Klokateer-The Grand Moth/Grand Moth Tarkin

“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!”

>Tarkin stepped back to admire his handiwork. After a brief scuffle he’d managed to remove the eagle from the library and had promptly set to work enacting repairs.
>A haphazard arrangements of bent nails and two-by-fours replaced the gaping hole that had once been a window.
“Good enough.”
>Tarkin set the hammer down on a nearby table and went to check on the progress of his packing.
>The moths had made excellent time, dutifully organizing and packing the library’s thousands of texts in the time it had taken him to halfheartedly board up a window.
>Of course that still left the small mountain of crates and sacks they’d been packed into that needed to be moved, but that wasn’t his problem.
“Excellent, excellent, now all that’s left to do is wait for everyone to arrive. Now what to do to pass the time?”
>Within minutes he was back in the kitchen, a shrill whistle filling the library as the water in his kettle reached a boil.
>Tarkin poured himself a cup of tea and settled down to wait in an old, motheaten armchair.
>Though as the seconds began ticking by slower and slower his eyes wandered over to neatly stacked pile of crates and sacks that now contained the entirety of his library.
“Hmm, this could get boring. I suppose unpacking a few things to pass the time couldn’t hurt.”

>A loud rapping on his door startled Tarkin, pulling him from the world into which he had lost himself.
>He hastily fumbled about with his robes, finally managing to pull a timepiece from one of the many pockets.
“Oh my, has it already been an hour? My how time flies when someone else is doing all the hard labor for you.”
>He then rolled up the scroll he’d been reading, passing it off to a cluster of moths who then returned it to the mountain of scrolls he’d unpacked for the purpose of doing some light reading.
“Oh dear,” he said as he noticed the mess. “Well that simply will not do.”
>He went to set his tea cup down on the side table by the chair only to find it was already packed to capacity with empty cups.
>After taking a moment to ponder the problem he simply decided that if he could no longer go horizontal he would simply have to go vertical.
He stacked the cup atop the others, grunting to himself in satisfaction. “Problem solved.”
>He trotted to the door, opening it to find the caravan wagon he’d requested along with the three moth pares from earlier, each of them looking utterly exhausted.
>Two were by the wagon itself, one hitched to the front and one laying atop it, both panting, wings dropped lethargically.
>The one by his door seemed hardly able to stay on her feet. “We brought the wagon you asked for, Grand Moth,” she said between breaths.
“Excellent, now turn it around and back it up to the door. I’ll be right out, I just need to finish up a bit of last minute packing.”
>”But-”
>The door silenced anything else the exhausted mare might have said.

>Tarkin returned his attention to the scattered scrolls, moths quickly setting upon the pile and returning everything to its place in the myriad storage containers.
“Excellent! All packed up and ready to go. Just one last thing.”
>The scribe took a quick stroll around his library, opening the various jars of fireflies that he used for illumination in the library.
“Haven’t got a need for any of you anymore,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Don’t need you turning to dust and dirtying up my jars while I’m gone.”
>With all matters finally taken care of Tarkin threw the door open, finding himself faced with the rear of the caravan wagon, the three mares piled about it in an exhausted heap.
>”Is that everything, Tarkin?”
“Oh my no,” he chuckled, swinging the door open fully to reveal the packed up contents of his library. “You wouldn’t make a poor old moth like me load all of this himself, would you?”
>The color drained from all of their faces as they beheld the sheer volume of luggage the scribe would be taking with him.
“Chop chop, now, ladies. You’ll need to load this all quickly if I’m to be off on your errand in any reasonable time.
>One of the mares mustered up the strength to peer inside the library, her face falling as she noticed that it was completely barren.
>”You’re taking the entire library with you?” she asked in exasperation.
“Well of course, what if I want something to read on the trip?” he asked with a grin.
>”But… but what about the…”
>For a moment that stretched on far too long for the mares no one said anything. Then one mare broke the silence.
>”Does this mean we don’t get to eat like kings?”
>Tarkin’s grin only widened.

>An hour later the last crate slid into place on the wagon, the mare lifting it slumping to the ground the instant it was secure.
“Excellent work ladies!” Tarkin called from his seat on the wagon, a steaming cup of tea in his hoof. “I simply cannot thank you enough, I don’t know how I would have gotten this all done without you all.”
>His statement was punctuated by something very large and moving very fast landing abruptly before the wagon.
>The force of the impact sent everyone present a few inches into the air and kicked up a large cloud of dust.
>A form merged from the cloud, hacking and coughing as he tried to clear the dust with a few flaps of his wings.
“Oh, right, that’s what I’d have done. Welcome, Atlas, you certainly took your time.”
>”M’sorry,” he coughed as massive wings obliterated the last of the dust cloud.
>The huge moth stallion stood in a shallow depression made by his landing, robes like Tarkin’s wrapping his form and his hood blown back by the wind kicked up by his flight.
>”I just got your message, sorry. I think it was delayed by giant eagles, there was one chasing it when it got to me.”
>A moth fluttered out from his hood, making its way haphazardly through the air and into the library.
Tarkin grunted in agitation. “Blasted eagles. Oh well, these nice young fillies helped me out while you were delayed, so it’s no worry at all.”
>Atlas cast a concerned glance at the three exhausted mares wearily getting to their hooves.
>”Are they alright, sir?”
Tarkin waved a hoof dismissively. “Oh I’m sure they’re fine. A little hard work never hurt anyone. That’ll be all for now girls, I’ll be off to fetch your light soon.”
>The three groaned a goodbye and began to slink wearily away.

>With one last concerned look directed after the retreating mares, Atlas returned his attention to Tarkin.
>”So what was it you needed, sir?”
“It would seem the lantern at the middle of Lastlight went out.”
>”I noticed, many of the townsponies have been unsettled by it”
“Yes, well it seems that I’m the one they all come running to when the the light goes out.”
>”Are there not any extras?”
“Apparently they were too expensive.”
>”Ah. So how can I help?”
“I’m glad you ask, my boy. You’re here because we’re going on an adventure.”
>”An… adventure, sir?”
“That’s right, an adventure. I’ve been asked to travel to a nearby pony settlement called Ponyville, which may or may not still exist, to acquire more light bulbs.”
>”That sounds needlessly complex. We can’t just get some from Hollow Shades?”
“Apparently they don’t use light bulbs.”
>”Alright, so we’re going to Ponyville to pick up light bulbs. And you’re taking the entire library with you because…”
“Because everyone wants to eat it, that’s why.”
>”I suppose that’s as good a reason as any. So how can I help?”
“Well as you may or may not no I’m not as young as I used to be.”
>”Whaaaaat?” came the half-hearted objection. “No way, you’re… you’re in great shape for your, uh…”
>Atlas trailed off into silence after a pointed look from Tarkin.
>Atlas coughed into his hoof. “Um, right.”
“As I was saying. I’m not a strong young lad anymore and I can’t make this trip on my own. At least not if I want my library to remain whole and uneaten by its conclusion. You’ve done more for me and this library than I could have ever asked, but I’m afraid I must ask you one more favor.”
>”D’you need me to pull the wagon for you?”
“Would you? I’ve gotten far too old for this nonsense.”