Winter's Heft

by Langas

The Zealot: A prologue

A breeze passes through the boughs of snow-covered foliage as Winter's vast grip keeps the land still, save the rustling of a few branches and the blowing of snow from branch to the ground. The land whistles, not with anticipation, but with mourning, for the days gone by and the generations of travelers who have come and gone through the darkened heights. A light shines in the distance -- a soft glow, barely caressing the still ground, yet so different from the landscape surrounding it, that it seems the entire pass is honed on the one light. The one pure light, among a sea of darkness and miniscule light filtering in from the dense clouds. Barely a sound is heard in the dreary landscape, yet light is not absent.

A Cloaked Wanderer treks along the jagged path traversing the pass. As he shambles endlessly through the lonesome expanse, his hooves disturb the layer of snow beneath him, ever so quietly, a shuffling in the soon-to-be night. As he looks up to the sky momentarily, he thinks about how redundant time has become, in the face of this unbreakable sheet of clouds. He only knew night was upon him based on distance; it had been five days since he had ventured north from the Crystal Empire, after his brief randezvous with a courier sent with intent to bribe him into reconsidering his plans. What a funny thought it was, really; Celestia was so intent on preventing a simple journey to the frozen wastes, that she was willing to give away a share of the her investments to convince a meager peasant from walking around in an icy expanse of crags and wind. "If only..." the traveler murmurs, as he reminds himself of the real reason for this trek. The Origin Decrees, the etched stone tablets responsible for all of Equestria's prosperity.

Though, in a way, the tablets are not responsible for Equestria's well being directly; as a matter of fact, they serve no purpose within Equestria. However, few within the plane know of the dark history behind Equestria, and what counterparts used to exist in unison with Equestria. Adjacent realms, filled with things Equestria has not experienced for ages, and all for the better; the damage left behind by the other worlds has left scars that exist even today. Only a fool would seek out these tablets, let alone try to harness their power and unleash the horrors from beyond the walls of reality. So why is this traveler seeking out certain demise for his home? What could compel him onward, into the face of certain annihilation?

No, this traveler is far too selfish to relinquish his life to some elder god. He believes that these tablets are heresy, heresy to the land that Equestria has become, and is acting on impulse to attempt to bind these tablets to bloodlines, so that their scripture cannot be read by some idiot with a knack for chaos. A zealot, he proclaims to be in the taverns and rooftops. The snow begins to fall heavy on the pass; the traveler is reminded of why he continues on his path, why he must keep going. Celestia, his one true love and joy in life. In serving her, he services the realm, and is a better stallion for it. His praises border worship, but he claims his actions to be veneration; after all, who is more venerable than the ruler of the realm?

The pass opened ahead, into a vista of ice and flatness, up to the horizon, only broken by a single pillar, which rose only slightly above the ice sheet covering the black ocean. Many say that nothing exists beyond the tower; few say otherwise. The traveler continues down the road, inhaling chilly breaths as the breeze ravages the world around him. He would soon reach his destination; and when he did, the world he knew would be safe at last. Celestia, too, knew that this was the only way to save all of Equestria; if she hadn't seen the purpose in his actions, Celestia could have bound him where he stood at any point in time. But the great time of binding was upon Equestria, and nothing will stop the zealot in his quest to bind the tablets.

The tower was in ruin. Stone lay, beaten by harsh winds, at the side of the tower, with long since rotted wooden planks scattered among the debris. No shelter from the brutal winds of the ice was perceivable, but a feeling of safety among the endless expanse of flat void was comforting. The traveler entered, grasping his lantern firmly. Within the obelisk, the adventurer found five stone plates, each carved delicately, and flowing with invisible arcane currents. Slightly to the side of the tablets, a tome was laid. The zealot lifted the ragged volume, a page falling out from the book's backside, as he opened the hefty text. As it blew away, he noticed that it was not written on, much to his relief.

Scouring the volume, the adventurer noticed that only the first two pages had been written on. On the front side of the first page, there was written:

"The realm of our allies, in deed and thought, only last betrayed by our own foolishness at the hands of haste; Earth, the world, the land of humanity, valiant in cause and righteous in conviction. Proceed with Gratitude."

Along with the Text, there was a detailed drawing of one of the tablets laid before the adventurer. Flipping to the next page, the adventurer took notice of the text on this page, which was headed by the word "Night". This tower is older than any living being, so of course naming wasn't that extensive. On second thought, though, the name is fitting based on its description:

"No light was seen for the entire time. If time even existed. I could not feel; no, rather, I could feel, but only bad things. Horrible things. Painful things. I cannot describe what I experienced beyond that door, but nothing but dread and suffering are within the place of eternal night."

On the other side of the page, horrifying figures were scribbled frantically about the sheet, some pieces torn and crumpled. Within the fray, the words "Succumb" were written in a skewed manner. The one who wrote this must have not ventured to the lands the other two tablets direct to, for on the last page there were only two words -- Passion and Judgement. "How odd," remarked the traveler.

All the times he'd heard of the tablets, the tales had included four realms, each "Manifested in its own unique way".

This book, on the other hand, suggests that the greatest understanding to come of the tablets had been small accounts regarding only two of the realms in question, written by a stallion long since dead. On top of that, the tablets were almost entirely forgotten-- save for those who know of it, almost all of which refuse to speak of them.

The traveler began channeling the spell as he arranged the tablets in their proper order. Closing his eyes, auras began to emit from the tablets, manifesting themselves into four unique orbs, each different in composure and orientation. One, from the Tablet of Earth, glowed softly, like a spark of promise in the frosty air. The next one, drawn from the tablet of Judgement, was like liquid stone; almost metallic, but not quite. The third tablet, the tablet of Passion, was the most beautiful spectrum of colors the zealot had ever seen-- he could almost stare at it forever. Alas, he moved on to the fourth and final orb, the Orb of Night. Staring into it, the Zealot saw past the bounds of reality. A chill crept down the adventurer's spine, as the darkness seethed into the zealot's mind. The zealot broke his gaze, frightened.

To finish the spell, the Zealot cast the orbs to the sky, dispensing them each to a random recipient somewhere in Equestria. Winds passed over the ice for a few moments, then a great noise was heard, much akin to gravel striking stone, then, unearthly silence. The ice beyond the tower ceased to exist, as reality crumpled away before the zealot. He peered into the blackness beyond, and knew that he was looking into the realm of Night. He could not hide his gaze. The Darkness drew him in. But... why would darkness draw him in? No, it was the brilliant lights, the spectrum he'd seen before that drew him in-- and he could not resist. Suddenly, as he walked into the blackness, he was in Celestia's private quarters, with the magisterial being before him.

"P... Princess?" he asked, anxiously.

Celestia, just now noticing the stranger, turned to face him, a face aglow with relief. "Oh, my hero, you've done away with the tablets, how ever may I repay you?" she asked, bowing thankfully to the adventurer.

The Adventurer looked upon his Princess, bowing before him, and reponded "I... I...". The Adventurer looked outside; the sky was a peculiar mix of variation and consistency, hinting at the unusual nature of the zealot's current situation. Afraid, the wanderer remarked, "Y... you're not my princess!", backing up to the wall behind him.

"Oh?" she responded, advancing on the shrinking stallion. "But... will you truly notice? Oh, how disloyal of you to, if you do!" she remarked, grabbing the adventurer's flank. "Face it..." said Celestia, hugging the now absorbed adventurer; "You want only to serve your ruler..." she said, from within the combined realm of Night and Passion, as she began to feed on the emotions of the trapped zealot.

Centuries have past. Luna's exile has come and gone, and the winds speak of change. Generations have been born, lived, and died, and the land of Equestria remains strong. Its neighbor, Earth, stands valiant too, resisting the ebb and flow of Night and Passion. However, Earth has grown weary. Night and Passion haunt the hallways of the impure on earth. The tides draw in and out, as a gentle breeze crosses the land, floating into Ponyville, carrying a small vessel of Light, an orb of glimmering promise, into the window of a sleeping mare, unaware to her surroundings. The Champion of Earth is to awaken on the morrow, but for now, she sleeps.

Author's Note:

If anybody wants more, just say so. Will continue writing as long as I get support. Also, feel free to comment.