The Music From Outer Spheres
Were I to believe in higher powers i would consider The Friday of the Whinnypeg Canticle to be a faithful day. The newly founded Earth pony town, a few days north-west from Maretime Bay was envisioned to be a frontier of sorts, scouting expeditions sent prior to the first settlers unveiled a cavern, staggeringly abundant with all manners of scarce deposits, invaluable to the earth pony capital. The farmers that arrived with the settlers discovered another abnormality: a surprisingly fertile soil, able to grow crop in befuddlingly great numbers. In month's time, the foremare reported a yield twice the expected year's harvest.
Nonetheless, the reason that drove me out of, albeit comfortable, choking confines of my home and into the accursed settlement I've come to admire and dread in equal portion, was the discovery of a crystalline castle, stoically perched above the ruins north-west from town. The spark of concern regarding the citadel housing unicorns fiends was beginning to spread among the townsfolk, but it was, regrettably extinguished by the members of a local institution of law enforcement. The news of the discovery reached Maretime Bay within days of the revelation, rousing the crowds all over the city.
Understandably, a scholar such as myself, renowned for my studies of ancient Equestria couldn't have let such an opportunity pass. I gathered my scarce belongings in a hurried frenzy, boarding the first carriage to depart for the town at dawn. The harrowing journey fueled the fire of inquisitiveness raging inside me, the carriage driver providing me with a veritable wealth of information regarding the crystalline acropolis.
He nearly tripped when I first raised the question, and a hint of fear entered his previously firm, now quivering voice. He mumbled about enthralling, yet terrible melodies reverberating throughout the ancient castle, of guardsponies dissapearing at night, never to be seen again. He trailed off at that, pinning his ears to his skull, as if afraid that mere mention of such things would envoke the same fate upon him. His tongue was loosened, however, with the promise of riches and whiskey at the local inn, and soon he told me his tale, becoming restless as the tale drew to it's inevitable end.
The stallion known by the name of Shining Blade, was by profession a guard officer under the employ of the local institution of law enforcement, at which he had for some months been a tireless instrument of justice. Transferred from Maretime Bay for his fiery temper, he sought to rise the ranks on the new frontier, jumping at the chance to explore the ancient ruins and the castle therein. He, among the group of five sent to investigate the cobble-pitted road leading from the outskirts of the town, stumble upon a worrisome sight. Decrepit wooden houses, or what was left of them, stood at the sides of roads long abandoned, overgrown from disuse. From most of them, only the foundations remained, accompanied by a sight of water-filled cellars or lone chimneys, slowly crumbling into dust. And yet, there was something alluring about the sight of delapidation and ruin laid bare in front of them.
Something akin to a faint melody echoed between the crumbling foundations of a civilisation long dead, a tune none present had heard before. When tasked with describing it my interlocutor became distressed, pinning his ears to his head like a berated foal awating punishment, and requested more whiskey. I generously provided him the beverage, and after a better half of the bottle disappeared down his throat he continued, ears still pinned.
One of his accomplices, a fellow instrument of justice by the name of Tone Tuner, a mare with a background in the art of violin was the first to notice it. A tune from beyond, that's what she called it. No instrument known to equine can be the source, my dialogist stated, hooves shaking from either the alchohol, or, more likely, the retelling. Unnatural and abhorrent, yet mesmerising, the group followed the pitch which led them down the mossy roads of antiquity. He knew not when they arrived at the intersection, a place where all roads converged and ended, the song growing in strength as they followed it's blasphemous call.
Before them stood the center of the settlement, towering proudly above the group akin to a god over ants. Opaque chrystalline walls, battred by eons of corrosion stood firm and unrelenting in the face of harsh weather and time. Greenery overflowing from the many balconies visible from the ground level suggested that the castle may indeed house residents, and somepony proposed to venture inside to aleviate any fears of hostile inhabitants. This descision was agreed on not by desire to protect the townsfolk, it seems, but more out of compultion to locate the source of the sound, as it seemed to eminate from the ajar doors of the imposing build.
At this moment the stallion broke down in tears, unable to continue. With further encouragement, I've managed to gather that this was his final memory before awaking next to the castle's exit alone with a fearsome headache, the same accursed accent reverberating in his mind. He confessed that he heard it ever since, the maddening tune plaguing his dreams and waking world alike, only fading into the backdrop of his consciousness with a soothing touch of intoxication. He must have seen the glint of curiosity behind my eyes as I paid for the drinks and our rooms at the inn. He fruitlessly begged me to run away, to forget our exchange and the town itself, his pleas going unnoticed as I shut the door behind me and reached my cot. Not dissuaded by the raving cries of a clearly unstable individual at my room's entrance, I planned to investigate the castle the following day, and decided to wake with the first ray of the sun, hoping this would lend me ample time to search the ancient tower, from which the otherwordly sound eminated.
The following morning I woke at dawn, treking past the oddly silent town and onto the old cobble pitted road. I heard the sonority too, albeit earlier than the shaken ex-guard I've had the pleasure of conversing with the night before. The moment my hooves touched the moss-pitted cobblestones of the old road, I've felt a change within me. A persistent nagging throbbed endlessly in the back of my skull, beckoning me to the ancient Castle. I traversed the ruins with ill-concealed glee, eager to plunder the depths of the crystalline structure for knowledge, too exited to be horrified by the intrution on my mind.
It was faint at the outskirts of the rubble of the town, merely a static-like suggestion eating away at my consciousness, growing in intensity as I advanced towards the intersection. I cannot define the sound itself, not for the lack of trying, rather cause the lack of such words in the Equine vocabulary, and, I presume, any other in this world. I can portray what it felt like. A sensation akin to the numbness of a limb that was denied the essential flow of life, interchanging with that prickling impression of it waking from it's brief slumber.
The sensation grew too persistent to ignore as I stood before the ajar door of cyan crystal, my resolve wavering for the first time. What was then mistaken for a bout of cowardice and hesitance, I now recognise as the instinctual and desperate desire to escape the horror that laid within the castle's opaque walls. Something primal inside of me begged to turn away and run, echoing the sentiment of Shining Blade.
I foolishly dismissed the notion of return, and stepped through the massive arcades of antiquity, the entrance more than twice the size of any normal pony. The otherworldly music reverberated through the melodic halls I wandered, worming its accursed way into my mind ever deeper. I quickly lost orientation, each hall filled with wonderous yet mind-shattering intonations looking the same as the next. I walked without purpose, guided by the rhythmic melody pulsating in the depths of my mind, gawking at the royally decorated crystalline halls and mosaic windows, no doubt depicting scenes of immense historical importance.
A clopping noise echoing from further down the cyan hall snapped me out of my daze like a wave of cold water. My eyes followed noise that inched closer with each passing second. To call what I've seen a pony would not only be a disgrace to the ponykind as a whole, but to nature itself. It hobbled towards me with unnatural motions, like a poorly-made puppet missing some of it's strings. The creature's body looked like a child's toy, stitched carelessly and crudely from a monolith scrap of coat, bits of bone, muscle and sinew breaking through the sickly colored coat at the joints. It's mouth was moving perilessly in an endless song of foulness as it stared me down with it's bloodshot ublinking eyes.
I stood paralysed as it limped towards me with incomprehensible tact, following a melody that was unlike anything from our sphere. It was mere inches from my muzzle when I was released from paralasys, and my body retaliated in a desperate attemp to ward off the incoming horror. My hoof conntected with it's muzzle, and the surface collapsed inwards, dragging my hoof with it. Horrified, I retracted the appendage and backed away from the creature, my legs unsteady.
The thing that was once a pony stood motionless for a time. I cannot recount how long, for I have noticed something that I will not forget until the day I die. In the center of it's muzzle shaped like a blot of ink was a spherical void. It spread slowly, bits and pieces of fur crumbling inwards into the endless gap. Nothing exited the black burrow, save for the unearthly song pouring outwards, a waterfall of malevolence.
I turned tail when the thing continued it's unwavering assault, slowly collapsing inwardly around the spreading stain. Endless halls were my companions as I stumbled through the antique castle, narrowly avoiding the shuffling horrors that grew in number the longer I ran.
In the end I found myself surrounded by them, hundreds of ponies, all resonating the same thrice-damned melody gazed at me blankly, all traces of life gone from their eyes. I looked around, desperately searching for a way out of this musical nightmare.
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted deep within my head and I crumbled to the floor, cluthing my head and praying for release. The music was overbearing then, reverberating off the walls of my skull like a sound in a cave. It overshadowed every thought of mine, leaving me to it's loathesome mercy. Just then, I felt the sea of lost souls part before me, and I looked up to witness the cause of such behaviour.
It walked past the sea of rabble, the ponies bowing before it's hideous presence. I wouldn't be able to describe the creature if my life depended on it. It felt ancient, older than the surrounding castle, older than the seas and mountains, older than anyone can imagine. It stopped in front of me, reaching it's hideous appendage towards me.
It spoke to me, Ignius. It needs no language, yet it spoke to me. It spoke of what you've spoken. Of better times when the tribes were united and splendor was the status quo. Of adventures and heroes, of villains and misdeeds, of friendship and magic. I was frozen with awe and fear in ample portion as it poured knowledge into my being. For how long stood there I know not, but when I woke up I was at the castle inlet, the door closed shut.
I cannot trust my memories, but from the shattered glimpses of the events I remember I gather that the ex-guard I've questioned earlier had followed me to the castle, in a vain attempt to halt my entrance. He's still there I'd wager. Wandering the crystal halls, dancing to the tune from outer spheres for all eternity.
As I'm writing this, the town is alive with worry. It seems that whatever I have heard clung to me like soot, staining all I spoke to. The last stagecoach is leaving soon, and I'm going to smuggle this letter with it, hopefully unseen by the driver. I intend to stay here, like many of Whinnypeg's citizens.
I know not it's true nature, and I thank the heavens for this. Please, I beg of you do not delve further into ancient texts, and In equal portion, to not go looking for me. I know our obsession with the subject of Old Equestria is not without reason, but some things are better left forgotten.
Perhaps there's a reason the magic disappeared.
