Legends of the Shady Trough

by jasontaylorblogs

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Slice of Life
Length: 20164

The patrons of the Shady Trough decide one night to hold a story-telling contest, and the barkeeper ends up forced to listen to each story in turn.

"It's amazing how one act of kindness can get you dragged into a proverbial roller-coaster of insanity, ain't it? All because of that Changeling that came through here, I've been stuck listening to the ramblings of these patrons for a while. At least they have to sleep. But I don't think this contest'll end anytime soon. No, I figure it'll be going on for a little while longer."
~Journal of Barman, Proprietor of Shady Trough

Published 2012-09-24 08:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-02 14:37:58 UTC

Super Important Dramatis Personae

This is a handy reference to the characters that will be playing an important role at one point or another in the tale.  I will add characters as they are introduced.  The format for each character will go as follows:

**Character Name* *Creator's Name*- Short description. (Chapter Introduced)  [Date Added to Story]*

The *Creator's Name* is the name of the FimFiction user that gave me the OC to use in the story.  Some users let the imagination go wild and submitted several OCs.  I appreciate all the characters, and you can feel free to submit others to be added to the story later on down the line!  Well, enough talk, let's start the list!

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

**Barman* *jasontaylorblogs*- The owner of Shady Trough.  He serves drinks.  Accidentally starts something he soon regrets.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Wanderer* *Out of Place*- He’s an old retired soldier with an affinity for flora.  He spends most of his time either walking the forests or drinking with Sir Ox Berry in the Shady Trough. (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Sir Ox Berry III* *FlimFlamBros*- He’s a retired soldier from the Minotaur Motherland.  He spends most of his time telling Wanderer tales of battles once fought.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**“Pigeon”* *FlimFlamBros*- She just showed up at the Shady Trough one day with a ton of bits and all the time in the world.  Barman doesn’t mind as long as she pays up.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Wolf* *Wolfmaster1337*- Raised by wolves, he’s a crafty and productive hunter.  He can speak in tongues.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Razor Ice* *Wolfmaster1337*- He’s a Changeling from a northern hive that can’t stand the reputation given to them by Chrysalis’s hive.  He is ‘friends’ with Wolf.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Lamia* *Wolfmaster1337*- She is a corrupt black magician.  She likes to play games and doesn’t like non-ponies very much.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Freezing Cold* *codejunkie*- He was outcast for carrying an unknown illness.  He’s been staying at Shady Trough for nearly a year.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Monochrome* *ghost8537*- He is an accident-prone former pyrotechnic.  He owes a debt to Barman for destroying half of the Shady Trough a few years back.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Electric Slide* *ProtheanBrony*- Although not an outcast, he enjoys hanging with the Shady Trough crowd.  He is repairing the damage done by Monochrome.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Caitiff* *Wolfmaster1337*- She stays at the Shady Trough, running errands for Barman at night.  She sleeps all day, and lives in the basement.  Scourge follows her everywhere.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Scourge* *Wolfmaster1337*- She follows Caitiff everywhere, helping run errands for Barman.  She never seems to sleep.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Plot Twist* *FlimFlamBros*- He puts on shows regularly for the patrons of the Shady Trough, often playing all of the characters at once or sharing roles with Conrideas.  He lets Lavender Wave write some of their content.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Conrideas* *Out of Place*- He was once a traveling performer, now he performs at the Shady Trough with Plot Twist, bringing cheap laughs to all the drunkards and travelers.  Lavender Wave helps write their content.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Lavender Wave* *Shadowed Rainbow*- She is an eccentric unicorn fascinated with fantasy and literature.  She often helps Conrideas and Plot Twist write their performances.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**The Changeling Traveler* *jasontaylorblogs*- A traveler trying to make it home.  Barman offers to give him free lodgings and food in exchange for an interesting tale.  (Chapter 1) [9/23/12]*

**Miss Violet* *FlimFlamBros*- A sophisticated donkey looking for a rich mate to manipulate.  She’s very elegant and detests the poor scum of the Shady Trough.  (Chapter 3) [9/28/12]*

**Vodoo* *FlimFlamBros*- A travelling magician trying to help Lucky find her past.  She makes enough bits to support their journey through telling the fortunes of the creatures they encounter.  Her readings are surprisingly accurate.  (Chapter 7) [6/19/13]*

**"Lucky"* *FlimFlamBros*- A rabbit able to speak the language of ponies.  She’s always searching for the secret to her past, which has led to some interesting encounters in the past.  (Chapter 7) [6/19/13]*

Just another Boring Day of Work

It’s always the same thing, day in and day out.  I stand behind this counter and pop the tops off of bottles just so some idiot with a few too many bits can drown his sorrows in liquor.  I’m not going to lie; it gets old listening to drunkards and creeps ramble on about some long-lost love or stolen pride.  Over the years, I’ve had more than my fair share of those unintelligible rants.

I can’t say it’s all bad, though.  Every now and again a young buck shows up with a genuinely interesting sob story, and my kind heart just falls to pieces with pity.  That was the case with that strange Changeling Traveler a few years back.  Of course, it wasn’t just the Changeling that made that night so memorable.  Oh no, it was what followed his arrival that stains my memories.

I remember that night—or series of nights—so clearly that it haunts my dreams while I sleep.  I started something that I couldn’t stop, and I still regret it to this day.

I am the owner of the Shady Trough, a bar on the western edge of Equestria, just beyond the Smokey Mountain.  All of the locals call me Barman.  Seeing as how I’ve served drinks in this bar for almost fifty years, it’s a fitting name.  I see the usual rabble of idiots every day, ranging from wounded soldiers to talking pets.  But that night will forever be engraved in my mind as the night I almost lost my sanity.

I bet you’re thinking that working in a bar can’t possibly be that bad.  Under normal circumstances, you’d be correct.  However, this was a very abnormal evening.  Allow me to start from the very beginning.

…

It was a cool autumn’s eve, and I was doing my usual thing.  I recall all of the patrons that were sitting in the Shady Trough that afternoon, as most of them were frequent customers of my fine establishment.  Some others were just passersby that wanted to whet their whistles before moving off down the road.  No matter whom they were, before the night ended I knew them all almost personally.

Let’s see, the first patron, and perhaps my favorite, would have to have been Wanderer.  He was a quiet fella, a large brute that was intimidating to look at but carried an air of peace around him.  He was an old retired soldier with his share of dark memories.  I remember how his right wing fluttered wildly at random times, trying to compensate for his lack of left wing.  All over his body he was dotted with scars and sores from his battles, and one particularly intense battle had left him permanently mute.  He was always an interesting character, as his coat changed colors to match the time of year.  It made him hard to recognize if you hadn’t seen him in a while.  His eyes matched his coat, but his mane always reserved a nice orange flare.  He also seemed to care a lot about plants, and loved to go trekking through the nearby forest to simply enjoy the wildlife.  When it came time to dispose of our dying flowers and trees, he always let out a silent tear.  I never would’ve guessed what his attraction to flora was, but I never thought too much about it.

Since I’m on the topic of war heroes, let me describe another favorite of mine:  Sir Ox Berry III.  He was once a great soldier fighting for the Minotaur Motherlands, a noble deed to place on any resume.  He had his fair share of battle scars as well, the most notable being his shattered left horn and his severed right arm.  His silver coat and gray eyes added a sense of tranquility to him, and they complimented his personality so well.  He was a world-weary and hardened brute, one that deserved all manner of respect for his solid determination and devotion to his friends.  He was oftentimes a bit of a depressed fella, but he never tried to bring anypony down.  He always stood up for the poor and weak, and didn’t hesitate to lend a few bits for a passerby to purchase a room at the Shady Trough.

I guess it just dawned on me how much I enjoy the quieter and less eccentric patrons.  Of the quiet types I simply adored Pigeon.  She was very much secluded and sat back in the farthest corner of the bar, trying to avoid any kind of interaction.  Her feathers were of a beautiful golden brown color, and she always carried herself in an elegant and mannered fashion.  I don’t know much about her, or her real name, but all the locals referred to her as Pigeon because of her Griffon heritage.  I enjoyed how visibly her dark brown eyes glowed when she was annoyed, which seemed to be any time another patron tried to converse with her.  She always had one claw wrapped around some strange locket around her neck, which led me to believe it was some sort of memento of a long-lost love or something to that effect.  I don’t know where exactly she hailed from, but she had enough bits to afford anything on the menu, so I couldn’t have been happier with her patronage.

Speaking of patronage, one of the most helpful customers I can remember had to be Wolf.  He was always willing to purchase a drink or two for his friends, and he never minded running an errand or two for me during the day.  He would always come back from an errand with a bag full of game to trade for bits or drinks, which helped provide me with a hefty supply of food for my customers.  I was content with obtaining the prey, and didn’t care to know just how he learned to hunt so well.  One thing did bother me about the fella, and that was how he liked to eat meat from time to time.  But I’m not one to judge my customers.  He was slightly disturbing to other patrons as his white coat seemed to glow in the dark of the bar, and his wings had a tendency to flap on their own whenever there was a loud noise.  He also had an unusual talent of speaking to any creature in their native tongues.  Of course, that helped me serve foreigners better, so I never questioned it.  He didn’t group himself with other patrons often, but there was one he always enjoyed talking to.

It didn’t help his case any that the one friend he had was a Changeling.  After the Canterlot fiasco, most Changelings were shunned from Equestrian society.  I don’t care what you are as long as you can pay.  But Razor was different in that he was a solid white Changeling from the northern hives.  He had a strange pair of teal wings that disturbingly matched his eyes, giving his white coat an added sense of oddity.  He would always mutter and mumble about how much he couldn’t stand Chrysalis’s hive because of the bad reputation it earned Changelings all over the world.  He wasn’t a very social creature, but he was enjoyable company to have.  He didn’t go out of his way to antagonize anypony, which was fine by me.

No, antagonizing was left up to a few of my more hated patrons.  But like I said earlier, if you can pay you can stay.  But the worst of the jerks was by far Lamia.  She always stayed in her room and did her little rituals.  The only times she left it would be to try out a new spell or potion on some unsuspecting traveler.  The funny thing was that all of her victims were non-ponies, like Griffons or Changelings.  She enjoyed gambling as much as she enjoyed cursing, and I always found the way she cheated to be quite hilarious.  I did find her unusual, however.  She was a Zebra with a horn, almost like a unicorn but not quite.  I’m not sure exactly how I felt about it, but it just looked weird.  She had one solid horn color, yet her coat was red and pink.  Not only that, but she contrasted her mane with red and cyan, which only helped to unease most newcomers.  Her eyes shined a purple color, which always sent shivers down my spine when she looked at me.  She was very intelligent, and knew exactly how to scare anypony that didn’t know her into doing her favors.  She was a joy to watch when groups of travelers stopped in.

Not all of the bad patrons were enjoyable, however.  Freezing was just an all-around bad egg.  He always threatened the other patrons with stories of his incurable illness to scare them away or make them avoid him.  The way his wings would never so much as twitch and he would burst into random coughing fits didn’t exactly reassure the targets of his tales.  Then again, his coat was an unnatural pale white and his mane was oddly blue scale for him to be a normal pony.  His eyes were a solid jade color, only adding to his diseased demeanor.  On top of all that, he had somewhat supernatural strength, and could lift a ton of bricks with a single hoof.  I only prayed that he would never attack another patron, as the consequences could’ve been way too far reaching for my tastes.  From the time of the evening in question, he’d lived in the Shady Trough’s basement for little over a year.

The one patron I always hated more than any other was Monochrome.  He showed up one Hearts and Hooves Day trying to sell me some of his super-special handcrafted fireworks.  When I continued to refuse to purchase some, he decided to give me a demonstration of their quality.  Of course, the firework he lit veered off course and ended up burning down half of the top floor of my precious bar.  To this day, he is still paying off his debt.  At any rate, he wasn’t all bad, just clumsy.  His ability to fly in no way helped keep him out of trouble, as he had a tendency to crash into the roof on return trips from errands.  His white mane was tipped with red, and his eyes shined a reddish color, almost as if to tell him to stop.  In retrospect, they were fitting of his fate, really.  Don’t get me wrong, he was a very intelligent pony, but he also loved to goof-around, which led to some horrible accidents.  Most of his problems were found in women, as he had a tendency to say the wrong things and make the wrong moves, if you catch my drift.

Of course, I have to thank Monochrome.  If he hadn’t destroyed my bar, I never would’ve met Electric Slide.  I never understood why his parents named him so ridiculously, but I loved how cheaply he agreed to repair the bar!  All he wanted was free lodging and food, and he would completely restore the damage done.  The weirdest part about him was how normal he was.  Most of my patrons were outcasts and weirdos, but there never seemed to be anything wrong with Electric.  He had a plane yellow coat and silver mane, and his eyes were an unremarkable brown.  He could be bitter to ponies he didn’t know, and he always had a sarcastic sting hidden in his voice, but he was smart and good at his job.  To this day I still don’t understand why he decided to stick around and help me out like that.

Speaking of help, one of my favorite ponies to see every night was darling Caitiff.  She always loved running errands for me at night when most ponies were out cold, and she never argued with any of the other patrons.  She was nice and smart, and never bothered the other customers with her own wants or complaints.  She tried as hard as she could to be helpful, and I simply adored her ability to sneak around and avoid the others.  Her coat was a pale gray color, but her red-and-white striped mane complimented it nicely.  Her dark red eyes always lit up when she got excited, which was almost every time she saw me.  She was a gem, of that I’m certain.  She did carry an air of mystery, which always bugged me in the late hours of the night.

I was not so fond of her little assistant, however.  Scourge followed Caitiff around like a lost little puppy, which was cute for a while.  But after Scourge tried to take a nice bite out of one of my patrons, she and I had several fierce arguments.  But Caitiff continued to defend her, and never let her stay at the Shady Trough alone.  She always followed Caitiff on errands and would always become hostile when Caitiff left the bar without her.  The brown spots on her black coat always filled me with a sense of fear, because the design just wasn’t natural at all.  I was always afraid she would attack some unsuspecting patron and cost me a hefty sum of bits.  Her lime colored eyes didn’t help settle my fears, either.

Ugh, after the thought of that creepy mare, I think I need to think of happy thoughts.  And there were three ponies that could always bring a smile to mine and my patrons’ faces every day.  The leader of the trio was Plot Twist.  He was an amazing actor, and oftentimes performed plays all on his own, switching voices and attitudes for each different character.  He was a hilarious pony to listen to as he had an evil monologue one second and a good guy victory speech the next.  His ocean blue eyes contrasted well with his dark brown coat and sand-colored mane.  He was the epitome of an amazing actor.  His features would stand out greater depending on the roles he played, which only added to the emotion.  His eyes shined while a good guy, his coat became glossy during villainous roles, and his mane puffed out while playing indifferent characters.  He was by far the best entertainer a small bar could ask for.

He wasn’t the only performer that graced the Shady Trough, however.  No, Conrideas helped him from time to time when there were just too many characters to act alone.  Not to undermine Conrideas in any way, though!  The black coat and contrasting blue mane of this actor was just as amazing to witness on stage.  He had emotion and devotion, something most actors just don’t seem to have nowadays.  Just like Plot Twist, he was kind, outgoing, and eccentric.  The two were an amazing team, and they harmonized on every performance they had.  They made ends meet by simply being themselves and reading scripts with emotion.  Together, they were unstoppable actors.  Of course, Conrideas wasn’t always a bar performer.  He travelled all over Equestria to perform for random towns, until he met an annoying blue unicorn with an ego problem.  He was bested in a magic show, and had since been full of shame.  Then he stumbled into the Shady Trough and saw my patrons’ appreciations for acting.  He and Plot Twist have been a duo ever since.

Of course, the mastermind behind the trio was Lavender Wave.  She had an unnatural talent for literature and entertainment.  She and Plot Twist had been partners for years before Conrideas showed up, but once the third wheel was added, they flowed together so perfectly that they became the stars of the Shady Trough.  More ponies showed up for their shows than they did for alcohol, at least for a time.  They became known as the Light of Shade.  Lavender had the ability to craft a tale so entertaining that you had no choice but to love it.  And when her words met their actions, the entire bar filled with life and merriment.  She was a beautiful young mare, with all the attitude of her age.  Her coat was a cute sky blue color, and her purple mane complimented it perfectly.  She was full of imagination and literary talent, and her friendly nature only added to her appeal.  She was fine company to have.

Then there was…wait…  No, actually those were all of the usual patrons in the bar before the Changeling showed up.  I guess I got too into the memories to stop myself.  Let’s see; where was I?

Oh yes!  It was a cool autumn’s evening, and I was doing what I always did.  I opened bottles and poured drinks for my patrons and employees.  The Light of Shade was putting on a particularly clever comedy skit while Lamia attempted to persuade me to pour a new potion of hers into Sir Ox Berry’s drink.  The entire bar was focused on the show being played out, and a round of drinks was ordered by Pigeon for the entire bar.  It was unlike her, but I happily obliged.  More money in my pocket, more booze in my customers.

I had just returned to behind the counter when the door swung open slowly and a tall robed figure staggered towards the bar stool closest to me.  The creature pulled its hood down to reveal the black face of a Changeling from the Eastern hive.  Chrysalis’s hive, if ‘Eastern’ doesn’t hold any significance to you.  Anyway, the Changeling took a deep breath before attempting to speak.  The sight of the zebra beside me stopped his speech, as Lamia sent him an angry glare.

I shooed her away, and once she had descended the stairs the Changeling regained his confidence.  He sighed, “E-excuse me, but can I have some water?”

I looked at him blankly for a few seconds, wondering if I had heard him correctly.  I scoffed, “Water?  I s’pose you can.”  I immediately turned to the faucet behind me and poured a mug of water for the mysterious newcomer.

He groaned “Thanks” as I handed him the mug.  He immediately chugged it down and stood up from the stool.

Just as he reached the door I asked, “Where are you headed, stranger?”

He mumbled, “My hive…”  He reached out for the door again before his knees gave out on him.  He hurriedly pulled himself back to his feet and groaned as he pushed the door open.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled, “Get your sorry ass back in here, kid.  You ain’t in no shape to be wandering around.”  Without any kind of opposition he obliged, and plopped back down on the same stool as before.

He groaned, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience mister…I haven’t had much sleep lately.”

“Understandable.  After that Canterlot fiasco not many ponies like to see Changelings in their establishments.”  I noticed his face slouch into a frown and his eyes divert downwards.  I laughed, “As long as you got the bits, I don’t care what kinda creature you are.”

He bit his bottom lip before mumbling, “I don’t have any bits…”

I remember my expression immediately shift from upbeat to annoyed.  I scoffed, “Then there ain’t a place for you, kid.  You won’t be getting handouts from this bar.”

He sighed, “I understand.  I’ll leave…”

I’m not exactly sure what came over me, but the instant he stood up a feeling of pity flooded me.  I slapped a hoof on the counter and cheered, “Sit down, kid!  First drink’s on the house!”  I filled his mug up with my strongest whisky and watched as he gagged the liquor down.

The Changeling smiled and chuckled, “Thanks, I needed that.”

“So if you’re headed home, why don’t you just fly?”  I asked the mysterious traveler, knowing that it was a comparatively short flight back to the Eastern hive from the west coast of Equestria.  It was definitely shorter than walking.

The newcomer hesitated as he said, “Well, I would…but I lost one of my wings in a fight a few weeks back.  I’ve been travelling on foot since then…”

I was suddenly filled with the most persistent feeling of curiosity I had ever felt.  I cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Really?  Mind if I take a look at the ‘battle scars?’”  I felt slightly guilty at the obvious condescendence in my voice.

He nodded and immediately pulled his robe over his head and extended his single insect-like wing, stressing the point that his other wing had been completely severed.  In the instant, I felt horribly guilty and sorry for the poor fella.  I couldn’t even force a smile or an awkward chuckle; I could only stare on in silence.

After a few minutes of awkward silence between the two of us, I couldn’t stand it anymore.  I forced a chuckle, “Tell you what I’ll do kid!  Since you’re already so down on your luck, I’ll hook you up with the deal of a lifetime!”

The Changeling smiled as a glimmer of hope filled his eyes.  He chuckled, “The deal of a lifetime?  I’ll take it!”

I grinned widely and continued, “I’ll give you one free meal, a bottle of my hardest liquor, and a free room for the night...” I paused to add dramatic tension, “…if you can tell me a story that I find entertaining.”

A frown flashed across the Changeling’s face as I finished the conditions of the deal.  He slammed a hoof on the counter and cheered, “You got a deal mister!  I’ve got one entertaining story coming right up!”

That was when it started.  That was how my nightmare began.  I made one small deal with the Changeling Traveler and started a chain reaction that would haunt me for the rest of my life.  I never would’ve guessed at the time how bad my kindness would come back to bite me in the ass…

The Changeling Traveler's Tale Pt. 1 [Dark]

I poured the injured passerby another mug of free whisky in the hopes that it would give him an extra edge for telling his tale.  At the time, I never would’ve guessed the problems that would arise from my handouts.  For now, it was all in good fun.

The Changeling chugged down his mug of liquor and chuckled, “You want an interesting tale, eh?  I’ll see what I can do.”

I noticed Wolf and Razor slowly migrate over to the counter as the Changeling prepared his nerves for his story.  I could see a small glimmer of anger in Razor’s eyes, but Wolf seemed interested in the new face.  I cast both of their presences off and focused solely on the wanderer in front of me, waiting for a tale that would possibly kill a little time.

The Changeling took a deep breath and began his story.

…

Not long ago, in the far eastern regions of the world, many different hives of Changelings were bound together by the very emotion that we use to survive:  love.  Despite the differences between our hives and species, we were all united under one set of laws and culture with certain hives holding higher authority than the others.  We Changelings were once a peaceful and happy race, until the day that tragedy struck our beloved royal families.

Allow me to explain some things about our culture to make this tale a bit more understandable.  All Changelings were once bound a special code of conduct, to live in harmony with our neighbors and our brothers.  There were two sets of royalty living within the eastern regions.  One set was of the insect-like Changelings such as me.  The other set belonged to a hive of Pegasus-like Changelings with actual bird wings and fully formed Equine structures.

Those two hives ruled over us with harmony and peace, and maintained a working social structure for centuries.  That was…until almost a decade ago.  The Insect Changelings and the Pegasus Changelings always maintained a system for deciding the heirs to the crown.  The prince of one and the princess of the other would wed and have children. Those children would wed the most worthy of the commoners, and the bloodline would carry on as such.

It was our late kings and queens that found this system not so effective.  No, the Insect Princess and the Pegasus Prince simply couldn’t seem to put aside their petty differences and always seemed to be holding a mental competition, which led to quite a few horrible tragedies over the years.

My tale truly begins on the scheduled day of the Prince and Princess’s wedding.  For one last time before they were forced to be together forever, they wanted to settle once and for all which the better Changeling royalty was.   They flew off in the wee hours of the morning for the thick forests surrounding our sacred wedding altars.  None of the others had a clue where the two ended up.

It is said that their petty squabbles caused the horrible tragedy that was the death of our kings and queens.  The Prince and Princess landed deep within the thickets to hold one final contest of speed and strength.  Neither one was prepared for their fates.

It was all in friendly and egotistical fun, you see.  They agreed on a set path around the forest that eventually wound back to the wedding altar just in time for the ceremony to be performed.  They carried on with their taunts and tricks as they flew and leaped around their tracks, undoubtedly excited to find which the dominant Changeling was.  Just as they rounded the final stretch of bog and started the final dash toward the altar, they were ambushed by the horrendous creatures of the eastern regions.

These creatures were infamous for their hostility toward any living thing, and the poison in their fangs was claimed to be the deadliest in the entire world.  They were shaped like dogs with large muscles and needle-like teeth.  In the dark of night, their eyes shined a deep crimson color, said to paralyze any and all creatures unfortunate enough to look into them.  They were obviously intelligent as well, as they waited in the bushes for many hours for the Prince and Princess to pass by.  Just as the royalty did so, the creatures leapt and began to assault our dear heirs.

Hearing the screams of help from their children, our kings and queens darted off immediately to stop the assault and save their joys.  Upon reaching the battleground, our royalty found themselves surrounded by hundreds of the violent creatures, each more ravenous than the previous.  Without a moment’s hesitation, the creatures snapped their attention to the more succulent Changeling morsels, and began a quick assault.

The kings were agile and powerful enough to knock most down or stagger them, but one or two were able to breach the small defensive circle of creatures.  In the blink of an eye, one particularly large creature had ripped the wing from the Insect Queen.  Her screams of pain attracted the remaining creatures, leaving the Prince and Princess open to flee.  Unwilling to leave their parents to die, they attempted to strategize a plan.

Alas it was to no avail, as the creatures were determined to finish their feast.  Hundreds of the ravenous monsters piled atop the quartet, and continued to rip and tears the royalty to shreds.  The bloodshed and screams were too much for the Prince and Princess to bear, and as such they fled immediately from the horror of the murderous beasts.  Upon returning to the wedding altar without the kings and queens, Changelings began to rumor and mumble about the fate that could have fallen their loving leaders.

The chatter lasted but a few minutes as the Prince and Princess began the most hostile and vulgar exchange ever witnessed by Changeling royalty.  The two exchanged blows and insults and armed assaults as they continued to sob and argue and curse and cast the blame upon one another.  Words were exchanged that could never be taken back, and assaults were cast that would leave everlasting scars.

The Prince exploded with rage and ordered his hive and any other loyal subjects to follow him, and those that did were never heard from again.  To this day it is unknown what befell the Changeling Prince and his hive.  The Princess, however, grew up into a bitter and lonely soul, whose depression began to deprive her hive of love and sustenance.  In a desperate attempt to feed her hive, she attacked a bustling city and ruined the wedding of two royals, just as hers was ruined those many years before.  Her attack failed, and her whole hive was cast away and banished from the region, left to starve from their lack of food.

One particular Changeling was cast in a direction opposite to the rest, and landed with a severed wing, just as the Insect Queen had before her gruesome death.  For months that Changeling roamed the western side of the land of ponies, trying to slowly reach his hive and bring news of an abundance of love and hope to his brethren.

…

The Changeling Traveler fell silent here as he gulped down another mug of whisky.  In the back of my mind I was waiting, hoping, for him to continue his tale.  It was short, perhaps, but it had a deeper effect on me than I believed it would.  When it became painfully obvious that he wasn’t going to continue, I shook my head in disappointment.

I groaned, “Well?  What happened to the lost one?”  I refilled his mug with whisky and urged him to continue on.

He smiled and chuckled, “He ended up in a bar telling a story to a stallion for free food and lodgings.”  He chugged down the liquor and laughed triumphantly.

I could feel my expression slouch into one of disbelieving blankness.  I thought about it for a moment before realizing that he perhaps wasn’t just telling a story, but a history.  I clapped my hooves and sighed, “Heh, I didn’t think you could actually kill time, fella.  Good job.”

The traveler mumbled, “You wanted a tale, so I gave you one.  I take it I met your requirements?”

I spun around to search the shelves of liquor behind me before finding an unopened bottle of my strongest alcohol and placing it right in front of the newcomer.  I groaned, “Yeah kid, you win.  You’ll be staying in room thirty-two upstairs.  I’ll send Caitiff for your order in a little bit.”

The Changeling let out a victorious grunt as he grabbed his bottle of liquor and room key from me.  Without wasting time, he headed straight for the stairs with the intention of passing out in a comfortable bed.  Before he could actually reach the stairs, Razor darted in front of him with an angry glare plastered on his face.

The northern Changeling scoffed angrily, “Who do you think you are, spreading sob stories for that dumbass Queen of yours?!”  He stretched his arms out to keep the Traveler from proceeding to his room.

Wolf immediately darted to the white Changeling’s side and hissed a few short sounds into his ears.  Razor hissed back, the anger obvious in his tone.  The stallion growled, “He ain’t worth it, man!  He’s just a traveler; leave him be.”

The Changeling Traveler sighed, “I don’t have a problem with you northern traitors.  I don’t wanna start a fight here.  Get out of my way.”  He attempted to shove his way past his hostile brother in hopes of getting some sleep.

Razor hissed, “How dare you call us traitors?!  It’s because of your Queen that we had to flee!”

Wolf shoved the angry creature aside and pulled the Traveler into the staircase.  He groaned, “Please forgive my friend.  He’s just upset because of your Queen’s attack on Canterlot.”  He frowned as he looked back to his friend by the counter.

The tension immediately rose between the two friends.  I felt a feeling of betrayal form between them, but it disappeared quickly.  The Traveler staggered upstairs to find his room and get some sleep, while the other two creatures slowly approached the counter.  An odd sense of dread filled my heart as I realized just where this whole ordeal was leading.  Alas, my realization came too late…

My Nightmare Begins

Razor snapped, “If you wanna hear a cool story, leave it to me old man!”  He sat beside me and ordered a nice tall glass of wine, offering his own tale.

I shook my head and chuckled, “That’s certainly not necessary Razor.  I’ve had plenty of stories to last a dozen lifetimes.”  I handed him his glass and he immediately sipped it up.

He handed me the glass back and laughed, “Nonsense, Barman!  I’m in an imaginative mood, and I’m gonna tell my story!”  Razor smiled slyly at the Changeling Traveler as he slowly staggered upstairs.

…

There once lived an unbelievably dashing Changeling, with all the power of a thousand bulls, and the speed of a dozen birds.  He ruled his hive with justice and kindness, never passing blame on his advisers or his subjects.  He always carried himself with an-

…

“…air of regality…”  I interrupted the rambling Changeling in annoyance.

Razor’s jaw dropped low and he simply stared at me in disbelief.  Wolf tried to stifle a fit of laughter, but he was doing a horrible job.  The interrupted Changeling growled, “How the hell’d you know what I was gonna say?!”

I slid another glass of wine his way before chuckling, “I’ve heard it all, kid.  There ain’t a tale of kings and queens you can tell me that I ain’t already heard.  Now go back to your damn table and enjoy the show!”  I passed Wolf his own glass of wine on the house.

“Ssssss!”  The now-angry Changeling snatched up his glass and stomped back to his table, muttering something to me in his native tongue.

Wolf stared at me for a minute before shrugging his shoulders and trotting back to their booth.  I found it half hilarious and half disturbing that not even he could translate whatever it was the doppelganger said.

Just as the hunting stallion took his seat, I heard the hinges of the basement door creak beside me.  I could feel the smile immediately creep up on my face as my most favorite employee staggered up the stairs with a messy mane and droopy eyes.  Caitiff waved a single hoof in my direction before yawning and rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.  They were a particularly dark shade of red that night.

I chuckled, “Good morning, sunshine!  I need you take room thirty-two’s order.”  I shoved a notepad and quill into her inattentive hooves as she finally stopped yawning.

She moaned, “Already?  But I haven’t even been up five minutes!  Couldn’t you have had Scourge do it?”  She shook her head in drowsiness and pointed a hoof at the most disturbing patron of my dear bar, who was sitting still in a chair just beside the stage.

“Ha!  After that last incident, I ain’t sending that mare anywhere without you.”  I chuckled lightheartedly as she turned toward the staircase.

She let out a deep sigh, “Yeah, yeah, whatever…”  She slowly started stumbling up the stairs to the Changeling Traveler’s room.

“Hey,” I called behind her, “if the kid’s asleep, leave him be.”  She waved a dismissive hoof in my direction, the usual method of signaling that she understood.

Just as Caitiff left my sight, a deep voice roared at me from across the bar.  With his single arm raised high in the air, Sir Ox Berry called, “Hey Barman, another mug of that salty dog!”  He slapped his hand down on Wanderer’s shoulder, a sign that he was beginning to get a little tipsy.  The brute never enjoyed physical contact, except when drunk.

I nodded silently at the Minotaur and began work on the concoction I had crafted.  It was a simple mixture:  vodka, grapefruit juice, water, and salt.  The old war heroes seemed to enjoy it the best of all my house specials, though I could never figure out why.  At any rate, I hurried the drink over to the veteran and turned back to my counter.

Before I could start the walk back, Sir Ox Berry grabbed my hoof in his hand.  He chuckled, “I saw how focused you were while listening to that newcomer.  I bet you five nuggets I can tell you a better story!”  He dropped a thick bag of money on the table beside his drink.

I waved a dismissive hoof and groaned, “No thanks pal.  I’m good on stories.  Just enjoy the booze and the show.”  I wrenched my hand from his surprisingly loose grip and turned back toward the counter.

“Did I hear something about a bet, Sir Ox?”  Electric appeared out of seemingly nowhere, causing me to flinch at the glint in his eyes.  A lump formed in my throat.

It was at this time I noticed that the performance on stage had stopped.  Before I could say anything, Plot Twist popped between me and the drunken Minotaur.  The performer chuckled, “If it’s nuggets on the line, I’ll take that bet!  After all, I am an actor!”

Conrideas appeared directly beside his partner, a cheeky grin on his face.  He clapped his hooves and scoffed, “You’re an actor, but I’m a visionary!  I’ll take your bet Sir Ox!”  He pulled a few nuggets from the pocket of his outfit.

Razor hissed across the bar, “Yes, I think I’ll join in on this little game of yours!”  He started a brisk trot over to the gathering group of patrons.

It was at this point I recovered from my temporary paralysis and groaned, “No, no, no!  There won’t be any story-telling contests tonight!  Not while I’m forced to listen!”  I tried to shoo a few of the betters away, but they were stubborn enough to ignore me.

Wolf joined Razor in the group.  He growled, “Ha, I bet I can top all of you!  I can tell you tales of hunts that most of you would never see in your wildest dreams!”  He plopped a hoof on his friend’s back, placing the other one to the hilt of the sword hanging at his side.

Sir Ox Berry roared, “My war stories will send you to bed with nightmares, kid!  You ain’t got nothing on me!”  He slapped the table and downed his salty dog in one gulp.

“I said no, fellas!  I don’t wanna listen to any more stories!” I cried out to them desperately, hoping they would listen.

Freezing muttered from his booth, “You’re all daft.  I’d wreck you with a tale of my creation!”  He sipped his mug of frosty cider before turning to face the group.

Conrideas burst into laughter and cried, “You keep dreaming, pal!  Ain’t no way you can top me!”  He received a sour expression from his partner.

A horrible voice caused my skin to crawl, “I’ll take that bet!  My pyrotechnics have brought me plenty of stories over the years!”  Monochrome tumbled downstairs with his usual cheery demeanor.  The smile plastered on his face was the same as just before he destroyed half of my bar.

I screamed as loud as my middle-aged lungs would allow, “Dammit I said no!  I will not tolerate a story-telling contest!”  The entire bar fell silent at my outburst as I stomped back to the counter.  Just as I began to pour myself a glass of whisky, Caitiff appeared at the top of the stairs.

She tittered, “You should really lighten up, old man.  You’ll dig yourself an early grave if you don’t control that temper.”  She slapped the small notepad onto the counter with a wide grin on her face before turning toward the crowd of customers.  She cheered, “I’ll gladly take your bet, Sir Ox!  And I’ll even raise you a round of drinks!”

I can’t exactly say why, by the wicked smile on her face made me feel a bit calmer.  I suddenly had the urge to let the drunks have their fun.  I shook my head in disbelief and groaned, “Fine, you can have your dumb little contest.  But I swear, the second the details get too juicy for my tastes, you’re shutting your traps!”  I looked down at the notepad to see that the Traveler was really taking advantage of his free meal.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I set to work cooking up the food.  Over the sounds of fire and food, I could hear the betters chatting away and bragging.  I wondered to myself just how the Traveler would be able to hold all this sustenance down.  Seriously, he ordered a ton of food:  four slices of golden toast, three scrambled eggs, two blueberry muffins, and a side of grape jam.

At any rate, I hurriedly cooked his food and sent Caitiff to deliver it.  Just as she returned to the crowd, a much unexpected happening took place.  Louder than I’d ever heard her before, Pigeon called out, “I’ll see your nuggets and drinks, Caitiff, and I’ll raise you free meals for everypony!”  She held her locket tightly in one claw and lifted a bag of money high in the other.  The smile on her face unnerved most of the other patrons.

“You’re all ignorant losers.  It’s my literary art that will make you all wish you had never taken the bet.”  Lavender leaped from the stage and wrapped her hooves around Plot Twist and Conrideas.  She winked in my direction, as if expecting me to agree with her.  She then giggled, “As a matter of fact, why don’t we get Barman to be the judge?  After all, he’s not telling a story and has nothing to lose.  He’s the perfect unbiased stallion for the job!”

A sudden chatter of agreement erupted within the group of betters.  I remember feeling something in the back of my head snap and my temples begin to throb.  I was just about to disagree and scold them when the door to the basement slammed closed.  A weird feeling filled my gut as Lamia stepped out to greet the group.

She grinned slyly and chuckled, “If it is a contest you wish to hold, allow me to join if you’ll be so bold.  The stories I can tell you are those worthy of fear, and I will gladly tell them for some free beer.”  I could never stand the way she spoke in rhymes with that creepy tone.

After a small period of silence I was able to object to judging the contest.  I groaned, “I said you could have the contest; I never said anything about judging it myself!”

Sir Ox Berry cheered, “C’mon Barman, who else has enough world-weariness aside from me and Wanderer to judge such a colossal bet?”  The entire crowd turned to face me with wide smiles on their faces.

“Not to mention the…intelligence…required to tell a good story from a bad.”  Caitiff ran a hoof softly down my spine with a slight hiss in her voice.

To this day I swear she had some sort of ability to subconsciously manipulate ponies, because I could never refuse her when she wanted something.  I think it was her eyes.  At any rate, I eventually caved in to the pests’ requests and agreed to judge the contest.  The entire group decided to draw straws to see who would tell the first tale, so I went to the back to fetch the grain from my stores.  As I was heading back to group of betters, I heard the front door creak open and the sound of thunder in the distance.

“A storm’s brewing, I s’pose.” I sighed under my breath, dreading the pounding sound of rain on the roof of the Shady Trough.  Normally it would be a welcome and relaxing sound, but I would be forced to listen to the screeching of each patron’s voice during the course of the contest.  When I returned to the front of the bar, I was greeted by an unexpected guest.

“Hello darling.  My name is Violet—Miss Violet—and I would like to purchase a room for the evening.”  A rather small donkey was sitting awkwardly on the barstool closest to the entrance of the bar, attempting not to intrude on the group that was mingling in the other corner.

I slapped a smile on my face and greeted the elegantly-dressed customer with a chuckle, “Well Miss Violet, if you have the bits I have a room.”  I took the momentary silence to analyze the donkey in detail.

She was dressed in a fabulous dress with jewelry adorning her body.  She had a gold and diamond necklace, as well as two pairs of diamond earrings on each ear.  She had a golden band wrapped around her ankle.  Her face was done up with makeup, and she reeked of perfume.  She maintained an elegant posture and pose.  Her voice seeped with snobbish superiority from the few words she had spoken before.

She sighed, “I’m quite tired, dear.  Just inform me how much a nightly room costs and I’ll be off to bed.”  She placed a small jingling satchel on the counter in front of her.

I turned around to check my room registry to see which ones were available.  I heard Lamia whisper to the newcomer, “Ah, but dear Violet would you like to partake in this contest in which our money we forsake?”

“Come again dear?  I’m afraid I don’t speak gibberish.”  The newly-arrived snob muttered to the zebra in an annoyed tone.

Caitiff immediately butted in before Lamia could retaliate, “We’re having a story-telling contest tonight, m’lady.  Perhaps you would like to join in?  You look like a woman with plenty of interesting experiences to share with us young hoodlums.”  My employee’s voice was flooded with deceitful insincerity.  I simply adored it.

I found the perfect room for the lady and cheered, “I have just the lodgings for a lady as elegant as you.  The fee is two nuggets per night.  It comes with a small meal and a bottle of hard liquor.”  I smiled widely as the donkey reached into her satchel and tossed the two nuggets at me.

She giggled, “Thank you, good sir.  I assume you’ll send for my order once I’m settled in?”  She staggered off toward the stairs.

An idea suddenly washed over me.  I was already trapped in the contest, so why not make her suffer as well?  I chuckled, “I’ll waive your lodging and food fees if you participate in the contest.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and smiled slyly at me.  She sighed, “I’m afraid nopony wants to listen to the ramblings of an old lady.  I will have to pass, thank you.”

Sir Ox Berry didn’t hesitate to call, “My dear sweet donkey, won’t you reconsider?  You could teach us your wonderful secrets of a long and wealthy life!”  He raised his empty glass high as if to honor the old mule.  I could barely contain a laugh at his blatant lie.

“What is the wager?” she replied bluntly.

Pigeon giggled, “Five nuggets, a round of drinks, and meals for everypony.”

Miss Violet burst into an elegant fit of giggles.  She sighed, “If you truly wish to hear a crazy lady’s ramblings, then so be it.  Be warned that my experiences are not suitable for innocent ears.”  She winked at me with a sneaky glint in her eye.

My mind immediately began to swirl with thoughts of the possible tale she would tell.  I immediately cast the thoughts out of my head in fear of bringing about nausea.  I briskly trotted over to the group and held out the straw in a clasped hoof.  I groaned, “Okay everypony, draw straws so we can see who starts this disaster…”

Without hesitation every patron of the bar yanked a straw from my hoof, eager to find out which would begin the bet that each one felt confident they would win.  In the back of my mind I was already tired of this contest.  Sadly, I had agreed to judge it, so I had to stick around until each contestant told their story.

Each gambler held up their strand of straw high in the air.  All eyes shot at Sir Ox Berry as it became painfully obvious he had drawn the shortest one.  I let out a small chuckle as the irony wasn’t lost on me.  He had started my nightmare, so he would actually be the one to start my nightmare.

Sir Ox Berry's Tale of Glory [Adventure]

All eyes were glued on the large veteran sitting in the booth beside Wanderer, a smile plastered on his face.  Sir Ox Berry was obviously ecstatic to be able to tell his tale first.  I couldn’t blame the poor fella.  After all, he was obviously already a little tipsy, and before long I assumed he would be too drunk to form complete sentences.

The Minotaur raised his arm high and cheered, “Before I begin my story, allow me to wish you all the best of luck!  You’re all going to need it!”  In an instant, his smile faded and his muscles relaxed.  His cheery demeanor was replaced by the familiar depressed attitude we had all come to know.

Wanderer took a sip from his salty dog, a frown growing on his face.  Over the years, the two veterans had developed a bond that almost magically left them empathetic of the other.  I could tell from the look on the stallion’s face that he had already heard whatever tale Sir Ox was about to tell.  I readied myself for the saddest possible war story.

“As most of you are aware, I was once a great soldier back home.  In fact, I was the greatest general in all of the Motherland.  I was renown all over the land, and every young boar dreamed of being as great as me.”  A smile flashed across his face as he remembered all of the admirers he once had.

…

Minotaurs and Griffons are proud people.  If you don’t work within the higher-ups, the odds of you knowing any disheartening news are slim.  That is until it bites you on the buttocks.  I doubt any of you ponies would know about this, but a small war erupted between the Minotaur Motherland and the Griffon Empire.  It only lasted a few years, but those years brought about the death of the Griffon royalty…and the loss of my ability to fight.

The war started over a land feud between the Griffon and Minotaur leaders.  A small island in the sea between our homelands was home of several hundred tons of precious minerals.  Both kingdoms wanted to own the island and the resources within, and that is how our lands came to war.  What started as a battle for resources escalated quickly into a full blown war to destroy the opposing faction.  Many battles were fought, but none were quite as important as the final fight of the war.

Our tsar had spent countless hours planning out a forward assault into the heart of the Griffon Empire, and formulated a perfect strategy to invade the capitol and tear the royal family apart.  He assumed that if we took out the royalty, then morale would surely fall in the troops, and we would have an unconditional surrender.  For the most part, he was correct.

I was the general in charge of the assault on the capitol, and we carried only our finest soldiers to the battlefield.  During a previous battle at sea, we had confiscated a Griffon ship.  We docked on the southern edge of the Griffon lands, and trekked our ways right into the heart of the capitol.  Of course we received resistance, but a few town guards were nothing against our joined might.

It wasn’t until we stormed the castle that we faced true resistance.  The royals had left their greatest warriors to protect them from an inevitable attack.  The fun began once my comrades and I destroyed the front gates to the castle.  Without a moment to spare, we were charged by a swarm of Griffon soldiers.  I hardly considered such weak birds worth my time, and so I swatted them aside like flies.  My mission was to execute the king and capture the princess, and I was determined to fulfill my mission.

As we entered the grand hall to the castle, we found another hundred warriors of varying ranks waiting for us on the upper balconies, as well as hidden behind the pillars and statues.  We powered through each of the birds one by one, until only a few remained.  The grand hall was filled with the corpses and injured bodies of Griffons and Minotaurs, but our mission still stood.  Despite how outnumbered we were and our casualties, we resolved to see our objective out until the end.

I assumed that, by this time, the royalty would have been evacuated from the throne room and taken to another wing of the castle, so I split my force into equal groups.  My group would be in charge of finding and binding the princess, whereas the other groups were to scour the halls and find evidence of evacuation.  Without complaint, my comrades set out on their mission.

I guided my team through the halls of the castle, fighting a Griffon strike team every once in a while, but mostly unopposed.  We continued through the halls without fear, and eventually stumbled upon what was assumed to be the princess’s chambers.  As we approached the door, panels on the ceiling of the hall snapped to pieces as soldiers dressed in silver armor crashed down around us.  I was unsure at the time whether it was an ambush or a coincidence, but my comrades wasted no time in retaliating.

The dozen Minotaurs who followed me initiated the battle.  My comrades were unsuspecting of the might of these birds.  Their armor kept any fatal blows from landing, and their speed far surpassed our bulky physiques.  For several minutes we fought, useless, against the ambushing soldiers.  However, that silver armor weighed heavy upon their shoulders, and fatigue swallowed them much faster than it did us.  An opening appeared in their ranks, and I seized the opportunity to charge at the princess’s chambers.

While my comrades covered my back and held off the soldiers, I tackled through the large oak doors and found myself in the middle of a finely decorated room.  Alas, I was not alone.  Although my soldiers were still holding off the attacking force from the previous hall, another brigade of soldiers stood stock-still in a half-circle in front of me, their weapons drawn and aimed directly at me.  Soldiers with swords, spears, and arrows all found themselves poised to advance.

The doors slammed hard behind me as a particularly large Griffon entered the room.  With a smug smile on his face, he circled around me, knowing he clearly had the advantage.  He stopped in front of the rest of his soldiers before chuckling, “You are an ignorant boar.”

The soldiers behind him let out a collective laugh.  I groaned, “Ignorant, perhaps.  But at least I am no coward, like you.”

I took the second of silence to see who this larger Griffon was.  His feathers were red, and he was suited in a thick golden armor unlike his comrades.  His eyes had an unnerving brown glow in them as he continued to circle the room.

He roared, “You have some nerve calling me a coward!  Sure, we planned an ambush.  And yes, we evacuated our dear princess.  But our king is, at this very moment, slaughtering your little piggies in the throne room!”  The soldiers burst into laughter at the thought of their king’s victory.

I simply grinned and sighed, “You truly believe that, don’t you?  It doesn’t matter how powerful your king is as long I survive.  No soldier has ever bested me in a duel.”  I lifted my axe high in the air as if to show my superiority.

The Griffon General laughed, “Oh really?  Then allow me to be the first.”  He waved a claw at his soldiers, who immediately leapt back and dropped their weapons on the ground.  He stepped forward with his beak curved into a grin.  He slowly reached a claw to his side, and with one swift movement he advanced.

He drew a sword in his dominant claw as he darted toward me.  With barely a second to think, I rolled out of the way and swung my axe at the bird.  His attack landed on the floor where I had previously been standing, and the blade of my axe crashed down onto his golden armor immediately after.  I crawled to my hooves and lifted the weapon high above my head, readying for another swing.

The blow stunned the Griffon General, leaving him open for a fatal blow.  Just as I was about to send the axe down with all my might, the doors to the room burst open, with several of my comrades collapsing on the ground just within the doorway.  Their hands and hooves were bound by thick cuts of rope, and their snouts were stuffed into metallic muzzles.  Before me lay the embarrassed figures of my kingdom’s elite soldiers.  I hesitated to swing my axe as a few other Griffons poured into the room behind my comrades.

My hesitation allowed the general to recover from the first blow, and he once again lunged at me.  In my ignorant stupor I never noticed the bird get off of the ground.  By the time I realized he was attacking, it was already too late.  With a powerful leap, the Griffon launched himself into the air and began a small nose-dive right at me.  His sword extended, the general made direct contact to me.  The instant his blade sliced my flesh, an intense burning filled the entire right side of my body.

I noticed blood spurt off to the side.  I immediately put the pieces together, and a raging flame ignited in my heart.  I swung my only remaining arm with all the might I could muster up.  Spinning in nearly a complete circle with my axe, I made direct contact to the bird’s chest, sending him flying into a nearby dresser.  Under the force of the general’s weight, the furniture collapsed to pieces, the mirror shattering and coating the entirety of the Griffon’s exposed flesh, including his eyes.

With blood trickling from his wounded senses, the Griffon let out a yelp of pain.  He scrambled around to find his weapon, then immediately charged in the direction of my last heard battle roar.  With a missing arm and a surely shattered hand, I resorted to one final defense.  I dropped to the ground with my head lifted high, making sure I was angled so that my horns were reaching out further than any other body part.

Unable to see the trap, the general continued his charge.  Faster than I could capture it, he rammed directly into my head, numbing my senses.  I heard a faint scream of agonizing pain from the beak beside my ears, and I could hear the metal of his sword collide with the other mirror in the room.  I felt an uncomfortable tightness wrap around my left horn, and a sharp stinging sensation shot through my body.

Before long, the general’s screaming stopped, and I felt his pulse cease.  The muscles wrapped around my horn loosened, and the bird became even heavier on me as he became nothing but dead weight.  Around this time my senses recovered.  I was able to take in the sight of all the Griffon soldiers cheering their general on, thinking he may back away any second to reveal my death.

I savored their unknowing expressions for a minute or two before deciding it was time to end the charade.  I slowly moved my right arm and shoved the bird’s body with all my might.  With a loud cracking sound, he went flying into the remains of the dresser from before, limp and dead.  An intense jolt of electricity shot through my being, and I collapsed on the ground writhing in pain.

All of the Griffon soldiers crowded around the corpse of their general, not willing to accept that they had lost their finest soldier.  They turned to me and drew their weapons.  I was certain they were going to end my life in that instant.  I suppose luck was on my side that day, however.  A bloodied and battered Griffon limped into the room carrying a small golden locket in his claw.

“Our king…has fallen…” The messenger managed to choke out those words before falling dead on the ground.

Hearing those words suddenly numbed my pain, and I scrambled to my hooves.  I watched as all the soldiers dropped their weapons again and darted from the room.  Tears and panic filled their eyes and voices as they screamed defeat.  I took the golden locket from the messenger and proceeded to unbind my comrades.  With a round of cheers, they congratulated me on my honorable victory against the Griffon General.  Then they pointed out that I was missing a horn.

My own injuries were the least of my concerns at the time.  I commanded them to scour the castle to look for any straggling Griffons or surviving Minotaurs.  As they did so, I proceeded to exit the castle and send word to our tsar that the mission had been a success; all aside from the princess’s supposed escape.  The last thing I remember doing before returning to the Motherland was releasing the messenger pigeon.  Everything between that and the medical facility is a big blank.

…

“It was announced that the Griffon Princess was found dead just outside the city limits a few days later.  The war was also officially concluded with the Motherland receiving the small island that started the whole conflict.  An honoring ceremony was held a week later, and I received awards for commanding the final battle, my injuries, and the death of the king.”  Sir Ox Berry chugged down the tall mug of whisky I had poured him during his tale.

The patrons of the bar had an air of depression and excitement floating about them.  I heard a collective sigh of interest pour from their mouths as Sir Ox finished his story.  The rest was pretty obvious to most of us, so I doubted he would tell it.  When the Minotaur ordered another salty dog, I knew his story was over.  A round of applause erupted after he had released his concluding sigh.  Wanderer slapped a hoof to the back of the brute, as if to tell him it was an amazing tale.

“That was quite depressing, I dare say.  Does anypony happen to have a more cheerful tale to tell?”  Miss Violet raised a handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away the tears that I didn’t believe existed.  Her patronization was a little irritating to me, but I did agree that we needed a happier story.

I nodded and cheered, “C’mon, get yourselves together!  This is a contest, not a pity-fest!  Get on with the stories!”  As much as I had complained earlier, I was beginning to feel that this contest could turn out to be a nice change of pace around the Shady Trough.

I felt a lump form in my throat as a longing voice whispered, “I think I have a nice story for all you ponies…”  I watched as Caitiff stepped up on stage, Scourge dragging a chair over to her.  The mystifying mare made a small scour over the patrons of the bar, a grin growing on her face.

Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I was certain her eyes started to glow a bright crimson red.  I chuckled, “Oh dear Celestia save us all!  The barmaid’s got a story!”  She sent me a mock-smile as I turned to pour her a mug for her thirst while she spoke.

Caitiff shifted slightly in the chair, attempting to get comfortable.  I felt a sense of curiosity manifest in my mind as I approached her with the mug of cider.  She nodded in thanks and took a small sip before handing the mug to her follower.

Caitiff and Scourge's Tale of Immortalization [Lightly Dark]

The crowd of gamblers shifted from Sir Ox Berry’s booth over to the front of the stage.  Caitiff and Scourge sat in front of them with an air of mystique and wonder around them.  Even Pigeon decided to join the crowd in listening to the barmaid’s inevitably captivating story.  The fact that both patrons on stage had sly expressions only added to our curiosity.

Caitiff sighed, “Oh yes, do I have a wonderful tale for all of you…”  She lowered her gaze down to the ground as Scourge plopped down right in front of her.  She continued, “My dear precious Scourge and I have been through so much together.”  She placed a hoof softly on the silent mare’s head, stroking her mane with endearment.

For the first time in several nights, Scourge actually spoke.  She moaned, “More than you can imagine…”

Every patron was caught off guard by the emptiness in the lackey’s voice.  Usually the pony only spoke when angered by some cruel injustice, in which case that anger would be flooding from her voice.  But tonight, her voice was hollow of all emotion.  It sent a shiver up my spine, but I managed to hold my tongue.

The smile on Caitiff’s face quickly fell into a frown.  She sighed, “Much more than you can possibly imagine.  Not all of it was good, but we’ve persevered.  Times can be tough for us, though.  I sometimes feel as if we’d be better off someplace else, under different circumstances.  Alas, our fate is our burden.”  She smirked at us again, her eyes lighting up brighter than before.  I knew I didn’t imagine it when all of the other patrons jumped at the sight.

Scourge placed her master’s mug on the ground and stood up.  The eerie mare giggled, “Listeners beware…this tale is a scare…”  With a wave of her hoof, Caitiff began the story.

…

Our tale starts a long time ago, longer ago than even the rise of Nightmare Moon.

A bolt of lightning crashed down to the ground as the little filly approached the large oak doors of the mansion.  She reached into the small pouch at her side and pulled out a small business card.  ‘Escape your Fate—Find the Count’ is what it read.  For three months the filly had travelled all across Equestria looking for whoever this ‘Count’ person was.  Finally, in a nearby town, some deranged old stallion had given her directions to an abandoned mansion in the woods.  Deep within the reaches of her heart, the filly prayed that this mansion was the key to finding the Count.

With shivering hooves and a soaked coat, the filly knocked gently on the oak doors.  To her surprise, the doors swung open wide, and she was greeted by a tall mare in a maid’s outfit.  Without a second to spare, the maid let out a gasp of disbelief as she noticed the filly standing in the pouring rain.  Taking the filly by the hoof, the maid guided her into the mansion’s dining room, where a buffet of food had been placed out.  At the far end of the table, a large muscular stallion was elegantly feasting on his food.  Beside him sat several other ponies of similar build, and the maids and butlers scrambled to and fro.

The maid dragged the filly to the stallion’s side and explained the situation to him.  With a smile on his face, the stallion took the card from the filly’s free hoof.  He chuckled, “My dear sweet filly, you’ve come a long way, haven’t you?  All the way from the hills of Manehattan…”  He placed a hoof on the filly’s head.

The other stallions at the table dismissed themselves, and the working ponies followed suit.  Left alone in the hall was the maid, the stallion, and the filly.  The maid sighed, “You’ve certainly been through a lot, child.  Why is it you have come here?”  She let go of the filly’s hoof, backing away a few steps to bow to the stallion.

The filly hesitated for several seconds before mumbling, “I-I came to find the Count…  He promised he would help me!”  She plopped down on the floor, not sure whether to be sad or scared.  She continued, “I’ve been looking everywhere!  But…I can never find him.”

The stallion and maid shared a confused smile.  The stallion chuckled, “My dear determined daughter you have come a long way to find this place.  My name is Count Caitiff IV, otherwise known as Count to all those not personal acquaintances.  You have finally found me.”  He stood up from his chair and picked the filly up in his front hooves.  There was a gentle, pitying smile plastered on his face.

The maid was speechless at the sight of the two.  She simply bowed in dismissal and walked out of the room.

Count asked, “What is your name, little girl?”

“I…I don’t know.  Everypony called me Filly back home.  I’ve never had a name…”  Tears began to swell in the filly’s eyes at the thought of her fortune back in Manehattan.

Count shook his head and placed the filly into the chair he had just stood up from.  He tittered, “You poor unfortunate soul, how could you not have a name?  Perhaps we can change that.  You’ve sought me out to change your fate, correct?”

The filly simply nodded as the tears continued to fall.

Count continued, “Very well then!  My dear, I shall call you Caitiff, after myself!  After all, you might find we have more in common than you think.”

“C-Caitiff?”

“Yes, Caitiff.  From this day forward, you are no longer a nameless filly without a family.  From this day on, you are part of my family.  But this favor does not come free, I fear.”  Count sent her a sly grin, the gears turning in his head.

Caitiff’s eyes lit up, a smile stretching across her face.  She giggled, “What do I have to do?  I’ll do it!”

Count chuckled, “You are an eager filly, eh?  In exchange for this favor, you must work here in my mansion for as long as I believe it necessary.  Follow the other maids’ leads, and you shall know what you must do.  Do your duties well and follow my commands, and you may live here as part of our family.”

“Yes sir!  Thank you!”  The filly bounced excitedly in the chair, happy to finally belong to a family of her own.

For ten years Caitiff worked for Count.  She cleaned the mansion, cooked the food, and washed the laundry.  The rest of the maids and butlers were amazed by her determination to uphold her end of the bargain set forth by Count.  She never once complained about her fate.  She never once complained that she couldn’t leave the mansion without permission, or that she sometimes got stuck doing the disgusting chores of the mansion.

Count was good to her.  The day she arrived at the mansion was celebrated as her birthday, and he pulled out all the resources he could to make her stay in his home enjoyable.  For weeks at a time he would disappear, along with the other members of the family, but she never once questioned his actions.

It wasn’t until the day of her tenth birthday that her paradise began to crumble.  She had grown up in the same setting for ten whole years, and it all crashed down around her that day.  Every resident of the mansion gathered around the dining table as they prepared for Caitiff’s birthday party.  Everypony was in good spirits.

Just before the party began, a loud banging erupted from the front door.  Everypony rushed to it, an air of fear clouding around them.  One of the members of the family approached the door cautiously and opened it.  Through the door burst several armed ponies from the nearby town.  They carried themselves with a hostile demeanor, their weapons poised to attack the first thing that moved.

Count stepped forward to greet the villagers with a wide grin and open arms.  He chuckled, “Are such hostilities necessary, my dear neighbors?”  He attempted to get closer to the apparent leader of the pack, but was met with a hostile thrust of a spear.

The leader scoffed, “You kidnap our children and steal our crops, yet you have the nerve to act innocent!  We’re here to make you and your demons pay for your actions!”  One of the other villagers turned directly toward Caitiff, raising his weapon high above his head.

Count raised his hands high, attempting to show innocence.  He sighed, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I would ask that you drop your weapons.”

The leader roared, “Do you take us for fools, demon?  We know all about your kind!  You feed on our flesh and blood in the dark of night, stealing our children to raise with your own twisted morals!”  He thrust his spear at Count again, this time nearly making contact.

One of Count’s brothers shouted, “How dare you intrude in our home and defile our name?!  What evidence have you of our misdeeds?”

The villager cried, “Enough to know the identity of the beast that has plagued our village for so many generations!”

Count clapped his hooves and chuckled, “I’m afraid you mistake my patience for ignorance, sir.  I will ask you to either drop your weapons or leave my home one last time.  If you do not comply, I cannot be held accountable for my actions.”  He unclasped the cape around his neck, dropping it elegantly on the ground beside him.

Each of the villagers turned back to him, readying their weapons for an attack.  The leader cried, “Don’t move, bastard!  We only want what we deserve:  revenge!”  He nodded once to his companions.

The villager closest to Caitiff made a mad dash at her, wrapping a hoof around her throat and positioning the tip of his knife right at her jugular vein.  He laughed, “You demons had best listen to our elder, or the girl gets it!”  The maids and butlers she had grown up with began to panic.

Count simply laughed, “I’m afraid you don’t understand what you’re messing with.”  In the blink of an eye, Count was directly in front of Caitiff, his hoof drawn back as if to attack.

Caitiff managed to choke out, “M-Master…what’s happening?”

The villager holding onto her pulled her back against the wall, trying to open the distance between himself and the master of the house.  Count sighed, “You came to me to change your fate.  As of today, that fate has been changed.  Forgive me, my dear.”  Before Caitiff could question his meaning, he thrust forward at a supernatural speed.

She felt a sharp pain shoot through her body as Count’s hoof pierced straight through her chest and into the villager behind her.  She felt him lose his grip and fall limp on the ground.  She fell forward, landing in Count’s arms.  He whispered something foreign in her ears, and a sharp stinging sensation filled her throat before she lost consciousness.  The head of the house turned his attention to the rest of the villagers, who immediately scrambled out of the mansion at adrenaline-filled speeds.

Count turned to his eldest brother and said, “Take her to the dungeon, brother.  Explain the situation to the others.”

“What are you going to do, Count?  Don’t be rash!”

Count smiled angrily at the open door.  He sighed, “I do not know why those villagers attacked us, but I shall ensure that it does not happen again.  If I do not return by sunrise, assume I have died.”

Count’s eldest brother pleaded, “You mustn’t do this, brother!  After what you have done, you cannot abandon her!”

“If that should happen, I leave it to you to teach her our ways.  Do not let her leave without the necessary knowledge.”  Before his brother could object any further, Count disappeared in a gust of wind.

Caitiff awoke several days later in an unfamiliar room.  A faint light shined above her, allowing her to see the décor and other residents.  She was in a large open chamber made of solid stone and no door.  There was a single other pony in the room, a filly only slightly younger than her.  As she scrambled to her hooves, the other pony approached with a relieved expression.

The little filly cheered, “Hooray, you’re okay!  Master will be so happy to see you!”

Caitiff scratched her mane as an intense burning filled her chest.  She groaned, “Where am I?”

The filly bounced happily and said, “You’re in the dungeon, where all we ghouls are brought to live.”

“The dungeon?  What dungeon?  What’s a ghoul?”  The burning slowly intensified, until she found herself breathing heavy.

“Ghouls are what happen when a vampire doesn’t fully feed on another pony.  Count Caitiff lets us live here because the villagers hate us…”  The filly smiled widely at the now-agonized mare.

A piece of the far wall slid away as Caitiff was about to say something else.  The tall figure of a stallion approached the confused mare with an air of pity.  He sighed, “It’s good to see you are well, Caitiff.  A lot has happened in the last few days.  Perhaps we can talk over dinner tonight.”  The stallion offered a hoof to Caitiff, who gripped it tight as the burning filled her senses.

The stallion leaned over to ask her something, but she blacked out before he could get the words out.  When she awoke, she was in a much brighter room, the same stallion standing beside her with a few other ponies.  The filly from the dungeon was there, as well as a pony she recognized to be Count’s brother.

The stallion from earlier waited for her to become fully conscious before saying, “I’m certain you are full of questions as to what is happening to you.  Do you still feel that burning sensation in your chest?”

Caitiff nodded weakly, her muscles stiff and her coat freezing.  Count’s brother chuckled, “That’s to be expected.  Once you’ve fully changed, the pain will subside.  I’m afraid the chill you feel will still remain, however.  Thus is the curse of the undead, I suppose.”  He placed a hoof gently on Caitiff’s head as if to comfort her.

The filly smiled widely and cheered, “It’s really not so bad after you get used to it, I promise!”  She hopped up onto the edge of the bed, trying to help the mare feel better.

Count’s brother chuckled, “This is Scourge.  She’s a ghoul that Count saved a few years back.  She may look like a filly, but she’s actually about your age, Caitiff.  She’ll be helping you adjust to your life as an undead.”  He smiled at Caitiff, showing his genuine empathy for her situation.

The other stallion sighed, “You’ll be fine in a few days.  All of us vampires and ghouls have gone through it.  Scourge will be by your side as long as you need her.  When you regain your ability to speak, she will gladly answer your inquiries.”  He and Count’s brother exited the room without a second glance at the helpless mare in the bed.

Scourge stayed by Caitiff’s side every moment of every day for almost a month, answering questions and offering advice on how to handle the attributes of an undead.  The young-looking pony helped the elder cope with the sudden loss of her mortality, and they both quickly developed a bond that would last throughout the ages.  There even came a point in time where the residents of the mansion assumed that their relationship was much more than simple friendship.

The two never would’ve guessed the day they met that they would be together for the remainder of their eternal lives.  They were also unaware that they would never see their master again.

…

The two suddenly-eerie ponies fell silent.  They shared expressions of longing and nostalgia, while the rest of us were left waiting for more.  When Caitiff stood up from her chair and chugged her mug of whisky, I knew the tale was over.  Scourge removed the chair from the stage as her friend took a bow.  The gamblers were torn between cheer for such a wonderful tale and jeer for such a short story.

Wolf was the first to express his distaste, “How can you just leave us hanging like that?!  That’s so cruel, Caitiff!”

The story-teller giggled, “I take it you like it, then?  I would be more than happy to tell the rest of the story, but I’m afraid that would take all night.”  She stepped down from the stage with a sly grin on her face.  She plopped down in a chair and handed her mug back to me.

Scourge laughed, “If she told the rest of the story, there would be no chance for any of you to win!”  She sat down beside her companion, falling silent as soon as she did so.

Pigeon stammered, “That…wasn’t a true story, was it?”

With a sly grin Caitiff giggled, “I don’t know, was it?”  The Griffon inquirer immediately took a gulp of her drink, trying to hide the fear in her eyes.  I couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction.

“I must say, true or not, that was an amazing tale!  Who knew barmaids could think up such interesting stories?”  Conrideas let out a hefty chuckle as he applauded the supposedly-vampiric pony.

I groaned, “Yeah, amazing story, but who’s up next?”  Each patron fell silent, not wanting to be the one to follow such a tough act.

After a few minutes of silence, Freezing leaped to his hooves.  He chuckled, “Since we’re on the topic of freaks of nature, why don’t I tell my tale?  I’m sure you’ll all just adore it!”  He stepped up on stage with a smug grin and an air of confidence.

Plot Twist scoffed, “What, is it about your incurable illness?  Don’t you ever get tired of telling that fairytale?”

The offended stallion chuckled, “My dear friend, this is no fairytale.  Just listen to my story, and then you can decide for yourself!”  He stood tall on the stage, preparing to try and top Caitiff’s story.

I brought him the obligatory beverage and sat beside my employee, eager to see just what twists he would add to his sob story this time around.  A skeptical chatter erupted around the bar, leading right up to Miss Violet's own protests of ignorance.  She seemed a bit...bothered.  I loved it.

Freezing Cold's Tale of Illness [Sad]

Conrideas laughed, “Oh please, you insane mule!  Do you seriously expect us to believe that you have some incurable disease?  If you did, how would you even still be here?”

Freezing’s icy white coat seemed to shine as he leaped to his hooves.  He scoffed, “You don’t have to believe me, funny colt, but my illness is as serious as any others you know of!”  He crossed his front hooves over his chest in indignation.

A wickedly sinister voice hissed over the chatter of the group of patrons, “Silence yourselves if you value your lives!  This stallion’s tale is not one of lies!  I feel in his aura the pain of a lifetime…many of you could not see it if it were written on a sign!”  Lamia’s disturbing rhymes sent my skin crawling and caused me to shiver in discomfort.

Pigeon giggled, “Oh great, now the witch is feeding the flame!”  The visionary zebra sent the griffon a look of intense scorn.  I could almost feel the cord tighten between the two.

Sir Ox Berry chimed in, “Now all of you little brats behave!”  He slapped the table loudly before groaning, “This is a contest, and we all deserve respect for our stories!  Caitiff and I had our turns, now shut up and let the sufferer share his!”

The entire bar fell silent at Sir Ox’s request.  He seemed to be one of the few patrons with enough sense to refrain from bickering with the others over meaningless facts.  Even Lamia backed up into her chair with respect to the Minotaur, which said a lot considering she hated anything that wasn’t equine in nature.

Regardless of the motives, we all turned our attention to Freezing as he sat back in his chair and cleared his throat.  His voice developed a solemn tone as he began to tell his tale.

…

I wasn’t always ill, you know.  I was born as just another normal Pegasus up in Cloudsdale.  My father was a higher-up in the Cloudsdale Weather Generating Facility, a CEO in fact.  He loved his work, and his subordinates.  He would come home every evening and brag about how wonderful of a crew he had to work with.  He loved his job so much, in fact, that for my third birthday he decided to take me with him to work and show me the different departments of the facility.

At the time, I wasn’t quite excited to be visiting some old boring factory.  In fact, I outright expressed my disapproval many times over, making sure he understood just how much I loathed the industrial center.  He continued to insist on taking me with him, and after a bit of enticing from my mother, I agreed to go with him.  I maintained a very obvious expression of annoyance during the tour, though.

Of course, I regret my behavior now.

I followed close behind him, my heart set on getting the reward Mom promised me when we got home.  We walked through the facility fairly quickly, stopping only for a few minutes so he could explain the different machines to me.  I never really cared, and instead just ignored most of his words.

That is until he showed me the Rainbow Vat!  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, honestly!  Sure, there are plenty of rainbows all over Cloudsdale, but none were as concentrated and bright as the Rainbow Vat.  As soon as I laid eyes on it, I tuned my dad in and started to learn all I could about the vat.

“This is where all of Equestria’s rainbows are made, son.  Every natural rainbow that you see is produced here.  It’s one of the most concentrated centers of magic in the world, and it’s right in your home town!”  My eyes lit up as he explained how the vat worked.

We stopped by a large lever with a bulky stallion operating it.  The worker nodded at Dad and chuckled, “Good evenin’, sir!  Everything’s in tip-top shape!”

Dad cheered back, “That’s great!  Keep up the fine work!”

Fate has a funny way of toying with people.  Just as the two finished their exchange, alarms began to roar in the facility.  The Rainbow Vat started to bubble up and the room’s temperature skyrocketed.  Dad took me by the hoof and practically dragged me up a large set of stairs.  I saw workers scattering around the whole facility, each one screaming in panic and desperation.

An alarm in the vat room roared, “Warning!  Warning!  Magical overload eminent!”

I didn’t understand at the time.  Neither did Dad.  It looked like the Rainbow Vat started to boil.  The entire facility was in a panic.  The exits were completely sealed shut, not wanting to let any of the weather leave on accident.  One of the workers at the factory was busily pressing buttons on a console, assumedly trying to stop the overload.

It didn’t work.

The last thing I remember from the tour of the facility is a loud exploding sound, and colors flying all over the place.

I woke up in the hospital three days later.  I was placed in a tub of ice-cold water.  I was freezing so horribly, I almost thought my skin was ice.  It was so cold, but my head felt like it was on fire.  Within seconds of being awake, I burst into tears.  I tried to get out of the tank, but my muscles just wouldn’t work.  I couldn’t open my wings.  I couldn’t even speak.

My entire family was there with me.  The doctor carried a large needle over to my side.  He leaned down to me and whispered, “It’ll be okay.  Just try and relax, please.”  He injected the syringe into my neck, and within minutes I blacked out.

I don’t remember much about the next few weeks.  When I next woke up in the hospital, I had full range of motion and could easily speak and think.  I still couldn’t open my wings.  My head still felt like it was burning, while my body continued to shiver and freeze.  I was discharged after it became apparent I could use my muscles.  The doctor said I’d be flying again in no time.

He also said that the chills and heat were caused by a fever.  He said it would break after a little fresh air.

Everything else is a pain-filled blur.  Finally, after weeks of therapy and medicine, the temperature was a bearable nuisance.  It was no worse to me than a mosquito bite would be to other ponies.  I still couldn’t fly yet, but the doctors cleared me to return to school.  So I did.

Within the week of my return, most of my classmates had caught either extreme colds or flu, or they were paralyzed for a few days.  The first outbreak was taken as a simple coincidence, perhaps the same thing I had caught from the Rainbow Vat exposure.  The second time, however, everypony began to blame me.  I couldn’t so much as enter the schoolhouse or a café without being thrown out by a long stick.

Nopony would risk touching me.  My family didn’t hate me, though.  That was until my youngest brother caught the strange illness.  Out of all the ponies that had been infected, my brother was the only one to actually die from it.  That’s when all hell broke loose in Cloudsdale.  All of the residents despised me for being a disease-carrying freak, and they were all determined to cast me out of the town.

After my brother finally passed away, my parents were broken-hearted.  They didn’t even try to stop the others.  My siblings did try to defend me, until my older sister fell ill.  By then, nopony cared about me.  I was driven from Cloudsdale by everypony.

I had nowhere to go.  I had no one to trust.  I travelled from town to town looking for refuge, trying to find someplace safe to stay where I wouldn’t be condemned for an illness I couldn’t control.

One by one, every town I visited had outbreaks of illness, and they all quickly linked it to me.  For almost five years I went around like this.  Nopony accepted me.  Nopony would take me in.  Every Pegasus I came in contact with would get sick and have brief cases of paralysis.  I couldn’t help it.  I couldn’t stop it from happening.

I had no friends.  Everypony hated me.  So I started to hate everypony.  The few people that didn’t hate me because of my disease hated me for my attitude.  After a few years of being scorned, I grew colder.  I stopped looking for acceptance.  I went where I wanted and stayed until I just couldn’t risk it anymore.

And then I found the Shady Trough.  Barman took me in with open hooves.  He offered me a job, lodgings, and food.  I accepted with a hesitant suspicion.  I figured it would only be so long before I was run out by him and his patrons.  I was wrong.  The few Pegasi that lived here didn’t bother me.  They never got close enough to get sick.

I’ve lived here for three years.  I haven’t gotten a single pony sick.  When I do communicate, I use a buffer, not allowing coat-to-coat contact.  I’ve been cautious not to lose my home again.  I hope it stays like that for a long time, actually.

…

“So there you have it.  I got poisoned in an accident at the Weather Factory, and then I got ran out of town for being a freak.”  Freezing stomped off of the stage, anger obvious in his eyes.  I could tell he regretted telling the story, as it resurfaced the scars of his past.  Truthfully, I felt sorry for him.

As soon as the plagued Pegasus left the stage, chatter erupted from the patrons of the bar.  Intense debate exploded.  Arguments about whether the events in Freezing’s tale were true or false continued for a while.  Almost exactly, half of the patrons believed his story, while the others denied it wholeheartedly.  I couldn’t help but laugh at the group’s petty bickering.

Freezing, on the other hoof, seemed mildly entertained by the quarrels of his fellow patrons.  As far as listener-interaction went, Freezing’s story took the cake so far.  In fact, I doubted that any other story would be able to top it in terms of getting the crowd riled up.  At the same time, I just wanted to be done with the contest, so I secretly hoped that another patron would hurry up and take the spotlight.

Almost as if beckoned by my thoughts, Wolf leaped from his seat onto the stage.  He roared, “C’mon fellas, there’s no sense in fighting!”

The crowd immediately turned their attention towards him.  Razor Ice hissed, “What, are you gonna mesmerize us now?”  The Changeling chuckled at his friend’s annoyed glare.

The hunting pony scoffed, “I’m getting tired of hearing ponies’ life stories!  I think this contest needs a little fantasy!”  He plopped into the spotlight chair and let out a content sigh.

Miss Violet rolled her eyes and moaned, “Oh?  And I suppose a brute such as yourself can provide that?”  I could almost taste the annoyance in her voice.  I was beginning to get the feeling that she didn’t like my crowd.  At the same time, I didn’t care.

Wolf slapped a hoof to his chest and cheered, “I sure can, lady!  Just sit back and listen!”

The donkey fell silent, a nice shade of red gracing her features.  I wasn’t sure whether she was angry or embarrassed, but the blush was definitely a plus.  The large Pegasus grinned widely as the rest of the patrons fell silent.  I brought him a glass of his favorite drink:  red wine with a slice of lemon.

Wolf's Tale of the Mistress of the Hunt [Adventure]

I cringed as the Pegasus downed his preferred concoction.  Just the thought of drinking something so mismatched sent my stomach twisting in knots.  I mean, I like wine as much as the next guy, but lemon’s just not something you add!  But, as long as he paid, it wasn’t my decision to make.  Still, I sometimes wondered if the guy even had taste buds…

“Now, sit back and pay attention as I tell you a tale that’s been passed down by my pack for thousands of years!”  The teal highlights in his mane added a mysterious flair to his voice as he waved a hoof around the crowd.  The fact that he was wearing his shades didn’t help any, either.

The whole bar fell silent; an air of curiosity washed over us.  We’d heard his stories of being raised by wolves, and we knew he could speak in tongues, but we’d never imagined that the wolves themselves would have had legends.

…

Long ago, long before the establishment of present-day Equestria, longer still than even the pony racial feud that threatened to swallow the world in eternal winter at the hooves of the Windigos, deep within the mountains of the Arctic North, there existed a clan of territorial and domineering wolves.  The clan was of the highest honor, holding more power than every other in the area.  At the head of the clan sat a dire wolf, who led her brethren with utmost authority.  No other wolf dared challenge her title or leave her protection.

For the dire wolf, who called herself Nightstalker, was the only thing that guided her people from the dangers of the Arctic North.  Timberwolves, Diamond Dogs, and even the snow itself all wanted to devour the wolves and remove them from the world entirely.  Nightstalker led her people to their current fortress, and guided them to the creation of a wolf-driven society.  Because of her leadership, no wolf within the Arctic North dared stand against her laws.

But she was not the sole provider for her people.  She had intelligence greater than all other wolves in her clan, but she hadn’t the strength to support all those she ruled.  She allowed her people to hunt in the wild under the supervision of their greatest warrior.  The warrior she appointed as the brawn of her people was the only creature that allowed for their survival in their fortress.  Against all those that attempted to harm the wolves, another dire wolf defended them.

She was given the title of Summer, as her skills proved efficient in the starkness of winter.  Her raging fire of strength proved to burn too fierce for her opponents to touch.  In many of battles she handled her own, defeated opponents plenty to count for a dozen of her brethren.  Summer’s fire reigned over everything that threatened her, even the winter itself.  She never faltered in battle, and never once gave up a fight under the bleakest of conditions.

She never lost a battle.  She never failed.

With their combined attributes, Nightstalker and Summer reigned over the wolves for centuries, until the fateful year when the ponies of the south began to clash in anger and hatred.  The winter that threatened to swallow the world began with the Arctic North, the Windigos forming from the very essence of the cruel snow.  To reach the world of harmony, the beasts needed to devour the north.  To do so meant to swallow the wolves that resided within the north.

To harm the wolves was an act unacceptable by Summer.  Though her master and brethren deigned it necessary to flee, she had no intentions of allowing her home to be lost to a foreign magic.  Not wanting to provoke the Windigos, Nightstalker refused to allow her people to hunt them.  Her resolve to flee was met with opposition for the first time in her entire reign.  Some wanted to fight for their home.  Others thought it best to leave.

The ancient and powerful clan of the wolves was split, Summer guiding the hunters and Nighstalker the cowards.  Summer’s clan headed into the barren wastes of the wintry land, each one with the intention of stopping the Windigos from taking their homes even at the cost of death.  Nightstalker’s clan fled south into the spring, many of which meeting their ends at the fangs of the Timberwolves and claws of the Diamond Dogs.  Those that survived are said to have taken refuge in the forests of the would-be Equestria.

Summer led her brethren into the heart of the Windigos’ realm.  There they fought the spiritual beasts, wanting nothing more than to defend their home and keep from being defeated in shame.  Casualties mounted in favor of the Windigos, the wolves holding no power over the supernatural magic of the wintry monsters.  After days of combat, Summer’s clan was all but extinct.  Only a few wolves remained, with Summer standing her ground against the hatred-fueled energy of the Windigo army.

The beasts had long since reached the south, cursing the ponies as they had cursed the world.  Yet even in the face of her own failure, Summer refused to surrender to their will.  She fought with fang and claw until her spirit refused to continue.  And there, in the midst of the enemy’s battlements, she perished.  She died in that foreign arena, though her resolve carried to her surviving wolves, who in turn continued to fight until the bitter end.

It is said that the wind and winter of the Windigos carried her story south.  It carried her tale of endless bravery and utter determination to her abandoning brethren, who vowed to carry her legacy until the end of time.  Within the tongue of the wolves there is a sacred word only uttered in honor of Summer.  To say it without a blessing is blasphemy, as her honor managed to save her cowardly brothers without so much as an offer of praise.  Everything she gave was for free, with no foreseeable compensation.

Her honor lives within all the wolves that roam the world.

Her honor lives within the wolves that die for their brothers.

She is known simply as the Mistress of the Hunt.

All those that hunt for survival are blessed by her spirit.  All those that hunt for cruelty are cursed by her heart.  Her sacrifices lead the wolves.

Always.

…

For the first time in many years, I let out an audible gasp of awe.  The somber way that Wolf ended his tale left me wondering just how much of it was truth and how much was myth.  The rest of the crowd shared my amazement, all except for Miss Violet, who seemed as disinterested as a violinist learning how to play drums.

She made her boredom known to us all with a simple, “Shall we carry on then?”

I could see in her eyes that Lamia wanted to slit the mule’s throat.  Honestly, I kind of wanted to, too.  As if sensing my growing annoyance, Conrideas scoffed, “Very good Wolf, but there are a few plot holes you dug!”

“Yeah!  For instance, you said that Nightstalker guided her people to their fortress, but then you say that Summer was the real guardian!” Lavender Wave chimed in, her ability to analyze any type of literature shining in the presence of the tale.

Wolf raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “Well, yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

Plot Twist cleared his throat loud enough for everypony to hear.  “If Summer was the true protector of her people, why would Nightstalker be the leader?  I thought wolves acted in packs following an alpha?”

“I dunno, that’s just how the legend goes.”  Wolf shrugged his shoulders and trotted offstage, having finished successfully telling his tale.

Before the others could continue their critiquing, I blurted out, “So who’s the next victim of our little train wreck?”

The members of the crowd looked around nervously, none too certain they could top either Caitiff or Wolf’s tales.  Minutes passed as the silence dragged on, interrupted only by the occasional roar of thunder from the growing storm.  It wasn’t until a particularly loud roar sent Sir Ox’s mug crashing to the floor when somepony decided to tell their tale.  The next on the list for a free mug of beer and the whole bar’s attention was none other than…

Monochrome…  Celestia help us all…

Refuge in the Storm

In the time it took me to retrieve the customary beverage for the next pony in the spotlight, he had managed to conjure a few dozen sticks of what I assumed were his homemade pyrotechnics.  I watched Monochrome hastily hide his matchbox as I approached and perhaps too appropriately threw the mug of beer at his head.  I already knew that he planned to use them as props, and that sure as hell wasn’t about to happen on my watch!  Never again!

For a dimwitted pyrotechnic, he was quite agile.  He ducked under the shattering glass and scoffed, “Aw c’mon Barman!  I can’t tell a story without my lightshow!”

“Then don’t tell a damn story!”  It took me a few minutes to realize what I’d just done, and I turned tail to retrieve the mop and broom to clean up the alcohol and glass shards.  Looking back, I was pretty violent to that stallion.

But then again, he blew up half my bar!  Of course I was violent to him!

He groaned weakly, “But it’s a competition, Barman!  Just this once?”

I didn’t even have to respond.  “No!” erupted from the crowd of Shady Trough patrons.  I guess they all knew the horrors that the incompetent mule could bring with his fire.

I noticed Miss Violet nearly flinch violently out of her seat, the sudden explosion of sound drowning out even the constant thunder outside.  As I stomped back onto the stage with a towel and broom in hoof, Monochrome hesitantly darted away.  I couldn’t tell if he was upset because I wouldn’t let him burn my whole bar down, or if he was sad he couldn’t compete in the contest.

Conveniently, Conrideas laughed, “So, Barman, does that mean the pyro stallion forfeits the contest?  As in, he loses?”

Lavender Wave giggled, “I’d be okay with that, actually!  It would give the rest of us a nice big room for error!”  She sent the stallion in question a sly look, obviously not even joking.

I could tell the pyro’s charcoal coat was starting to crawl as he groaned, “No way, you guys!  That’s not even fair!  It’s not my fault Barman won’t let me go!”  He pounded a hoof on his table and lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Actually, comrade,” Sir Ox joined in, “if it weren’t for your firework fetish, I’m sure he’d have no problem letting you go!”  The entire crowd burst into laughter at that, punctuated by the Minotaur’s request for more beer.

I was just mopping up the remainder of the alcohol on stage when Electric Slide chimed in, “I say let the poor bastard light his vice!  After all, that means more bits for me, don’t it?”  He plopped a friendly hoof onto the gloomy disaster’s back.  I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just being nice to the dispirited stallion.

The cheery atmosphere was lost with a particularly close crack of lightning and an ear-wrenching roar of thunder.  I found myself hard pressed to stand up as the storm grew ever stronger right outside my door.  The roar sent the wall decorations and bottles rumbling in place, threatening to knock everything around.  It slowly faded away, punctuating its existence with a sudden pop of electricity.  The whole bar went pitch black in the absence of power.

I heard several annoyed groans and one or two frightened shrieks come from my customers.  Gritting my teeth, I stumbled toward where I’d last seen Monochrome and groaned, “Matches, now!”

“Y-yes sir!” In seconds, the box of fire sticks was in my hoof, and I lit one against the table I was leaning against.

With another bright crack of lightning, more of the customers began to panic.  I’m sure the alcohol in some of them didn’t help, but that wasn’t my problem.  With only the faint light of the match and the mixed roars of fear from my guests, it was hard to tell which ones were freaking out.  I let the verbal diarrhea continue for a few seconds before deciding I’d had enough.

“Shut the hell up!” I exploded, louder than I think any of them had ever heard me before.  The entire bar went silent save for the rain and thunder, and I could feel all of their eyes lock on to me in the faint match light.  I sighed, “We’ve got a generator in the basement, so calm the hell down.  Caitiff, if you would?”  I held the match out toward my waitress’s seat only to find it empty.

Her voice called from the other side of the bar, “Way ahead of ya, Boss.”  I heard the oak door of the generator room close with a very distinct thud less than a second later.

Conrideas scoffed in disbelief, “How’d she get over there without making any noise?”  After a silent pause he laughed, “Must be a witch!”

A few chuckles rang out from other patrons before the light popped back to life.  The buzz of electricity returned, and I heard a collective sigh of relief spread throughout the bar.  I’m almost certain I heard the Changeling stranger upstairs let out a breath, but that could’ve been my imagination.

Another burst of lightning struck down close, sending light through the windows that would’ve temporarily blinded anyone looking out them.  Caitiff returned from the basement carrying a dust-covered bottle of wine in her muzzle.  She smiled awkwardly at me as she approached the crowd.  Just as she passed by the staircase, another loud roar of thunder shook the bar.  With a loud cracking sound, the front door splintered into pieces and the figure of a pony went flying through in an uncomfortable ball.

I heard the two unfortunate creatures groan angrily as the bottle shattered, vintage wine pouring all over my newly-treated floors!  The offending pony scrambled to its hooves and stumbled to a nearby stool, taking the time to look back at all of us.  Caitiff coughed in pain as she lifted herself from the ground.  I could see a wound just underneath her throat, presumably where she’d fallen on the bottle.

She sent the newcomer an angry glare, and I noticed Scourge shift suddenly in her seat.  The newcomer coughed violently before turning toward its unintentional cushion.  With an exotic accent that only made me flinch, she sighed, “Forgive my intrusion on your festivities.  The storm outside gave me little say in the matter.  The wind is furious tonight.”  She turned back toward the destroyed door and the rain pouring in from outside.

The new guest pulled a white hood from her head, and I immediately knew she was a zebra.  The accent was too reminiscent of Lamia’s to not be one.  You know, minus the rhyming thing.  Anyway, she looked directly at me, either sensing I was the owner or assuming I was the most mature of the bunch.  Her mane shimmered in the light.  Like Lamia, her mane was striped with two colors.  Unlike the witch, this zebra’s mane replaced the white with a mysterious gold color.

She had the traditional black and white coat, however, and her jewelry and clothing looked to be about average for the zebras I’d met before.  There were a few gold bangles on one arm and an emerald bracelet on the other.  But…her eyes sent shivers up my spine.  They were…pure white.  No irises or pupils…just white orbs in her skull.

I was about to ask her name when a large lump in her cloak started to shift around awkwardly.  The rest of the patrons noticed it move and focused solely on it.  A muffled voice groaned, “What’s all the ruckus Voo, I’m trying to sleep!”  With that, the cloak flew over the zebra’s head and revealed a small white rabbit sitting lazily on her back.

The zebra giggled, “It is nothing, Lucky.  A slight encounter with nature is all.”  With an obvious blush on her cheeks, the mare removed the cloak entirely and turned back toward us.  “I’m sorry for all the trouble, but the storm is impossible to weather.  And your door is…”

Caitiff snapped, “Ruined, thanks to you!  I don’t care how strong the storm is, how the hell did it throw you through a solid oak door?!”  I could almost see steam rising from the vampire’s ears.

The rabbit leaped from the zebra’s back and landed just in front of the angry patron.  With a gentle voice it whined, “Calm down, lady!  Voo didn’t mean any trouble!  We’ll fix the door if it’s that much of a problem…”

Most of us fell back from our chairs at the sight of the talking animal.  If I’d been drunk, I would’ve laughed my plot off, but at the moment I was completely frightened.  Never once in all my years of bartending had I ever met a talking animal!

Silence followed our disturbed groans.  The bunny stared up at the ‘mean old vampire lady’ as Conrideas had mumbled, its lower lip visibly quivering in desperation.  I had no clue what to make of the weird creature, but it was certainly cute.  Caitiff stared back, trying to read the animal’s expression.

As the silence stretched on, the zebra scoffed, “While it seems we have a stalemate of stares, I believe I can repair your door.”  Our attentions shifted to her as she pulled a small bottle from her satchel.  Surprisingly enough, it was intact and filled with a neon green liquid.  She popped a cork from the bottle with her teeth before picking up the door’s handle in her free hoof.

She let a single drop of the liquid land on the handle.  Suddenly, all of the tiny pieces of the door, even the splinters that had lodged in the zebra, let out a neon glow before gathering themselves in a ball in the threshold.  With a bright flash of light and loud crack of wood, the door was back in place, almost as if it had never left.  The zebra then sidestepped around the staring pair and let a small drop fall on the largest shard of wine-bottle-glass.  The bottle did the same as the door, except even the spilled wine gathered back inside.

I was speechless.  Literally speechless.  I tried to talk, but words wouldn’t form.

Finally the staring contest ended with Caitiff’s gentle proclamation, “Aww, it’s too cute!  I can’t stay angry at this thing!”  She scooped the bunny up in her hooves and cradled it.  For the first time in a long while, she was acting like a girl.  Scourge, unfazed by any of the zebra’s potion magic, finally settled back into place at seeing Caitiff happy.

“So, who are you fellas and what brings ya to our neck of nowhere?”  The vampire set the rabbit back on top of the zebra, not even acknowledging the restored door or wine bottle.

The zebra chuckled, “My name is Voodoo, and this is Lucky.  We met many years ago in the forests of my homeland, and I’ve been protecting her ever since.  We’re simply travelling to see the scenery.”  She reclaimed her cloak and wrapped the bunny up tightly and set her down on a stool.

“Yep!  And Voo’s an awesome magician!  Her potions can do anything!”  Lucky bounced around in the cloak, nearly falling from the stool several times.

Plot Twist scoffed, “Can they tell stories?”

Most of us sent him angry glares, noting how rude it was to bring up our competition in the face of unaware guests.  Voodoo surprised me particularly when she giggled, “No, I’m afraid not.  However, I imagine the tales I could tell would be too much for you ponies to handle.”

“Wanna join our game?” Lavender Wave giggled, wanting some more competition.

Voodoo and Lucky shared contemplative expressions.  The latter asked, “Are there bits involved?”

Caitiff chimed in, “No, but there are nuggets, booze, and food!”

The two newcomers shouted in unison, “What’s the game about?”

“Telling stories,” I groaned, knowing I’d only have more to listen to…

Without hesitation, the bunny leaped on top of the zebra’s head and cheered, “We’re in!”

“Be prepared to be awed, ponies.  My tales will unsettle your beliefs and set your mind to work!”  After another roar of thunder faded away, Voodoo continued, “Besides, it’s better than being out there tonight…”

I hopped up on stage and laughed, despite my actual feelings, “So, who’s ready to tell us something juicy!  I’ve heard legends and histories, but we haven’t heard anything juicy yet!”  I took my seat after my announcement was over.

Miss Violet asked, “What kind of ‘juicy’ are you asking for, dear?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged.  “Something embarrassing.  Maybe some romance or clop.”

Everyone turned to me, caught off guard by my suggestion.  Caitiff whistled, “Wow Barman, I totally didn’t know you went for that kinda stuff.”  She giggled childishly as she took her seat beside me.

I scoffed, “Might as well mix things up.  Hell, if the story’s too uncomfortable, maybe somepony will drop out and lighten my load!”  I looked back up at the empty stage, waiting for someone to offer to tell the tale.

Sir Ox Berry cheered, “I agree!  We need something juicy!  Bonus points to anyone that delivers, whether it’s the best or not!”  He slammed his hand on the table, his words starting to slur.

Lavender protested, “I don’t think we need anything like that, Sir Ox.  I mean, this is a civilized--”

“If you all are a bunch of wimps, then by all means I’ll do it!”

Before I could blink, the offering competitor was sitting in the chair on stage, waiting for us to pay attention.  I immediately regretted the request, because the competitor didn’t seem like the type for this kind of tale…  But…shit…

Lights Out, Everypony!

“…and that’s my tale of a young mare in heat!”

Retching.  I was literally retching.  It took every single ounce of self-control I had not to vomit everywhere.  I wanted nothing more than to carve the memory of the tale I’d just heard out of my brain.  If I’d had a knife at the time, I probably would’ve tried.  Even the atmosphere of the bar turned sour in the wake of Miss Violet’s recounting of her younger years…

Bleh… Still to this day I shudder in fear of the memory of the whole story.  I’ve managed to block the most of it from my mind, so pardon me for not recounting it.  Needless to say, it wasn’t quite suited for inexperienced ears.  Even the now-trashed Sir Ox looked disgusted to the point of regret.

The other, not-so-drunk customers were on par with me, visibly forcing back their instinctual reactions to hearing such a…disturbing…tale.  I sorely regretted ever agreeing to judge the contest.  Hell, I hated myself for offering the mule free lodging in exchange for her participation.  I simply…

I wanted to cry.  It was better than puking on my tables!

“Humph!  Was my tale too juicy for you, Barman?”  Miss Violet spoke with an obvious arrogance and pride.  I could almost taste the smug tone in her voice.  I grimaced as she emphasized ‘juicy’, knowing exactly what she was trying to do.

Swallowing the bit of vomit that was desperately trying to escape, I groaned, “Just…Just sit down…”  She dropped her empty complimentary mug on my table as she passed, skipping her seat and heading for the stairs.

With a tone of utter supremacy, she giggled, “Good night, you uncivilized drunks.  Let me know if I won or not, Barman.”  She laughed all the way up the stairs, her would-be-free bottle of wine and her jewelry clinging together.

I heard a hoof slam against a table as Electric Slide shouted after her, “Like hell you did, you freaky old mule!”  He chugged the remainder of his mug of beer before letting out a disgusted grunt.

“So what, are you contestant number six?”  I wanted nothing more than to erase the mule’s tale from my head.  I was actually eager to get the next story started!

Caitiff groaned, “Uh-huh Boss.  I don’t think any of us are in any shape to keep going…”  Even she, the supposed vampire, was completely flooded with disgust.  “Why don’t we pick this up in the morning?”

“I second that!” came Pigeon’s voice out of nowhere.  Even with her mostly silent nature, I could tell a difference between this tone and her normal one.  She polished off her liquor and started for the stairs.

The skin-crawlingly disturbing voice of Lamia broke through the nauseous aura of the bar.  “That mule was right when she said her tale was explicit.  And yet disgust and not excitement did it elicit…”  She was right about that, at least.  I felt the contents of my stomach shift uneasily.

Before I could actually respond, the zebra was gone, more than likely headed to her room to do whatever it was she did in there.  My attention was suddenly brought to our newest guests as the rabbit burst into a fit of laughter.  She managed to capture all of us in her fit, drawing a mutual curiosity from those of us sober enough to think.

“Bahaha!  You guys thought that was ‘juicy’?!  That’s got nothing on some of the things I’ve seen in my travels!”  While we all were obviously smothered in disgust, Lucky seemed to be significantly enjoying herself.  Even her companion looked taken aback by her reaction.

Conrideas exploded, “Keep them to yourself, you little rat!  I’ve had enough with juicy!  I want tame!  Comedy!  Adventure!  So far, this contest has been one snore after another!  And the ones that aren’t boring are otherwise unappealing!”  With that, the stallion’s head fell to the table with a painful thud.

The instant his head made contact, he began to snore.  Lavender Wave nudged him in the side hoping to get a response.  She giggled, “I think he tried a little too hard…”  Finishing her bottle of beer, she got up from her seat.  “But I think the others are right.  It’s lights out for me.”

“So…um…Barman, was it?”  Voodoo finally decided to speak up as the literary mare walked away, followed by several other guests.  “How much did you say a room is for the night?”

It had completely slipped my mind that she and her rabbit might actually be patrons, rather than just passersby seeking a few minutes out of the rain.  Finally getting my stomach to settle, I sighed, “One bed is thirty bits a night.  That doesn’t include food or drink.”

“Only thirty?  The last place I stopped was almost triple that!” she paused a moment to draw something from one of her saddlebags.  She dropped a small satchel onto the table in front of me and cheered, “What room am I in?”

I lifted the satchel to feel if it was the correct weight.  I couldn’t be arsed to actually count the things, and it felt good enough for my tastes.  I mumbled, “You can take fifteen, third on the right, first floor.”  I slowly slid from my chair and walked back over to the bar proper, ready to take inventory and hit the sack.

As I counted each individual bottle of my many different types of liquor, listening to the slowly-intensifying snoring of Sir Ox and Conrideas, I started to think about everything that had happened over the course of the day.  One day.  Not even a full day!  It felt like an eternity, though!  Five stories, technically six if you count the Changeling Traveler, had taken from sunset to midnight to tell.

My brain was swimming in circles as I tried to block out Miss Violet’s gruesome tale of sex and… Bleh…

I only prayed that somepony would be able to tell a story good enough to completely shove it from my memory, but that didn’t seem likely considering the crowd I had to pick through.  Six stories felt like an eternity, and there were at least eight left to hear…

Eight…?

By Celestia, that was wishful thinking!