Klokateer-The Grand Moth

“So the light goes out and I’m the first one you come to because…?”

>”You know the most about the other races, you’d have the best luck interacting with them. Hardly anyone’s ever left Lastlight and we figured the best person for the job was the smartest of us.”

>Tarkin narrowed his eyes at the young mare at his door, his suspicion growing.

>“Please, Tarkin?” the second mare begged. “This is Lastlight’s darkest hour, we need your help!”

“Why can’t we just ask for help from Hollow Shades?”

>”Bat ponies don’t use light bulbs, we’d need to leave the forest to have a chance at finding a replacement.”

“We don’t have any extras?”

>”No.”

“Well why not? Why would you only trade for a single lightbulb? What did you think would happen when it went out?”

>”We didn’t know it would go out.”

>The old scribe grumbled to himself in agitation and took a moment to consider the request, the two mares looking on hopefully as he thought.

“Wait a minute,” Tarkin said, a realization coming to him. “You just want me gone so you can eat all my scrolls!”

>”What? No, that’s not it, we swear!”

>”Yeah, we really, really need you! You’re the only one who can help.”

“I haven't gone senile just yet, don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to! Now get off my lawn!”

>Tarkin then slammed his door shut in the faces of the two distraught moth fillies, grumbling to himself angrily as he returned to his library.

“Thinking they can pull the wool over my eyes like that,” he ranted as he trotted through the library, wings vibrating with his irritation and clouding the air with dust.

>He stepped carefully around piles of scrolls and reams of parchment, navigating his way through the musty library by the dim light given off by strategically placed jars of fireflies.

“I’m not some gullible young moth fresh out of his cocoon, I know they just want to get their hooves on my scrolls.”

 

>The old moth pony made his way through his haphazard maze of literature and into his kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea, careful not to spill any on the various texts littering the countertops.

>But before he could take the first sip a knock sounded at his door, prompting an irritated groan from the scribe.

“Go away,” he called through the house, hoping against hope they would simply leave him be. “Just leave an old moth to his books.”

>Rather than abating, the knocking intensified, eliciting a resigned sigh from Tarkin.

>The old moth unfurled his wings and fluttered to the door, the breeze scattering several documents.

>Tarkin landed and yanked the door open, hoping to make his irritation obvious.

“What,” he demanded, taking a sip of his tea.

>A third mare had joined the previous two. “Please, Tarkin, won’t you reconsider? None of us know anything about the rest of Equestria,” she pleaded.

“That’s because whenever I give you any texts about it you just eat them!”

>The moth mares all looked away sheepishly, blushing and mumbling excuses.

“We get plenty of fruit from Hollow Shades, you all just have terrible impulse control,” he scolded them. “And now you want the rest of my scrolls so you’re trying to send me away.”

>”We swear it’s not like that, honest!” one of the mares said desperately.

>”Yeah, everyone else is too afraid to leave Lastlight.” another added.

>”There’s no one else in town better suited for this.”

“Why would you only buy a single light bulb? Who does that?”

>”They were expensive!” a mare squeaked defensively. Tarkin simply levelled a withering glare at her.

>In desperation one of the mares reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a scroll, unrolling it to reveal a map, the edges of which were worn and nibbled.

>”Here, we even found the perfect place to go to, it’s a small farming village called Ponyville and it’s not far from here.”

 

>Tarkin set his teacup on a side table near the door and impatiently snatched the scroll from the mare, mumbling under his breath about the poor condition of the map.

“And you wonder why I hoard everything in my library,” he muttered as he took a closer look at the map.

>He studied it a moment, wings rustling, alternately mumbling to himself and then going quiet as though listening to something.

“This map is over a hundred years old, there’s no telling how reliable it might be. The farm this village was built around could have failed decades ago.”

>”It’s all we have to go on, though. Our only contact with anyone outside Hollow Shades has been from gypsy moth caravans that pass through town.”

>”If it helps Ponyville’s supposed to have a huge library,” one of the mares chimed in.

>Tarkin continued to study the map for a few long moments, wings rustling while the three mares held their breath.

“Fine,” he said at last, the mares all breathing explosive sighs of relief. “But only on one condition.”

>”Yes, anything!”

“I need a caravan wagon.”

>The mares shared a confused glance, but wasted little time thinking it over.

>”Of course, of course, whatever you need!”

“In that case I’ll begin making preparations to leave. Bring the wagon to me as soon as you can and don’t bother me until it gets here.”

>Once more Tarkin slammed the door shut to begin preparing for his trip.

>The three moth ponies outside all breathed sighs of relief and took to the air to bring the good news back to the town.

>”I was so worried he wouldn’t come around,” one said. “He’s gotten so paranoid lately.”

>”Well to be fair a lot of his stuff’s been eaten over the years.”

>”I wish he wouldn’t just make assumptions like that, just because we need his help doesn’t mean we have any ulterior motives.”

>”Wait, you mean we weren’t planning to sneak in as soon as he left and eat like kings?”

>”Well we were, but he shouldn’t just jump to conclusions like that.”

 

>Tarkin mumbled to himself while he trotted through his library, teacup in hoof.

“So afraid to leave the forest that they beg an old scribe to do it for them? Useless, the lot of them. Damned little moths can’t stand the thought of living without their precious lantern.”

>He stopped in the middle of the library and looked over the sea of parchment arrayed around him, humming thoughtfully to himself.

“Well if they think they can get all my scrolls so easily they’ve got another thing coming.”

>Tarkin rapped his hoof sharply on the floor boards, the sound echoing all throughout the old building.

The old scribe cleared his throat loudly. “Attention, attention please!” he addressed the silent library.

>For a moment nothing happened, but then scrolls all throughout the library began shivering.

“We’re packing to leave. Places, everyone!”

>His declaration was met with the fluttering of a thousand tiny wings as hundreds of moths left their resting places around the library and took to the air.

“Don’t just float there, now. Get packing! Everything has to go.”

>The moths scattered at his command, setting out to perform their given task of packing up the library.

“Oh I’ll go get your light, alright, but I’m wise to your tricks. Wherever I go, the library goes. You’ll never get my scrolls,” Tarkin cackled to himself, holding out a hoof.

>A moth alighted upon his outstretched hoof and Tarkin brought it close to his face.

“Come to the library, boy. There’s work to be done,” he whispered to the moth.

>He trotted to a window and held his hoof out, the moth wasting no time taking to the air towards the town proper.

>Tarkin closed the window and returned his attention to the task at hoof. Packing would be bothersome, but he couldn’t wait to see those little moths’ faces when they found out there wouldn’t be any tasty parchment to pillage.

>He was then yanked sharply from his thoughts by the sound of shattering glass and a loud squawking.

>Turning back towards the window Tarkin was met with the sight of his window destroyed, a giant eagle lodged firmly in the frame, thrashing about and screeching frantically.

“Damnit!” he swore loudly. “Every. Single. Time!”