Narlee Hooftop, Foiled Again by ~fontfolly
I am puzzled to distraction over the story of how Narlee Hooftop obtained her cutie mark and, to no less an extent, what it actually IS. She has long since refused all offers for an interview. If anypony has a lead, no matter how obscure or esoteric, please file it with my research assistant for immediate investigation.
(( Please click through and read the short story that accompanies the picture! ))
Ask H.P. Hoofcraft a question!
The methods of funding important research are multiphase and diverse, but not everypony is destined to be the world’s finest grant writer and sometimes it becomes necessary to seek resources from private parties and by… unconventional means. Eldritch pest control is something of a niche market, but among the initiated, this product is a real hot seller. I’m confident my fame in certain occult circles will greatly raise awareness of the ongoing Mi-go problem, which will in turn generate increased funding!
To those who are even now inking their quills to write ferocious diatribes, you could stem the inevitable tide of future advertisements by sending bits instead. My address is printed on the back of every box of Mi-Go-B-Gone™!
I’m H.P. Hoofcraft, and this is my favorite shop in Ponyville.
© Hoofcraft’s Shoggoth Emporium
Ask H.P. Hoofcraft a question!
Dear Princess Celestia,
My list of places to look for Hortense when she manages to slip out from under my magical surveillance has been growing steadily smaller as the months go by. I used to check…
…Now my first stop is always Ponyville Municipal Jail. I slip Sergeant Tin Star a couple of vouchers for free ice cream at Sugar Cube Corner to let me look at the register of inmates. If H.P. is on it, I fork over the bail money after three or four days of letting her stew in the slammer.
I know this work you have me doing is important for the safety and well-being of the realm, but isn’t there some kind of a three-strikes policy? The evidence locker is filling up with H.P.’s confiscated “eldritch” gear. You may want to send that other agent you mentioned to clean it out and move the whole lot to a more secure location.
By the way, can you please tell me his name? Not knowing who it is, I could easily mistake him for a counter-agent… and I don’t want to have a spell-duel in the town square over a misunderstanding that ends with ME in the clink.
Your obedient servant,
P.S. As Hortense’s “research assistant” I have seen an awful lot of queer goings on. Please include by return post my peril-sensitive sunglasses, which I left in the top drawer of my bureau.
Ask H.P. Hoofcraft a question.
Gift art done be the talented Iridescent: @loonyartist on twitter and Unrealtoast over on Deviant Art.
“Dash—hurry! It’s no use—you must go—better one than two—the slab—”
A pause, more clicking, then the faint voice of Gilda:
“Nearly over now—don’t make it harder—cover up those damned steps and fly for your life—you’re losing time—so long, Dash—won’t see you again.”
Here Gilda’s whisper swelled into a cry; a cry that gradually rose to a shriek fraught with all the horror of the ages—
“Curse these hellish things—legions—My Celestia! Beat it! Beat it! BEAT IT!”
After that was silence. I know not how many interminable eons I sat stupefied; whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into that telephone. Over and over again through those eons I whispered and muttered, called, shouted, and screamed, “Gilda! Gilda! Answer me—are you there?”
And then there came to me the crowning horror of all—the unbelievable, unthinkable, almost unmentionable thing. I have said that eons seemed to elapse after Gilda shrieked forth her last despairing warning, and that only my own cries now broke the hideous silence. But after a while there was a further clicking in the receiver, and I strained my ears to listen. Again I called down, “Gilda, are you there?” and in answer heard the thing which has brought this cloud over my mind. I do not try, gentlecolts, to account for that thing—that voice—nor can I venture to describe it in detail, since the first words took away my consciousness and created a mental blank which reaches to the time of my awakening in the hospital. Shall I say that the voice was deep; hollow; gelatinous; remote; unearthly; inhuman; disembodied? What shall I say? It was the end of my experience, and is the end of my story. I heard it, and knew no more—heard it as I sat petrified in that unknown cemetery in the hollow, amidst the crumbling stones and the falling tombs, the rank vegetation and the miasmal vapors— heard it well up from the innermost depths of that damnable open sepulcher as I watched amorphous, necrophagous shadows dance beneath an accursed waning moon.
And this is what it said:
“You foal, Gilda is DEAD!”
My Little Pony & Rainbow Dash are ©Hasbro
You may think this is just a simple Livestream of me drawing someone’s OC, but just under those vectors lies mythos horror beyond our kin.
Ia! Ia! Clownthulu Guitar!
Anonymous asked: You never really told us how you got your cutie mark...
Lilytrader here in a completely out of character post. I’m writing this under the snout of Zorkfox, who will no doubt whinge.
I was all ready to start drawing part 2 of the Cutie Mark Horror, when I realized it was merely procedural and not funny. And so I am working on a revised script, and I will post part two as soon as I figure out how to improve it. Until then, please enjoy some one panels. Consider them intermissions.
Look what Derpy delivered today. Lily Trader could have it if he’d ever come back from Norwescon. I commissioned the delightful and energetic AnananaTree for this gem. You can get a hold of her via Twitter, too, if that burnishes your saddle: @ananana_tree. Go and seek her out for your custom pony needs! (And let’s face it, we all have those needs.)