a language unfamiliar to him, but the undertones of anger were obvious, those of fear even more so. As she approached him, still carrying on in her vociferous tone, he retreated until he pressed up towards the wall, his apathy dispersing as a look of concern began to take over. Her yelling to no avail due to the language boundaries she began in the same tone, her words biting in their tones.

“You would speak that name aloud in my home, and say you read of my people from a tome! You know not what you speak, and such an exclamation is not for the weak!” Her teeth were grit in an accusatory posture as she starred him down. “In my home land there is a legend, of creatures whose name brings about an end! Of the hills they partook, seeking minerals in times none were awoke! Disgusting do they appear, should their ugly heads ever rear! They seek only to remain secret, and to say their name aloud would be your regret!” Her vociferation seeming at an end, Lovecraft taken aback by the ardent rebuke that had just assailed him, attempted to get a word in edgewise, but was halted but a continuation of her speech, if in a more hushed tone but with the same viciousness as before. “I would be careful on the ground I tread Lovecraft my friend or you may find that death is by far not the worse end.”

Her ranting at an end, Lovecraft took in what had just been told him and he believed every word that had been vehemently dictated to him. Still was she within a hair’s width of his face making sure that every word spoken had its mark of understanding, not breaking free of this encounter for a few seconds further. She turned her head away in frustration and with an amount of chagrin, before saying without another look towards Lovecraft:

“You have what you came for, and now I say leave with no more. Be gone. Do not prolong.”

Again hopeful of adding something in an attempt to rectify the situation, he could not think of any and shame came over him at his unpreparedness and ignorance upon the subject. No words further to be said, feeling that nothing could be said, he collected his saddlebag from beside the door, and headed back from whence he had come, sorrow accenting his face for the pain caused to one who had so sought to help him.

When he had reached a distant from the home of the shaman, Zecora moved to the door and looked out after him, shaking her end and sighing as she spoke, or rather prayed.

“I did not say those words to shame; please heed the words that I have spoke with great pain.” A final look was given to the shrinking figure of that pale walker hopeful for his safety on a journey that would affect him in ways he may never know, if not already.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Zecora knew little of what he had hoped to find, but told him that like the cockatrice and manticore legends may come from something real.” Overlooking the crowd quickly, the rapt faces hanging upon her every word, she continued, “Lovecraft, having gained all he could from the others, and so returned to Twilight to check upon the progress of her search. Despite the efforts of both her and Spike nothing could be found, as she had decided that she had returned the book after all. During the time spent during the search, she had managed to check whether or not his access to the Canterlot Library, to his apparent joy, though he did not do well to shew it beyond a gracious thanks you.”

She found almost humourous the nearly scripted areas which questions would be given, and even more was the tendencies that it be the same pony as the year prior, to the point that it seemed a part of the story itself. The perpetrator for this example was an older colt with a coat of custard yellow with a simplistic Rainbow Bolt costume, and his shock of white hair protruding randomly from his head. He spoke, voice a slightly gravely with only a minutely low pitch:

“What happened to the book?” the pink eyes expressing the knowledge of the answer, yet not devoid of the curiosity.

“The book itself was never found, Bisteeya, it was quite strange, the Canterlot Library had nothing there, nor did any further searches turn up evidence of its whereabouts. A shame really, that was the only copy, but such things can be miss-placed.” The question ended, he returned to his sitting position and continued to listen in general peace.

“Now to return,” she paused to recollect where she had trailed off, “ah yes, before leaving to request of his sister the allowance of staying the night he also asked if Twilight could aid him with gaining an audience with me. She did not see why he could not do it himself, but, after a while, had convinced her to create an appointment.”

Before she could continue, the ring of the clock tower told of the hour being close at hand, and she was forced to stop until its tolls had ceased. Time appeared not an issue as she listened to the deep bellowing, and her gaze went to one of her guards, Captain Rampart she believed as he walked by in the distance. Never restful are they she thought to herself, but soon the chiming had halted and she began again, free of interruptions.

The small stream babbled along in the evening sun and soon Luna’s moon would rise to take its place. The bridge over which he crossed made little sound in response to his hoof-falls due much to the covering of moss that it shared with the majority of his sister’s home, laden as it was with a yard of bird-houses both in the immediate trees and adorning the home itself. The small dens surrounding it shewed no sign of occupation in the dusk light, but soon they were behind Lovecraft as the reddened fence that juxtaposed with a sky blue metallic mailbox signified the entrance as being at hand.

The Dutch door was unadorned with any sort of marker, for all knew whose abode this was. Lovecraft sighed as he stood there in front of the door and finally rapped upon its wooden surface with his hoof. From within he could hear her converse with her beloved Angel as to her bafflement at who may be at the door. He closed his eyes momentarily in preparation for seeing her. Once the door had opened and the light spilled out from the inviting room.

With a meeting of their eyes, Fluttershy immediately shrank away from his gaze, though it was not menacing, and she spoke barely above a whisper.

“Oh… um… Hello, Howard.” The look that followed was one of exasperation at again the failure to be greeted in the way he requested, and he reminded her promptly.

“Please Sister; I prefer to be called Lovecraft.”

“And I prefer to be called Fluttershy, not Sister.” This retort surprised he for its forwardness was unlike his sister, but immediately did he understand what she meant, and cursed himself for overlooking such an over-sight as requesting an action that he did not allow another.

“I… I am sorry Sis…Fluttershy,” he said catching himself, letting his head fall in a defeated manner for he found it disgraceful that he had not requested of her what she would be preferred to be referred to as. No longer looking away she gazed upon his somber gesture and said in her soft voice:

“It’s okay Lovecraft. You don’t normally visit me, or visit at all for that matter, so I guess you need some help with something.” Head still bowed, he replied:

“You know my actions well, and I regret to inform you that it is not simply reverie that brings me here. I am in need room and board for the night, and I cannot lodge at the local inn due to lack of funds. I would request of you if I may remain here for the night if you are not inconvenienced.” Flustered at this pleading she retorted with a stream of uncertainty, some perhaps feigned, until finally she accepted him under her care, a look not of disdain, but rather welcome across her face.

The inside of Fluttershy’s home was as the exterior, covered in homes and dens for the many small animals she cared for, and through the window across from the door could be see the posterior yard with even more accommodations for additional creatures. The fireplace was lit and roaring, allowing for a warmth to linger in the house as a means to stave off the cool embrace of the nighttime. The carvings of butterflies across the door’s arch gave to the loving ambiance that the many holdings may have. The couch in the back, below the window, occupied by a rather cross looking rabbit, Angel nonetheless. The green floorboards thumped soundly as he walked along, his steps light in comparison to that of his sister, the centre carpet nearly muffling them completely. The gaze of Angel upon Lovecraft was not that of welcome, and his crossed arms furthered this idea.

Upon the fire’s cookery sat a pot of boiling liquid that smelled slightly sweet, as if some sort of a sweetened vegetable brew. Seeing his gaze drift towards the pot, Fluttershy asked:

“Oh, I was making some vegetable soup for me and Angel, would you like some?” After the offer had registered he answered:

“No, Thank you Fluttershy, I am well enough as it is.”

“Not eating again?”

“I have my reasons,” he said gently, turning away to survey the remainder of the room, “please I wish to not speak of it further.”

“Oh, okay.” She kicked her left forelimb out in front of her and then retracted it rather nervously, unaccustomed to the company of her brother, but more so his amplified stoic mannerisms. After some moments the insistent taping of Angel’s foot could be heard, his glowering features obvious in the message he tried to convey.

“Where shall I be bedding?” Asked he, wishing to dally no longer.

“It’s the upstairs guest room,” she said looking to avoid his eyes again, “First room on the right.” He nodded as these were all the directions he needed, and proceeded up the steps to prepare for rest. His steps could be heard throughout the house until he finally stopped inside of the room his was told.

Another knock soon came at door, as she heard the portal close to the guest room, and again did Fluttershy question Angel about the sudden influx of guests tonight. However, this time the orbs that greeted her were of light cerulean and bouncing up and down with the light pink body to which they were attached. The deeper pink of the mane and tail also bounced jovially with the rest of her body, as the fast paced voice of Pinkie Pie made itself heard.

“Hi Fluttershy! Rainbow Dash told me your brother was here so I wanted to throw him party to welcome him, and since I never knew you had a brother, I guess it will also be a ‘Nice To Meet You Brother We Just Met’ party, and since he’s leaving to-morrow I guess it will also be a going-away party, and…”

“Oh…Pinkie?” attempted to interrupt Fluttershy,

“And I just wanted to ask,”

“Pinkie?”

“What kind of cake does he like, and what is his favourite colour so I know what to get for balloons, and…

“Pinkie!” this time the her interrupt was loud enough to be heard and Pinkie Pie recognised this by saying,

“Yeah, Fluttershy,” as she stopped her bouncing, “what is it?”

“You can’t throw a party for my brother.”

“Aw, but that’s boring, I’m sure he’d love my parties, can I meet him,” she said trying to look for him over her head, her bouncing having resumed. However, Fluttershy was resolute in barring her access, and with an identically steadfast voice said,

“Pinkie you can’t throw a party for Howard, he doesn’t like them.” This managed to provoke a gasp from Pinkie and she continued her insistence,

“WHAT!? Who doesn’t like parties!? I’ll have to shew him a really good party, then he’ll like them!” Again did she try to push past, and again was she blocked, “Come on Fluttershy let me in so I can take him to a party.”

“No!” said Fluttershy, a bit of declaratory within her voice, “He doesn’t like parties, so I think you should leave… at least for today,” Her voice softening again as she finished.

“Just one quick party,” and once more did she attempt to move past her. The unwillingness of her friend to not throw a party for her brother drove her to use the only thing that might have worked. When Pinkie stopped to look at Fluttershy she stared at her in a method as to propagate the compliance of her pink friend. Slightly taken aback by this usage of the Stare that she paid full attention to what she said next.

“Howard does not like parties and I’m sorry Pinkie Pie, but you’ll just have to leave.” Her much more forward approach elicited a respect for her wishes from Pinkie Pie, even at the denial of a party. Backing away slightly at the ferocity of her gaze, she replied,

“Oh… okay, I won’t. I’ll just be headed out then.” With acquiescence at hand Fluttershy ended her leer and reverted to her usual friendly self, and gave Pinkie Pie a farewell as she turned to leave in addition to another apology that she could not do as she wished. After closing the door, Pinkie thought it was so strange that Fluttershy would use the Stare on her, and about how her brother disliked parties. As she pondered she came to the conclusion that perhaps he had an allergy to parties, as this was the only logical cause for this, and she vowed to invent the first hypoallergenic party, so that nopony could ever be left out.

Lovecraft would have needed to rely upon deafness to not have heard the exchange that took place downstairs, and he was grateful at his sister’s conviction to prevent his attendance of a celebration. It was very true his aversion to parties, and it had stemmed from his colthood, when during such a festivities a nervous breakdown had occurred, the reason behind it was never truly isolated, but he had always felt it was the fete that had brought it upon him.

With his saddlebag placed upstairs, next to the bed, he returned downstairs to see his sister, looking at his watch before he went and noting that he would retire for the night soon. When he had reached ground level, he saw his sister sitting on the couch adjacent to Angel, the commotion subsided. Looking upon her he asked,

“Si… Fluttershy?”

“Yes, Lovecraft?”

“As you are acquainted with the local weather control, might I ask if you are aware of any cloud cover scheduled for this night?” She thought for a moment and replied:

“Oh no, there shouldn’t be any clouds tonight,” Angel giving a wayward glare towards Lovecraft, “only the moon tonight.”

“That is good,” he nodded in approval as he looked away in thought, “I shall retire then, a biddence of good-night sister for you, you as well Angel.” Fluttershy returned it, where as the white rabbit remained unmoved. Nodding he moved up the stairs again and the closing of the door prompted a look from Angel towards his caretaker which compelled her to respond with:

“He’s not so bad Angel, you just have to get to know him.” However, the rabbit’s opinion seemed unaltered by this sentiment. Above them Lovecraft looked out upon the now darkened sky and towards the glowing disk that was Luna’s moon. The simple room in which he boarded was to his liking, the linens of the bed a plain red with oak headboard and the window had the ability to be shuttered, and the view of the posterior yard and forest quite enjoyable. The shelf above the headboard held the candle that lit the room and a clock to give the time. With door closed he removed his vest, folded, and placed it upon a chair that he shared the room with.

Standing there looking over the vest, he appeared to be pondering some unknown action and with several moments of contemplation he appeared to stand on the side of its partaking. Moving over to the saddlebag that had been set adjacent to the bed, he opened the left most flap and extruded from it’s inside a rather rotted and foetid tome. The words along the cover that give clue to its name, and perhaps its purpose, were worn and some had even gone with its decrepitude. Only the letters ‘N c nom on’ were visible, however, the script of those remaining were enough to inspire a certain amount of a queer abhorrence.

Soon the tome had been opened and, placing it upon the bed, he sitting on the floor, he began to peruse its contents, after searching for an obviously specific page within. Were one to actually view the innards, only a jumble of incoherent scribbles would be seen, with illustrations giving a similar effect as that of the broken title. Yet despite this he read through with great certainty. At a point in this progress the complacency mirrored in his face became transient, and began to falter. So too did the steadiness of his breathing become uncertain, as its intensity fluxed to one of higher pace.

As his eyes flowed over the strange scrawling, a look of aversion came over him, but soon this escalated and took on the disposition of fear, and finally horror. He closed the book suddenly then, eyes closed, and attempted to steady his breathing. He was shuddering rather ferociously, and he sat there hoof on the now closed binding, a brown and blackened material of some strange substance better left unknown. Time passed slowly as an attempt at recovery was perpetrated, and soon the seconds became minutes until the shaking had finally subsided.

Returning the book to its holding and extinguishing the candle, he stood in the darkness of the room, allowing for his eyes to adjust to the new lighting. It did not take long, for the beam of the moon brightened the room enough to easily see around, in addition to some light creeping in from underneath the doorway. He moved to the window and looked upon the spectacle that was the moon’s allure. A heavy sigh expelled before he said aloud:

“Perhaps tonight I can sleep with the protection of the moon’s light.” His head dropped as he sat there in front of the window basking in the light of that lunar body, and thoughts of his three days of endless travel returned to him, and soon the need of sleep overtook him and, closing the shutters, he crawled into the bed that was given so graciously by his sister. Underneath the cover, he laid his head upon the soft cushion and drifted off to sleep for the first time since leaving Ballymare.

The scream that assailed her ears woke her quite suddenly, and at first she thought it was a dream that had awoken here, but soon a successive scream of equal quality cemented this concept.

“Howard!” she whispered in fear, throwing from her embrace the counterpane from under she was, wings opened mirroring the panic she felt. Forgoing the lighting of a candle due to the urgency, she rushed, using her wings to speed herself through the door when a triennial blood-curdling cry sounded from behind the oppositely closed door. Arriving at the door she tried to open it, but found it locked following a fourth terror-stricken yell. In the darkness of the hallway she pounded upon the door shouting at the occupant.

“Howard! Unlock the door! Howard! Howard!” But the only sound in response was yet another scream the subsequent silence filled only by an incoherent babble of sounds. Tears beginning to stream down her face as she felt helpless in the aid of her brother, she whispered painfully for him to unlock the door. No more outcries could be heard, but this only acted to further the alarm she felt, and, seeing no alternative if unsure of her strength, backed from the door reared up on her front legs and kicked down the obstruction.

Though the room was dark, the light of the moon that spilled in from the window gave enough light to see by as she franticly looked about for the figure of her brother. The coverings of his bed were thrown to the floor a tangled mess, with pillows tossed across the room, creased and contorted. Though she could not see her brother, that unintelligible muttering still that held detectability gave evidence of another presence. Calmly, or more so hesitance at this unsettling scenario, she moved to the opposite side of the bed, poking her head around low, fearful of what she might find.
She gave a gasp upon viewing his curled form, shaking profusely, one hoof place against his forehead as if in thought, the other waving through the air as if nervously giving a panegyric. Total concern shewed in her face, and she rushed forward to his side and took his head in her arms, previous hesitance banished from her actions. His tremors were nearly uncontrollable, and from this close proximity his gibbering could be made to form strange words as he spoke them constantly in a hushed tone.

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.” Minutes passed as she held him, waiting for this episode to pass, concern displayed through the creases in her eyes and the now drying tears. As time passed he shortened this to simply “Cthulhu fhtagn,” all the while he did not look at her, his eyes staring away at some vista of reality she hoped never to see. A bit of control seemed to return to him as he looked to her, his chanting finished, and asked, voice quivering:

“Why do they chant those words so? In the fires of trees, and in that city of buildings so horrifying in their foreign design? Why?” tears welling in his eyes, words a harsh whisper, “I hear their words so foreign from my own, yet I understand the horrors of which they speak. They say when the stars are right he will rise from his house, how can I know what they say?” The fear in his face was of something she could never know, and she held him closer as she said:

“I don’t know Howard, but they’re gone now, you’re here with me.”

“Do not let them take me back, sister, those ghastly things with rubbery wings that drag me from my sleep to those grey worlds in nightmare’s well, those things that carry me with their stinging touch without sound and without faces, as they creep towards me on their skeletal legs, hands like bones in their lack of substance.” His hoof touching the side of her face as he pleaded with her, begged her. His hoof dropped as tears flowed down his cheeks, burying his face as he pressed against her.

“I won’t,” came her solid reply.

“They whisper their names to me,” came his muffled voice, twinges of terror rampant within his words, “Iä! Nyarlathotep, Iä! Shub-NIggurath the Black Ram of The Forest with a Thousand Ewes, Iä! Yog-Sothoth, give praise to the crustaceans of Yuggoth and their Tok’l. Always they say these things, always I understand them…always,” his shudders returning at the mention of these names. Stroking his head she tried to calm him by having him hush about these mentionings.

“Shh…Howard, shh. Don’t talk about them; you’re here now, shh. You don’t have to be scared.” Her surroundings altered as she recalled the years directly prior to her residence in Ponyville, and her temporary living at the home of her brother in Rode Island. Having only gained her cutie-mark a few years prior she hoped to gain experience helping with the animals in the town of her brother. His only condition was that he be left alone during the nights he would read relentless by candle light: every night.

During one of these escapades, she recalled being wakened by his frightful screams, she had tried to ignore so paralyzed was she, a result of her timidity, but when they would not cease and became so fierce she felt that he was in danger. Despite her intense fear of what was to come, she entered the study where he normally slept and found him shaking in the corner as she had to-night, even if the time it took her to reach the room was of a length much protracted. She remembered listened to his horrified whispering. It was at that moment that she felt she truly had a brother, for though she had fears of the world, whether justified or not, he felt something greater than all of her frightened anxieties, and needed a crutch on which to lean. His episode had lasted for days, and even after it passed the night terrors returned.

He had told her that they were not new ailments, and that he had felt them throughout his colthood, but he did not wish to talk of these afflictions very oft, nor of the things he would see in nightmarish experiences, except during the nights when they struck would he whispered queer and terrible things. It was the care for him over that year, which taught her and refined the kindness that was now such a defining trait. She had only left him after he had assured her of his well-being in addition to help her procure a house here in Ponyville. She had hoped his so called ‘Night-Gaunts’ would end their ceaseless torment, but it appears that they had not subsided after all.

She continued to hold him for many minutes, humming softly. The minutes turned to hours, and his tormented sobs finally reduced to laboured breathing, eventually becoming slow and uniform as sleep once again took him. He remained in the arms of his sister as he had once done, sheltered from the whispers by her love.
Once the feint lightening of the sky that foreshadowed the arrival of dawn, she felt confident that he could remain alone, and, after moving his surprisingly light frame into the bed and returning the cover, she returned to her own bed, to sleep the last remaining hours until activity would begin in town. A few hours passed until she awoke from her slumber. Seeing the place of the sun through her window in the sky she knew the time was nigh that she would need to prepare for the days chores and errands.

She exited the covering of her pink and red butterfly quilt and opened the door to her room and went across the hallway, the door to the guest room slighting ajar due to its being kicked in during the night. She pushed open the door and said:
“Good Morning How…” but was cut short by his absence. The bed was made and the pillows replaced, with nothing to shew his former residence there except for two silver buckles placed upon a pillow, a compensation for the broken door. She ran down stairs in a sorrowful silence, and flung open the door to look for him, but no one was there, the trail untraveled. Though she felt unhappy at the suddenness of his departure, this did not hurt her, for she knew this to be how her brother always felt about her care of him, or about the actions of anypony that would be so selfless towards him: shame and the feeling that he did not deserve it. But the one thing she hoped most of all as she closed the door behind her was that he would remain safe during his journey.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A large cart pulled by Big Macintosh, dressed in yellow hard-hat and vest of tools as was the garb of a construction-worker, did well to prevent the stories continuance. After halting near the collections of younger ponies, from the cart itself did Fluttershy dislodge. After a wave of good-bye and thanks to the cart’s puller, she moved towards the front of the crowd and spoke with Luna, her countenance slightly nervous due to the number of eyes trained on her at that moment. Arriving at the front of the group, near where Luna sat, she greeted:

“Oh, um, Hello, Princess Luna. I’m sorry I’m late.” Luna’s response came confident and reassuring.

“It is fine Fluttershy; nopony can be expected to be on time always. Come sit, join us,” waving her hoof towards the gathering. With a simple nod, she gave another worrisome look at the group and sat at the edge of the crowd. Once she was settled, Luna began to tell her tale again.

“He left Ponyville that morning following his information gathering rather suddenly,” a look going towards Fluttershy, with her shying away from it, “and, after receiving from Twilight the written request for his audience with me and his access to the Canterlot Library, he made his way to the train station and took the earliest express to the capital.”
“The journey he took was not a long one, for soon he had arrived at the city gates and made his way towards the Library. From what I was told by the guards who allowed him access, he spent many hours there before leaving, the majority of the day spent there as a method of waiting the appointed time for his meeting with me. The then Corporal Randall, said, however, that when he did leave from the study he seemed disappointed, as If he had found close to nothing. Despite this possible unsettlement, he made his way from the Library and was brought to my own homestead on the opposite side of the mountain, Nightholm, as the sun came closer to its setting, where he was met by my own personal guard,” her eye once again catching the figure of Captain Rampart in the distance, one whom had met Lovecraft.

The ground below seemed a far drop as the wind blew past him, the chariot being carried by two of Celestia’s guards, Sergeant Riff and Private Raff siblings as had been told by Celestia when presenting the letter, necessary to prove his credibility towards identification. The Princess was very gracious during their initial meeting and he was glad that she had not requested of him the reason for the audience with Princess Luna, for as his sovereign he would have had no choice but to answer without hesitation, as is proper.

The vision that the lofty chariot provided was of the landscape as a whole, green of the beyond hills and forests visible in the late evening sun, warmed by its solar embrace, but weary of a day’s toil. The proximity to the sheer cliff-face did well to slightly unnerve the passenger. With limbs tucked underneath to decrease their wind resistance, the golden armour which they wore began to reflect the evening sun, until passing beyond its reach in the shadow of the mountain. Their plate-shirts
and crested helmets dulled in the lack of sunlight, and even their majestic wings lost a bit of their lustre.

The entire journey had been made in silence, both due to the usual temperament of the guards but also the habitual tendencies of their escorted. The two brothers, one of ivory, with auburn tail shewing, may have held seniority to his brother, but from their exchanges the younger mustard-coated colt was treated as equal, in lieu of the stark contrast of ranking. Soon the darkened contours of the obsidian palace that was Luna’s own place of rest came into view.

In a huge alcove was it set, deep enough so that Sunlight could not reach beyond the entrance. Candles were lit in preparation for guests, for, as the protectorates, the personal guard of her majesty Princess Luna could see without the aid of a light source. One difference, however, that verified the need for this alcove place devoid of all but artificial light, was that, unlike the Princess, her guards could not easily transit between the dark and light without some pain, and, wishing to keep those who so readily came to her side upon returning to her place as Raiser of the Moon, she made sure that the newly constructed manor, more akin to a city, would be able to accommodate not only herself, but the vast number of guardians as well, with room for the expansion of their own families, should they be capable, in comfortable conditions, so ardent was she in her reparations.

Lovecraft recalled reading about her famous guard, and their infamity at one point in their long history. Once they had been scattered throughout Equestrian soil, and though Princess Celestia had offered to make place for them in Canterlot, they refused on the basis that: as long as their Princess was exiled so to would they be, a testament to their fierce loyalty. Celestia, though she respected this, attempted to allot them land, but again did they refuse saying they would make their own way in the world, until the day came that their Princess returned.

It was said that the night that Princess Luna returned to the land of Equestria, after the initial celebrations by the Canterlot populace, a great black cloud appeared at the waning of the sun; its destination appearing to be that of the city. However, the cloud soon defined as it came closer and closer to the gates, and the guards were unsure of what may onslaught them, but the Captain of the Guard, Shining Armour, told them to lay down their arms, their brothers were coming home. On that night, the streets were filled with the ranks of Luna’s warriors, their numbers swelled over the centuries without her. It was said that upon seeing their beloved Princess for the first time, these scions of a once great order shed tears of the purest joy for all to see. Even the Princess could barely speak so affected was she by their undying loyalty.

The construction of Nightholm began immediately, and with the usage of magic, in addition to aid by the guards themselves, it was brought into fruition with only a fortnight having passed. The obsidian parapets and towers were said to envy that of Canterlot’s, but only those of nocturnal eyes could ever understand its true beauty. Even now, in the evening sun much of the fortress was hidden by the shadow supplied of the alcove, only the great obsidian columns of the entrance visible. Two burning braziers marked the entrance, and though none could be seen, watchful eyes could be felt along the hidden ramparts. It was not unnerving; in fact Lovecraft felt it no different from being eyed by the guards of Canterlot.

As they landed in front of this entrance, he collected his saddlebag, which he had clutched protectively during the journey, unable to secure either flap. Dismounting the chariot, he bid to his carriers farewell and thanks before they left him, guards of Nightholm having been secured to ferry him on his return journey with the rising of the moon. Looking behind him towards the leaving transportation, he took in a quiet breath and sighed the same, and proceeded into the dark confines of the candled hallway, a line of alternating candles adorning the walls, giving direction.

Though not much could be seen down the hallways that he passed, some opening into what could very well have been great squares or bazaars, much could be heard. They were not whispers that disarmed the senses, but the same as what could be heard during the morning hours of any town. The movement of boxes and readying of wares for sale, the laughter of early risers, and even the hasty hoof-falls of playful foals and fillies, were only some of the sounds that his ears caught, and occasionally the flickering of yellow glowing strangely luminescent orbs could be seen, the eyes of the those that occupied these homes. He knew to where he was being lead: the centre of Nightholm, the private chambers of the Princess herself, situated near the Pool of Reflectance.

For long minutes he walked the twists and turns of the blackened cobblestone walk-way, the light clicking under his hooves echoed as he soldiered on. As time moved forward, in pace with his own advance, he heard the slight echoings of flowing water, realizing the closeness with his destination. As the Doppler Effect had its way with his senses, the water of the Pool became more obvious.

How he desired to view it in its full splendour, this memorial of the ones who had held their loyalty through the years. He knew all too well the singular aperture in the cave-top that was closed during the day by a steel hatch, but opened every night, and how the light from the moon would reflect from this point throughout its entire time in the night sky creating a cascade of gentle light akin to that of the stars of the sky, as they scintillate on the deeply ebony walls. The reflectance also plays with the optics of those with nocturnal vision giving a great flowing affect as of the great galaxies and nebulas that also reside in the night sky.

A slight glowing from the water could be viewed as he walked over what must have been a bridge, a simple redirection of candle light, and he could see that the waters passed beyond the field of vision given by the soft flames. Their expanse he could only speculate at, so poor was the extent of the light provided. Soon he walked upon a ramp that must have been the final procedure until at the entrance of the Princess’s quarters. His eyes trailed upwards and in this blackness did he view a multitude of glowing orbs, golden and in many pairs. Fear was not what he felt, but wonderment and awe, for the eyes that looked on were not of frightening creatures hidden away in the night, but of cats’, docile, yet ever aware of your presence. Some of those hidden look upon him as he gazed up at them floating as they were, but soon he returned his eyes to the artificial inclination.

The door, a carved ebony masterpiece depicting the transition of ponies to their nighttime incarnation, had candles suspended from outcroppings on either side. After giving a moment to study its artistic rendering, he looked for some sort of door bell, and, upon finding none, simply knocked. He was met with immediate respond by the opening of the door. Walking in, feeling that he had been designated to do so, he was immediately greeted by a mare of darkly coloured mane and coat, eyes glowing, but not in the usual gold, but rather jade.

“Hello, Mister Lovecraft,” she bade, not allowing him to give a similar response, “Princess Luna is still resting, but should be awake fairly soon, please follow me to the waiting room.” Her cutie mark that of a musical note coupled with cup of some steaming contents, she began to move away from him. The doors behind him were closed, and two guards, both pegasii, looked at him, one bearing a barely visible silver scar in the candle light, their cutie marks hidden by their armour. The mare that greeted him paused, tasseled ears moving slightly, and looked behind her and waited for Lovecraft to continue on, the guards following as he did. Much of the scenery was hidden by the lack of light, but the many eyes of those beyond the lights reach were visible, the fellow caretakers most likely.

Lovecraft was surprised by the range of colours that shone back at him, teals, red, blues, browns, some in-between. He reprimanded himself at this thought however, how could he be so ignorant as to not expect always such diversity in everything? Not wishing to leave this opportunity to uncover some information of this sect of ponykind he asked his guide,
“I do not wish to be rude, but I am curious as to the effect your eyes have with their nocturnality?” As they continued to walk, a now soft carpet underhoof, she replied.

“If you mean what can I see, any with eyes like mine can’t see the all of the same things as you may, we see in a different light spectrum all together in fact. Take for instance these walls, or my mane,” waving her hoof towards the ones that seemed as dark as the rest of the city, “it is richly covered in many colours, some of which you may never see, though it’s not as pronounced as it would be without the candles, because light, the kind you see, interferes with it, like the dark does to yours. The sun looks entirely different to us, it is shades of green and blue, but much too intense for it to be viewed directly.” Thoroughly rapt by this divulgence, he could only listen on in interest, thanking her for the piece of information when she had finished.

“Thank you Miss?”

“Star, Star Treader”

“Thank you Miss Star Treader, for that fascinating piece of information,” his gratitude and sincerity obvious in his voice, though features only slight etched in sincerity.

“No problem Mister Lovecraft,” she said turning her head to the side with a smile he could just barely make out.
Soon the waiting room floor was tread upon, as explained by his guide.

“Here we are, when the Princess is ready to see you I will come get you,” she began to walk back out of the room the candles previously lit for the path having been extinguished, the one he stood next to the only remaining. She said as she passed the guards who had followed them she said

“Nacht, Rampart,” looking to each in turn, her voice almost playful, they moving to attention at the mention of their names, “try to give our guest a little room would you?” Their response came in unison.

“Understood, Miss Treader.” She gave each a suspicious look before exiting the room completely. The two guards moved to either side of the door and then into the darkness that held the rest of the room beyond the candle, their eyes still visible. Lovecraft longed to see what they could see, the simple explanation by Miss Treader enough to excite his mind as to a new vista of beauty just a step out of reach. He felt, though, that were he to of had the ability all his life he would wonder the same thing about the eyes through which he now saw.

Left to his thoughts, he did not seek to move past the outskirts of the candle’s light, unsure of any obstructions that he may trip over, or worse, damage. He looked around to see what he could make out, and the vague outlines of statues were visible near what must have been a wall the way it reflected the light. Looking upwards, he saw the orbs of other staff, on what must have been an upper story landing or balconic walk-way. He did not attempt to speak with the guards, leaving them to their duties, and decided upon checking his watch.

During this inspection, the voice of Star Treader sounded, causing him to look up, hastily returning his watch,

“The Princess is now ready to see you, please follow me.” He Nodded in comprehension and walked after her, the guards Nacht and Rampart again doing the same. Yet again were the candles lit, but this time they took a right turn up a set of stairs. From this vantage point he could hear the talking and laughter of staff, and he found it strange that he was so deaf previously, yet aware now. Shaking it off as simple ignorance or a tricky set of acoustics in the architecture of the building, he continued up the stairs. The candles were held from holders jutting from the sides of the railing, and soon they were in front of a set of carven doors, similar to the front, but with the depiction of the sun and the moon spinning in the cosmos, light spilling out from underneath it. Closing her eyes, the same as the guards that ensued, Star Treader opened the door and let him enter before closing it behind him.

The room was brightened by many candles as a preparation for her more accustomed guest. She stood on what appeared to be a balcony that overlooked much of the invisible city, which was bordered on either side by another. The walls were as bituminous as the rest of the city-state, but with the contrast being the addition of tapestries mirroring the stained glass depictions of the Canterlot audience chambers. The simple round bed held its position at the right end of the room, fit with pillows and other cushions of identical purpose. Betwixt each of the tapestry was there also a small bookcase, covers keeping familiar colours, despite their jet shelves.

The Princess turned to him as the door closed fully behind him, and he immediately bowed very low introducing himself.

“I give my greetings to The Princess, Howard Philip Lovecraft; I seek your audience so that I might discuss a matter with thee.” Her night-sky hair flowed as she moved closer, a look not overly pleased shewing itself on her face.

“Do you wish to mock me by speaking that way?” her tone less than appreciative. Looking up at this question he rose begging her pardon, for she misunderstood his intentions.

“The Princess misunderstands what it is I wouldst seek to convey to thee. I hail from the creed of antiquarianism, and have been entranced with the ways and speech of yore. It becomes difficult to speak with others when I am so of times previous.” Her look softened at this revelation, responding friendlily, reverting to an older method of speech.

“We understand the pursuit thou wouldst endeavour, in addition to the difficulty in adjustment,” He took in her beauty, finding her ability to speak in this manner with relative ease a relief and refreshing, “It is thine Princess’s understanding from Our sister, Princess Celestia, that on the request of Twilight Sparkle, though hath asked this audience in an attempt to have questions that thou holdest be answered. However, We must inquire as to why thine saddlebag is devoid of its buckles?” Looking at her while he thought he replied,

“I was engaged in feat of ponison matters, and was in dire need of compensational means.”

“Then no further will we ask of thine affairs. Now unto what thou wouldst ask of Us.” Her charcoal wings folded neatly against her back as she waited for him to make his request. Not wishing to keep her waiting he took only a moment to choose his words.

“That which I seek to know, has to do with thine imprisonment in the moon, when overtaken by the influence of the miasma,” her features lost some their warmth as he continued, “and things you may have heard.” Her voice, absent of a part of the friendliness, was colder than it had been as she turned away from him.

“As detailed in the writings of Nimaru of Nascent, We remembered very little but the vague dreams of friendly images, and the voice of Princess Celestia.” She seemed to be talking matter-of-factly as she spoke this, a subject she clearly did not enjoy.

“That is why I would ask of thee such things; thou wert wrapped in dreams for a millennial span, and I ask if names I have learned wouldst be known to thee as well.” She continued towards the balcony looking upon the flowing lights that her eyes could detect, relaxed by their elegance.

“Speak what thou wouldst.” His breathing heightened as he called to memory words of nonsense to all who did not know them, a slight shiver taking place in one of his limbs,

“Nyarlathotep, Shub-Niggurath, Yuggoth, Cthulhu, Mi-go.” He could not continued further with these names, thoughts escaping down into the pits of nether where he had heard those horrid sounds, sweat beginning to bead on his otherwise placid face, taking great strides to keep hidden the emotions he felt. Preoccupied by the suppression of his terror, he did not see as Luna struggled to keep her wings from betraying her apprehension.

Though the initial names did little to move her, a feeling of utter terror came over the Princess as he spoke the final three, she knew not why she felt this way, but her mind conjured up vague memories, memories of whispers in the darkness, memories of nightmares betwixt the dreams. A moment passed before, Lovecraft, having done all he may to quell his thoughts, straightened and attempted to steady himself. He looked at her supposedly placid figure, still turned away. Assuming she was pondering what he gave, he awaited her response, hopeful of some repose, his apparent phlegmatism holding fast. However, it did not come, for she asked only this:

“Why dost thou seekest this knowledge?” her voice slightly heightened in strain. Feeling as if he must give of himself to receive what he sought he began to unveil his intentions.

“As I wish for the disclosure of information of a private nature to the Princess, so to should I be expected of the same. The answer is simple; through my own scrutiny I have found that my terror-stricken form is utterly worthless. Though all of existence is as so, the singular allotment by our egalitarian culture is the ease of understanding one’s purpose as is bestowed by our artisan marks.”

“Artisan mark, a term we have not heard for some time,” remarked Luna attempting to mask her own emotions.

“As is my way,” came his reply moving towards her to look out the balcony at the dark city, “in all the years of my life I have never found that purpose which allows the blindness to this bleak reality. However, it is through this that I find that the search for new knowledge and the excitement that it brings nearly overcomes these crumbling truth; it is the only reason I still breathe. I do not know why I continue on, perhaps it is the hope of the recreation of feelings that I held once as a youth on new discoveries, perhaps it is monomania, but all I know is that that knowledge is all that keeps my life in this world. I believe the words I spoke, if words they could be called, are not simple dream-borne phantasies, but something of another reality.”He waited there, his gaze upon the darkness of Nightholm, giving to his sovereign time to answer.
Her answer was swift and forward, barely any time used to think it over.

“We… cannot say we are familiar with what thou hast told unto Us, and feel as if thou wouldst seek to find meaning in dreams that are notorious for their lack of such,” meeting his eyes she continued, seeing the disappointment make a very feint mark upon his features, a note of finality in her voice, “It is Our thought that thou hast an issue with un-mended feelings, and in an attempt to aid one of Our subjects, as we feel is our duty as Princess, I will set for you a meeting with the Canterlot Heart Healer.”

“An empath?” he asked a mixture of surprise and worry hidden behind his mask of stoicism.

“Again, another term not heard by these ears for many a year. Midnight Blossom is her name, and she is quite successful in the ways of empathy. Now,” she said bringing him towards the door, “It is nearly time for the Moon to rise, I will see that you are brought back to Canterlot, and the appointment with Midnight Blossom be made tonight,” going to a desk that he had not noticed at the entrance and withdrawing a piece of scroll and quill, began to write upon it, the blue aura of her magic engulfing it, “and this order should take care of all that is needed.” She gave it to him, and he placed it within his satchel.

He bowed, graciously thanking her for allowing his audience, and as he attempted to take his leave, the Princess stopped him and said:

“Should thou desire to forge ahead on this path, we would ask that thou wouldst keep correspondence through letters with thine Princess.” He seemed unsure of her as he searched her face for something giving discredit, but found none, however, something of a smile did she find on his.

“Of course, my Princess, it wouldst be an honour as no other,” bowing for yet another time. She then smiled at him.

“Good,” and opened the door to the stair-well that had brought him to her chambers, closing it as he left. She breathed a sigh of relief at his departure and he wings opened as those terror-mingled memories returned to her. Again did she move to the balcony, but the beauty of Nightholm did nothing to relax her, for the thoughts of hers were of things she would have hoped lost to time, things that she had never been able to share with any, even her sister, Celestia. Things, she had heard while dreaming, from some whisperer in the darkness.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“With great reluctance did he travel towards the home of Midnight Blossom, the Heart Healer. Ever since the acceptance of Winter Willow into the ranks of the palaces’ occupants, a Heart Healer, or Empath as Lovecraft called them, a place was always made. These Heart Healers hold a special talent, they are able to share the pains of others, and they take it upon themselves in an attempt to lessen it. Usually their activities are successful, but they can be susceptible to much pain and anguish. Midnight, held direct lineage to Winter Willow, though not to say that this is the reason for her talent, for this ability can manifest in anypony. Any who can aid the pain of another is said to hold this power within themselves to a certain extent, but ponies as Midnight can accomplish this through more direct means, however, sometimes directness does not always mean success. Lovecraft, however, was delayed in his attendance and, due to a discrepancy, never met with Midnight Blossom.”

As opposed to the usual questions asked by the younglings, the raised hoof this time came from none other than Fluttershy. Smiling, though a smirk would be a more correct word, Princess Luna recognised Fluttershy by name, asking:

“Yes, Fluttershy?” The response that was heard was certainly more bold than one would have expected from the timid pony, but many strange characteristics shewed themselves when the subject of her brother was brought to bear.

“It’s not like Howard to not keep appointments, what happened to make him miss it?” Princess Luna remembered when Fluttershy first attended this telling of her brother’s story and the surprise she had incited when she not only came of out her home during Nightmare Night, but actively participated in the celebrations, at least this activity.

“The streets of Canterlot are long and winding, and, as he was unfamiliar, he became lost and by the time he arrived at the home of Midnight Blossom he thought it much too late to bother her with something as trivial as what he thought himself to be.” Saying this caused the two of them to look away from each other, both recalling the self-destructive nature of Lovecraft. However, both knew of another reason why he might have avoided visiting Midnight Blossom: fear. Lovecraft knew well the palpable terror he alone felt and what greater still might be locked away in his mind, dreams the only access to the outer world. He feared what would happen to the one who might view these nightmares, and simply could not risk finding the answer.

“From there I know not where he went, and I had heard nothing of the stallion for many months, until a letter came in with the mail, typed and written in a form unlike that used by modern-ponies. It was signed as his and told of his travel to the North, into the arctic.”

The sounds of amazement from the younglings were humourous as many were unfamiliar with much of the land outside of Equestria.

“For nearly a decade did he travel, writing letters to me, as Twilight does to my Sister, even though her apprenticeship has long since expired, detailing his research as I requested. I’m not sure what prompted this normally reserved stallion to speak to me so readily, but I like to think it because we were both still very attached to an older world, with different customs, and that I was the only one he could relate that too.” And the only one who could share his terror, she thought.
Shaking this thought’s hold from her mind she continued.

“Over the years he and I became very close.” Before she could make any further headway, a rather excited young filly, with a long, for her size, dress leaped with wide eyes and over-zealous grin exclaiming:

“Was he your very special-somepony!?” which solicited from the group giggles and generally well-hearted mirth, her grin turning to a frown as she said, “It’s a good question, Guys! It’s not funny!” her frown becoming a pout. Luna suppressed a giggle at the adorability in this expression, saying aloud in an attempt to repair her faltering ambition:

“Now everpony, it was a good question,” her hoofs moving in an attempt to quell the playful snickers. Smiling at the magenta filly with teal mane, whose alacrity was once again restored, she gave an answer.

“Though Lovecraft and I became close through our letters, Oak,” giddy as she said it, though not at the impossibility of the thought, “he was never my special-somepony.” Oak replied with a pronounced and extended aw, and sat down with another melodramatic pout. Chuckling at the frivolities of young minds she began again.

“In every direction did he travel searching for books and knowledge, but with each tome and each scrap of information did his letters become more dismal and despairing. He would tell me of ancient magicks he found and of races I have never heard about, nor that have I heard of since. Creatures gruesome and creatures kind, monsters that haunt nightmares and benevolent beings who worked against such nightmares, but all he would talk of as being simple phantasies dreamed up by some culture older than our own. He became so desperate for enlightenment, that I worried to what ends he might take himself to discover something that may not even exist. One day, however, the letters stopped, and I feared the worst.
It was not until nearly a year that a new letter arrived, but this one was different. It did not extend the usual dismalities of the Lovecraft that had written for less than a decade, but the writings of an individual contented with the world. He said he had discovered something of worth finally, and in his writing I detected something that had not been there before: joy. Stranger still he asked that I come to visit him, something I would never have expected, for I always felt he wished to distance all from his work.”

She arose at a time foreign to her: mid-day, and collected Captain Rampart and Captain Nacht. After she received that letter from Lovecraft she did not know what to think. The two had conversed with each other through their letters, he being the only pony who had known fully what she heard in those nightmares, and was the only one who could ever understand them, for she knew his own affliction with them. She was glad that she may see him for the first time in years. The change in tone of the letter did nothing in the form of deteration, but seemed to hold the opposite effect. His inability to see above the vistas of dream crushing reality had caused a great deal of worry as she felt him ever not long in this world, and each letter she next received a relief.

Very specific were the conditions of their rendezvous. However, above all else he seemed to stress that she could only visit during hours of daylight. Seeing this as more of an issue for her guards, she set out to have them fitted for goggles to protect their eyes against the blinding effects of the sun’s brightness. The journey would take a few hours, so she wished to have enough time so as to return to raise the moon. Eager at the opportunity to see Lovecraft, and not just simply write to him, though she did well to not disclose such feelings, she had the captains take her at the Noon’s tolling, saying good-day to the few awake whom she passed in the perpetually nighttime streets of Nightholm.

Eastward did they travel, across a great distance of trees, the beginnings of the autumn months reflected in the fall colours of orange, red, brown, amongst others. He had said something wonderful had occurred in the time since his last letter, and that he could not write it down, so much was its effect on him. What could affect such an apathetic pony to the point of a loss for words due to joy she could not know, nor even speculate about. The hours passed and, despite the length of the journey, a general air of bliss, which was noted by the two who drove her chariot, could be detected. It not being their place to speculate, they occupied themselves by focusing entirely on the task at hand.

The goggles certainly allowed for much ease of sight in the even sun, though it did dull their sight to the spectrum they could see, but not enough to cause panic. Their armour did not shine in the sun as the ones of the Canterlot troops may have, but seemed dulled by it, as the colours of the day-spectrum would seem to in the night. The hills in the distant rolled in their constant alternation of declivity, but something seemed hazy about them, as if by a strange amount of heat. The weather its self was not excessively warm, nor cold, mild as it were. But, they were traveling to the lands East of Equestria, where not everything is as regulated as would be in the lives of ponies.

The hills began to stop their seemingly endless fluxing and a general leveling took over the landscape. The colour of the trees remained in their collection of warmth and, in an ocean of organic shapes and random peaks, was the uniformity of a building, one of simple wood, a shack by any other name. The smoke rising from what appeared to be a simple chimney gave affirment to its occupation, and over the wind she told the one’s pulling:

“We are at our destination, land close by.”

“Yes, Princess,” came their unified response, and they began to slow their velocity until they brought the chariot of obsidian down by the side of the shanty, at a small clearing where a collection of firewood had been chopped, though no hatchet could be found. Dismounting, she quickly told the guards to remain here, before she moved, more hastily than Captain Rampart and Nacht would have expected, to the door.

The exterior had no paint to speak of and the deeply coffee coloured wood held the signs of weathering, in addition to only rising one story, an entirely ground floor plot. Collecting herself she knocked upon the door, and awaited its opening patiently. There was no response and she knocked a second time, only to continue on for a third. Unknown for his lethargy, except in moments of great hunger, she gave a call for his name, and, when there was no immediate reply, almost attempted to enter the abode, before a call came from behind her.

In the distance the lean figure of somepony moved towards her. They were not far off and the sight of a brown mane peeking out from underneath a grey hat and pallid coat brought a smile to her lips, as she moved forward, much more slowly than initially, to meet the figure. Soon the ecru eyes were visible, and when standing within speaking distance, the figure bowed low in greeting, grey hat perched across his head, the light coat he wore matching the colour.

“I humbly greet you my Princess,” said the newly arrived Lovecraft. She acknowledged him with a similar gesture saying:

“And I to thee, humble Lovecraft.” His face hidden under the brim of the head-covering, he rose to meet her eyes, an unexpected smile on the expectedly solemn face, she returned it, his expression causing her to become more agog at what discovery had he made.

“Please, Princess, join me inside,” he said waving a hoof after her, another bow ensuing. She had missed his very formal nature. The coat that he wore ruffled as he moved passed to open the door, and as he allowed her access his eyes fell upon the two guards that were now moving towards to hold as vigil on either side of the door. He nodded in respect at their goggled figures before joining Luna within the interior of the ramshackle house.

The dwelling was plain, with a bed turned sideways against the wall to provide more room for a table that was covered in papers, some etching of some sort of stone, others hastily scrawled notes. The single window across from the door was paned with a thick glass, an insulating measure nonetheless and from it one could see the sky and the white of the bark of the birch trees that filled the landscape. Two more tables filled the space given by the two walls, and above them were shelved books of old and mottled covers. Tools such as magnifying glasses were not organized but placed where they needed to be for ease of access.

Where the others were closed and tucked away on the shelves, one was opened on the table underneath the window and Luna moved towards it, seeking to view more closely the strange scrawling. Lovecraft, having removed his coat and placed it over a make-shift coat hanger, consisting mainly of a singular nail, moved swiftly to intercept this transaction, while saying, hat still remaining:

“I apologize to thee; I was unable to clean due to engagement in generalized tasks,” shut the codex, bringing it over to the adjacent shelf, filling in an empty place apparently left vacant by its usage. As she watched him do this her eye was caught by a splattering of colour on his flank, an image of a line with five others branching off it at irregular intervals three on the sinister, two on the dexter. Surrounding it was a strange sort of circle incomplete yet jagged, and of a geometry so foreign as to be indescribable in its baffling contours. The coat he had worn concealed it from an earlier notice.

Her surprised was not masked at this, yet though she began to feel great happiness for his final achieveal of his cutie mark, she was unsure at the implications of this unsettling mark.

“Lovecraft?” was her hushed voice at this surprise. Turning towards her he knew what it was that had brought about this upheaval.

“Yes, my Princess , I have my purpose, to me now is the true desolation of the universe blind, and for a time which I have never felt, joy crosses my demeanour.” That smile once again crossing his lips, but the longer she looked upon it the more she felt a sense of lurking emotions, a hidden clause of the disarming grin. “Even the night-terrors have ceased, the truth of their knowledge finally revealed to me.” It was this that truly unnerved her, for she recalled his writings of these terrors, but to find truth in those distortions, was to open one’s mind a glimpse of something unequivocally dreadful.

As his apprehension grew, she noticed a slight movement under his vestments, around the shoulders. Thinking this nothing more than an artifice of light she asked:

“I do not understand what thou wouldst attempt to convey?” His blank face returning, he said:

“When I met with the changelings…” She took an offensive posture at the mention of this,

“Thou conversed with the changelings! How can I trust the authenticity of thine image!?”

“The changelings only desire to feed off those whom are loved, and a worthless being as I was unappetizing, thou must see, for the changelings can sense the amount of care anypony has directed towards them at any moment in their lives. When I arrived to speak with their queen I was very nearly ignored entirely. Even Queen Chrysalis told me the same, saying that a barren morsel as I would only bring about more pain than sustenance.” As he carried on the movement beneath his vest became consistent and regular, not a simple trickery, but a verity. “They are an old race, and know things nopony has ever been able to tell me: facts, not just speculations. It is these elder truths that are my purpose; I would have hoped thine understanding to be more complete.”

Her eyes became sorrowful at this revelation, her eyes closed, raised a hoof to cover her quivering jaw, for she did not wish to offend him as she have.

“I do understand, and feel joy for… y…” his head having fallen low, his back became easily visible, the undulations unable to be ignored. When she opened her eyes again, the sorrow faded away, hoof falling slowly as she asked, a horrified tone not hidden,

“What…what is that…under thine vest?” His head raised in a rush, regret held heavy on his brow, as he said:

“I would have hoped thou wouldst not have noticed that.” Her eyes shewing their abhorrence at the continued movements she breathed,

“Shew me.” With painful compliance he began to remove his vest, but before he began he detached from his head the grey hat, beneath it a horn, the same dimensions as a young foal. She gave a gasp at seeing this, unprepared for it, nor the pair of immature wings that fluttered helplessly upon his back.

“I told thee I had found eldritch magicks, but these manifestations have taken nearly a year to present themselves in any visible manner.” Her terrified whisper cut him deeply.

“What have you done?”

“Only a spell, none were harmed, please thou must believe me.” Though she was shaken by these disclosures, the feelings of the journey still held her in a loose grip, and as she looked upon his remorseful pleading frame she could not help but remember the letters and understandings they had shared. They were not nothing to her and she was still glad to see him well. She began to place a hoof upon his shoulder in an effort to console him, when, as the light dimmed ever so slightly in the room, a fearful expression tore over his face, snapping his head towards the window at a suddenly overcast sky, with darker clouds approaching swiftly in the distance. His eyes widen in timorous trepidation.

“How I miss the weather control of the cities.” Hearing this fearful breathing she was confounded by this seemingly random sentiment. He turned his head towards her, the debtor of his smile having come to collect its dues.

“What?”

“Leave,” came Lovecraft’s jagged whisper in quick succession. Not understanding she could only say again,

“What?” His voice rising in turn with his altered features he repeated,

“Leave!” Still not comprehending this abrupt request to leave she stood there, stupefied. Shaking his head with an exclamatory, unsure as to why she would not listen, he called to the Guards without.

“Nacht! Rampart! Your Princess is in danger; you must take her from here. NOW!” The door flew open as Lovecraft attempted to push Princess Luna out into the arms of her waiting guard. Upon seeing Lovecraft there, puerile horn and wings for all to see, they exchanged looks of uncertainty at this altered figure. Grabbing the Princess hastily, they returned her to the chariot and began to fly off, her screaming Lovecraft’s name as the two captains compelled her to sit in the chariot. As the transport alofted into the sky, she thought to leap from the seat and fly to his side, when the figure of the pale coated Lovecraft was seen, running from the shack, a black stone clutched in his mouth, in the opposite direction of the one they now escaped, the area where the clouds made their unnaturally hastened approach.

Her wings unfurled as she looked back towards where he ran, tears streaming down her face in frustration and lack of understanding, towards the clouds that moved ever closer, under them a darkness like that of a moonless night. Soon his figure was overtaken by the distance that now separated them, but soon the rush of the wind broken by a piercing and utterly inpony scream.

“LOVECRAFT!” she cried out, knowing that no other lay in that direction. She whispered his name once more as the tears continued to stream down her face. Curling up in her seat, she began to sob. The moon did not rise that night.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A combination sad, and slightly perturbed, faces met her as she halted, for, as with previous tellings, she required a moment to compose herself upon its retrospection, but neither did she wish for this to fade with time. Though the faces of the younglings were for the death of the story’s character, the expression on that of the pale gold mare at the edge of the crowd was of the loss of kin. Her emotionally tenuous nature allowed for the tears that she attempted to hide, and it is for this reason that at some points she did not attend the retelling.

As is the way of memories, Princess Luna recalled without evocation the day she personally visited Fluttershy and told her of Lovecraft’s fate. His sister was unbelieving at first, but eventually her eyes became the fonts for her lacrimation. Her cries were for answers as to why Luna had not saved him, but that is not to say she ever became resentful of her brother’s correspondence. The Princess, however, did not divulge the reason behind their ease of communication, for it was only Lovecraft who had shared in those nightmares. Remaining with Fluttershy for a few days, she aided in the consolment her tumultuous emotions, and n the process shared in pleasant recollections of the one now torn from their lives, becoming as sisters in that short span.

Knowing well his life and journeys, she traveled to the homes of those to which he spoke and entreated with them to never speak to another what, she knew, had led Lovecraft to discover his artisan mark, his purpose, and his doom. Nopony should have to go through what he must have; that was her reasoning, but so too was the belief that nopony should have to go through what she had. That is why those asked in the land of Equestria of ancient and elder things will blame loss of memory for the lack of information.

“Princess Celestia, my sister, sent a platoon to investigate the shack the following day. On the outside all seemed well and perhaps they thought his escape to be a simple quirk of poniality [Personality]. But when they opened the door they were assaulted by a putrid, disgusting, and poignant odour unlike any malodour they had previously encountered. A few of the guards nearly passed out from the blow it struck upon their senses, and only after much hesitation, and from the use of magick from the unicorns brought along, the entered the place. The house was empty except for a few papers and scrolls strewn about the floor and tables.

All of his books and writings, anything that had pertained to his research were gone, but in their place was a foul ichor of repulsive greens and blacks. It was from this that the smell seemed to originate, and all investigating did their best to avoid the egregious substance. Nothing found gave clue to his end, only the scream heard the day before. The pieces left were simple scribblings, and only one was brought back and given to me, but it did nothing to aid me in my pursuit of answers.”

That paper, she recalled, though at which she only hinted, told of his visitation with the changelings, and upon it were written words describing subdivision of love. Upon the slightly mottled page were strange words wrote definitions to such written as well. Agápe: Love of the Soul, Éros: Love of the Body, Philia: Love of the Mind, and Storge: Love of Family. Underneath the first and third were written Princess Luna and the last Fluttershy. At the very end of the page was transcribed one question: Whom do I love? This had little effect in the mitigation of her sense of loss and sorrowful disposition.

“He delved into abysses better left undisturbed, and the things that inhabited did not wish to see the light of day. He once told me in one of his letters that searchers after horror haunt strange, far places, and only serves further to shew just what it was he sought. He searched for answers to his fears, but it appears that those fears found him.”

Finished after a good amount of time, she surveyed the crowd, and the small scared faces were huddled in small divisions, and she smiled warmly hoping to alleviate them of some of this fear. Oak, whose question of Lovecraft’s relationship with Luna had brought mirth, now shakily stood up as she said in a quivering voice, features worrisome:

“D…d…did that really happen?” and, after sharing a look with a certain shy individual, she said reassuringly:

“Lovecraft sought for horror, yes, but those horrors were once told through the ages in the form of legends, he even wrote a few himself, but they were simply that: legends. Though Lovecraft was real, you should not dwell on stories and phantasies, for they are notoriously false,” hoping, as she said this, that one day even she could believe that. “After his loss I had only the letters he wrote me to remember him by. Some detailed tales he had composed, and, I feel, the best way to honour his memory is with their telling.” Appearing to be slightly relieved, though a quaver still present in her step, she began to return to her parents, as did all the others present, ready to return home. The general humdrum was a mix of excitement by the younglings and reassurances that the stories were just that by some of the older ponies.

A single piercing wail interrupted the idle palavering of the assemblage, its unexpectedness and reality petrifying most of the grouping. The pitch and sound of it were not strange to the ears of two who had not moved, and in unison they said in disbelief two titles of the same being.

“Lovecraft!”

“Howard!” With its sounds Captain Nacht, who had replaced Captain Rampart in the patrolling, ran to the side of his Princess, moving in front of her to act as buffer to whatever might be barreling towards them, Captain Rampart hastening towards them as well. One in the crowd had heard them exclaim his name and asked frightfully:

“L...Lovecraft!? But he’s…” but was unable to finish and suggest to the rest the horrific implications of his presence, for the magickally amplified voice of the Princess interrupted.

“ALL OF YOU TAKE UP SHELTER IN THE TOWN HALL. NOW!” Princess Luna’s elevated shouts were enough to take the attention of all and they ran from her towards the centre of town. Rampart now present and giving aid in her protection, she realized Fluttershy was also present at her side, but did not attempt to have her leave, knowing her remainder to be steadfast and hardy.

The area now vacant, but for the four remaining, Twilight having left to oversee the sheltering in the town hall, they waited. Minutes passed and still nothing. The guards braced themselves as rustle of branches and the snapping of twigs betrayed the proximity of what was headed towards them. Above them flew some silhouetted figure as it crashed into the roof of an adjacent building and soon whatever it was rolled down the opposite and landed on the ground, a vocalization of pain heard. Captain Rampart, with a nodding of approval from his fellow, went to investigate, and, after disappearing around the corner of the house, called to the rest to come forward to see.

Lying there, wings and horn now fully grown, was the thin and pale figure of Lovecraft, pain expressed in his face as he lay atop one of the feathered wings, as pale as his coat. His eyes were closed; his only focus the agony brought on by his plummet. Fluttershy was the first to reach him, and, having knelt by his side, held his head in her arms, she was crying as she whispered his name.

“Howard?” Little time was spent before a reply was heard

“They hunt for me,” his voicing, weak and tired, caused the guards to look out towards the line of trees, moving to defensive stances, ready to protect the Princess at all costs. “I have seen the symbols that they protect so dearly.” His eyes now open; sadness was reflected from the ecru depths. Though tumult was the word for the contortion of feelings in her face at these newly acquired appendages Fluttershy still stroked his mane as she had once done.

“Shh, Howard, you’re safe now.” His voice was filled with anguish as said:

“You are not safe, so long as I remain here. For so many years I’ve run, teleportation possible through my new found magick,” he placed his hoof on her face, “but my unfamiliarity with its nuances made the destination kaotic. For however many years I have escaped them, but each time they came closer and closer, but to-night I will give myself to them.”

A strange, yet unsettling buzzing could now be heard from the forests edge. Though nothing could be seen, it raked on the nerves like the claws of some abominable beast. The guards became uneasy at this sound, its din not like that of bees or flies or anything to natural to Equestria, but remained stalwart. The effect it had upon Lovecraft was noticed through the horror in his face as he looked towards the forested outskirts. Luna, who had also knelt down beside him, stood up and turned her head from them, hurt shewing in her eyes.

“If thou desirest to give up thy self to them, why arrive here to only be torn away from our sight again.” He painstakingly rose at this, his teeth gritted as a means to forgo the stiffness brought on by the fall.

“I could not let them take me before I communicated to the both of you feelings it has taken the fear of capture by these horrors to realize. For you my sister,” he turned to look at her touching her face, “and for you my Princess,” he brought her face around to bear, “I have never expressed the love I feel for either of you despite the care you have given to me without question, nor without condition, and I could not be taken knowing I never told either of you.” The buzzing had swelled since then, yet still nothing could be seen. His voice became a whisper as he continued.

“But most importantly, the two of thee are the only two who have shared in my dreams, one through my speaking and one through experiencing them, and can speak their words, and I tell you now to never speak of them to another, to spare any my fate.” His face grew remorseful as he smiled, more of a grimace, as the buzzing, that insistent droning, continued, him seeming to understand.

“They will not risk shewing themselves to anypony, even as meager a group as this, so great is their desire for secrecy. I found my purpose, so I might die complete. Good-bye my belovéd sister and my belovéd Princess Luna,” and with that he moved from the softly crying face of Luna and the sorrow-stricken features of his sister, tears pouring to the point of near blindness. He walked betwixt the Captains, content with his fate, and looked back one last time at them both and gave a strained smile.

“Restrain him,” came the voice of Luna as he looked back, the sincerity of her voice resulting in the quick response of the guards and Lovecraft’s struggle against their hold, pleading with them to let him go. He turned to Luna in question.
“What are you doing?”

“The day I let another fall to save others where I may replace them, is the day I am no longer fit to rule,” her face now a mask, “take him back to Canterlot with the orders that: until my return, he is best able to serve in my place, speak not of where I go. Bind him if thou must.” Lovecraft, not wanting to believe what he heard, shook his head, mouthing the word ‘no’ over and over again as what she planned began to dawn on him.

She moved towards Lovecraft and leaned in close to him the magickal aura of her horn engulfing both hers and his, and in his mind he could hear her voice.

“I love thee as well, Howard Fillip Lovecraft. If it is discovery they fear so, then that is what I shall bargain with; they cannot hold me forever” and with those words also came the knowledge that with her message was the binding of his magick and wings for the time it would take for them to return to the city. As she began to walk forward looking toward the eminence of the noise, Captain Rampart and Nacht shared a look while keeping still there struggling ward, and attempted to protest her action.

“But Princess, we cannot…” her response was swift and vociferous, as she turned on them angrily.

“THOU WOULDST DISOBEY A DIRECT ORDER!” Fear reflected in their eyes at this onslaught, but not at the anger she displayed, but fear for her safety. Captain Nacht, eyes beginning to tear, began to drag Lovecraft towards the chariot. Captain Rampart followed as well, Lovecraft becoming more animate in his attempts to escape their hold as he did so, but his habitual lack of food kept him powerless, especially against the grips of well-trained guards. His screams of protest plainly heard above the buzzing, Fluttershy trailed behind them as they dragged Lovecraft along. Turning away from them, she began to move towards the bombinating forest.

She moved slowly, wings curled against her figure as she moved ever closer. The loss of Lovecraft had taught her strength and caring for all her subjects to the point sacrificing herself for their well-being. In those moments she fully accepted what she had attempted to deny for the years since his disappearance. She knew, also, why his night terrors had left him, for they had transgressed from their dream time haunts, to take form in the material world. The knowledge of what creatures it was she was to face were present with all the revelation of her final moments. With mane of starlight flowing, dark sapphire coat and wings masking her as she entered the shadow of the trees, she said their name aloud.

“Mi-go,” and with a silence taking over the hidden things, Luna, Princess of the Moon, went to greet the whisperers in the darkness.

Lovecraft’s protestations had reduced to whimpers as the guards pushed him into the seat, lacrimating all the while. He almost attempted to escape, but the tearful, yet austere look from the scarred Rampart quelled these thoughts. Looking Lovecraft with pain, Rampart tore his eyes from him, hitching himself to the chariot. The driver could not exchange glances, so great was their combined grief, and the glowing eyes moved to the sky as they took off, Fluttershy having joined her brother, that terrible buzzing still present behind them.

He could only look to the forest as they sped towards the city, the swiftness of their flight the only thing holding back the pain felt by Luna’s guardians. When the silence came over the forest, Lovecraft gave a gasp of pain, knowing the loss of Princess Luna to be at hoof, and in between sobs, he whispered:

“Thou dost not understand…The ones they take…do not return.” He curled in the seat as Luna had done, as the chariot moved ever closer towards the walls of Canterlot, her message on their lips, her loss on their minds.