"It was once said that there was no greater naval force in the world than the Equestrian fleet.”
-Journal of the Wanderer
Along the coast, where the black tongue of the deep licks the gray sand of northern Equestria, lies the ships of the once-great Equestrian empire. Their great engines are silenced, their driveshafts bent and the propellers gifted to the deep. From a distance, one may mistake them for icebergs. However, there's no mistaking the great guns nestled on their decks, the cold barrels jutting out to the sea, waiting for an enemy that would never come. If one were to stand upon the deck, provided they could clamber across its icy surface, they'd be able to see for miles across the cold waves.
If one were to stand upon the beach, they could still make out the golden glory of the sun painted upon their hulls. Take a hammer or torch and cut away the ice, and one can see their reflection in the hull, almost like a mirror to days gone past. Some of the ships, like the great cruiser "Sol'rex" have, over time, been rocked by the waves. In these ships, punctures have appeared along the interior of the hull. If someone were careful, they could make their way inside.
Inside the great ship, the decks run at a slant and breath steams in the frigid air. It's not altogether quiet as one may expect, but, instead, is alive with sound. The creak of metal, the dull thump of the waves upon the exterior, the groans of the hull as it shifts. Below it all, a beat like that of a heart radiates through the passageways. Quiet—so quiet that it might not even exist at all.
It is here in these cold halls that a secret hides: a room with a simple designation. Something so benign that anyone traversing the corridors would pay it no mind. It is not the room itself that is the great secret; it’s the banks of consoles within. For it is the tactical center of the ship where a war may be waged upon the sea.
If one were to knock the dust from the consoles, they would find that they are silent and cold. Their readouts show naught but a dim reflection of the one staring into them. One would perhaps wonder why even bothering to dust them off in the first place.
It is not all cold here, either. There is a faint hint of heat from deep in the hull. Locate the midships and ignore the warnings on the thick, sweating metal hatches and open the doors with care. A great engine lays within, warnings and etchings playing upon its surface. The engine itself is not the source; it was silenced long ago. The source was its power—a core which had eaten through the side of the casing and now rests in repose like some great, multi-hued beast.
The counter mounted to the wall would simply read 3.6.
It would be wrong.
Traveling from the source of the heat back into the cold corridors, one may stumble upon all manner of keepsakes hiding in the private places. A picture of a lover, a carving of a long-lost friend, a token of appreciation... and more. The Equestrians who once inhabited the ship carried these things aboard. Things which gave them comfort, joy, love and lust, all now in their final resting places like shrines to what once was.
Making the way back to the main deck, one might momentarily mistake the cool and quiet of the upper passage ways for calm. This assumption would quickly be disproven as the bulkhead is ripped away by the winds. While the deck is high above the grey sand and black surf, it is not high enough to be clear of the whipping, bitter winds. The great guns of the ship point far out to sea. Upon each of the great turrets sits an eye. A mechanical eye, yes but an eye nonetheless. Its green lens stares out to those deep, dark waters, waiting, watching for any sign of an enemy that has long been defeated. They hunger, as it has has been far too long since their appetite was sated.
High above the deck, faded signal flags whip in the breeze. Their once-vibrant colors have been stained and bleached to near unreadability. However, if one knew the flag codes, they'd read the final tale of Sol'rex and understand its unending mission—the great sacrifice it undertook.
The stairs leading to the bridge are guarded and trapped. There's no way around these restrictions. And yet, if one is careful, they can be disabled with utmost care. All the bulkheads have been welded shut to prevent malfeasance. The Equestrians reasoned that someone—at some point—may have attempted to disable the great ships.
All of this, of course, precludes the invasion, the storming of the beaches, the burning of the homelands, the salting of the fields. A fool's errand, really, as the final battles for Equestria took place nowhere near the great ships. Nowhere near the sea they jealously guard.
Locating the bridge is no great task. Like with many ships both large and small, it is the highest point. The doors here are sealed—not just by welding, but by magic, too. Runes run along the exterior. Warnings etched deep in the doors signal the doom that would befall any such trespassers.
Luckily, there is another way. On the floor below the bridge, there is a radio room. The radio itself is not important, as the only things it plays now are the sounds of a dead world, the whispers of the mad, and static. What is important, however, is the conduit that runs between the radio room and the bridge.
It is too narrow a gap for any but the smallest being to pass through. Even then, it’s a tight fit.
Upon reaching the bridge, one might hope to look out upon the black seas and along the coast, spotting the next of the great ships. They would be sadly disappointed, for the Equestrians sealed the bridge in armor. Ironically, not a single trace of sunlight is to be found on the bridge of the Sol'rex. A ship whose construction was said to be bathed in sunlight from the moment the hull was laid, to the final moment when the captain's chair was slotted into place.
In the case of the captain's chair, its spot is conspicuously empty. If one were to guess as to its current location, a great manorhouse deep in the countryside would be a fairly safe bet, gathering dust in some long-forgotten storage closet or personal museum. Like any great treasure, its worth comes from its story—and its story ended the moment the Sol'Rex was thrust upon the grey sands.
Despite the darkness of the bridge, if one is quiet and still, they may notice the outline of a door. This door, unlike the standard bulkheads of the ship, is completely flat. No markings or warnings adorn its surface; in fact, there's no indication of any sort of protrusion or mechanism to open it.
However, if one looks carefully, a series of small domes near the ceiling can be found. A bright light will not reveal what's in these domes, other than a tiny reflection of the self in their mirrored surfaces.
It was said that every great Equestrian ship had a door like this. That if one was to press an ear to the door, they'd hear whispers.
This is, of course, nonsense. Doors do not whisper. They do not whisper of secrets. They do not whisper of codes. They do not whisper of signals. For those are the things that died with the world.
However...
If one were to ask politely while displaying the insignia of someone who once held immense power...
The door may open.
Inside, lies only madness.
"The fields used to cover much of the northern sections of Equestria. Now, they are inhabited by wild grasses, dirt, and things best left unnamed."
-Journal of the Wanderer
Across the northern reaches of Equestria lies endless fields. These were once lush orchards, fields of wheat and corn and potato. They lie fallow now, and did even before the end. The Equestrians, so concerned with the possibility of running out of food, left no field untilled, no crop ungrown.
In some areas, there is only dust. Dust, which is pulled up into the sky and forms dust storms that blow across the flat, wide expanses with abandon. The few structures left have been buried in the areas where the dust is free to roam. They create mounds. Massive, ancient barrows dedicated to those whose final resting place resides within them.
The areas near the seas are the only real sections where the original crops still live. These fields are untouched, except near the edges, where the bones of small critters can be found. Sometimes, they still have a bit of the crop between their teeth. For the Equestrians feared the invasion from the sea that never came. They feared that their own food would be taken and eaten by the enemy. They felt it was better to poison the crops and water than to salt the earth. It is inadvisable to even rest in that area; it is so saturated that, on still days, the air itself can become foggy with the toxins that they heaped upon the fields.
But not all of the northern reaches are dust and poison. There are areas which have been reclaimed by nature. The fields have long overgrown, now choking with grasses and weeds. These places are silent but for the howl of the winds and the clap of low thunder rolling across the plains. No insects live here. No birds. No small animals. There are simply the fields.
Inland, in the deep country, one may come across an odd site where ancient hatches stand open to the endless gray skies. Looking into these only reveals whatever weak light filters down from above into its cavernous maw. It is best to stick to anything that looks like a traveled path in such areas. The Equestrians had a habit of laying traps—and they were not particularly discerning about whom they caught.
If one travels far enough, they may even come across a strange formation—a deep dip in the nearly flat fields. A near-perfect circle which leads down, more often than not, to a collection of shattered concrete, of burned and bent steel reaching to the sky. From time to time, these form lakes which dot the landscape like so many perfect droplets of water.
As one travels farther from the coast, individual large-scale buildings begin to give way in favor to smaller clusters. Which, in turn, give way to towns. The towns themselves are often utilitarian, constructed from the most basic of structures and materials. However, there are still a few of the older towns. The ones that existed before the expansion, which had been founded prior to the great fields.
Often it is in these small towns that the average amenities, which are absent from later constructions, can be found. Banks, for example. Well, that is to say that they were, at one point, banks. Often the thicker walls and more study construction of these financial institutions became prime candidates for the local forces to set up command centers. It was not like the civilian population had much use for them anyway.
There is another curious oddity that is found in these small towns: museums. They often have written records of the surrounding areas, along with helpful maps. What places used to be, where a local point of interest might have been, before they were turned into the ever-expanding fields.
The small towns, as with all good things, must come to an end. As the first of the grand highways looms out of the overgrown fields, so too do the towns fall away into the wake.
Grand Highway 03, or GH3, was the primary means of movement through the region. Its wide-paved structure was said to be critical to moving the large amounts of grain and other domestic products to the factories deeper in Equestria. This... was a lie.
GH3 was also a highly prized piece of national infrastructure and, as such, had a number of checkpoints along its length. The most impressive and heavily defended of which was simply called "The Town". This in itself is not all that odd—until one lays eyes on the structure.
If one were to stand upon GH3, The Town would be visible for some time. Those unfamiliar with the area might be confused as to why there is a mountain in the middle of the road. Those who are familiar with the area have no such illusions.
The area immediately surrounding The Town is a maze of thick hedgerows, hidden anti-air emplacements and row upon row of well-concealed hangers and training grounds. From GH3, the only thing visible is a thick wall separating the road from the rest of the features.
The only way through is to walk the road—which is, thankfully, clear of debris or other detritus. Say what you will about the Equestrians, but they did know how to keep things tidy.
At the foot of The Town, there lies a massive gate. The kind of gate that nothing short of prolonged and massive bombardment would ever eat through. Luckily, there’s another way through. Although the gate was sealed long ago, The Town’s primary concern was an attack from the air. Dotted throughout the hedgerows are installations which house secondary entrances in their basements. These were known as "The Suburbs".
It takes nearly no time at all to go from the base of The Town to locate one of these buildings. They are unassuming, grey, much in the same style of The Town itself. Low, wide pyramids. The entries to these have significant doors, but aren’t locked. A few even stand open to the elements, as if someone simply forgot to shut them on their way out.
Inside, they are the same gray as any government building anywhere in the world. Desks, chairs, the odd plastic potted plant. If not for the murals that adorn the interior of the doorway and the multitudes of cameras above the front entryway, it could be a regular office building.
Locating the basement is as simple as following the painted lines along the walls. In the basement, there's no light, no sound from the world above. However, lights set into the walls come to life if anyone comes within a certain distance—an effective system to save power, as well as a defensive measure in case the outposts were ever breached. Not that that was terribly likely, as the stairways down ran deep enough to shrug off anything but the most concentrated attack.
At the base of the stairs is a long, domed corridor. Its lights—like those above—are triggered by movement. The effect—suffice to say—is odd. One can stand just inside the corridor and see the immediate area, but neither end of the tunnel in the pitch black. Sounds in the tunnel tend to echo. Sometimes, odd things can be heard from one direction, then the other. The tunnel itself leads directly into one of The Town’s "Districts"
Emerging into the District can come as a welcome relief. It is well-lit and the air is cool. Workshops line the street, their lights remaining on. The dull hum of machinery fills the space. The machines within still churn out the sustenance for which they were designed. These goods are destined for a stockhouse somewhere deeper in Equestria, where they will sit on a shelf for an eternity.
The district itself is not all that large, and one of four that cover the inside of The Town. Each specialized into a production floor with its own automated shops and materials. One might ask, where the materials come from. Even with all of Equestria's magic and great resources, everything must still make its way to The Town.
The answer is simple. The entire structure had been automated, from farming, to transport, to The Town for processing. The whole thing was then loaded into the secret underground trains which ran below The Town and deeper into Equestria itself.
One might then wonder if there’s some sort of control system. Perhaps something deeper in the structure. There are, of course, doors that lead deeper in, watched by cameras with glittering lenses. Perhaps they hold the key.
Making one's way past the surveilled doors and to the short hallway through the thick, inner wall is altogether rather easy. Again, the lines on the walls guide the way. This leads directly into the administrative offices—a bleak affair—full of cubicles and desks. Endless rows of filing racks move on tracks. One could spend a lifetime looking through them and not even know half of what’s inside.
Cool air blows here, but it is tinged with something—a chemical sort of smell that singes the nose. It does not take long to get used to. After a time, it may even begin to smell sweet.
Beyond the cubicles and the endless filing system is a cafeteria. Rows of gleaming tables sit in near-pristine condition. They've been polished within an inch of their life. The kitchen, tucked deeper into the room, is little more than a window, for it, too, had been automated.
Now, it sits quietly. Its machinery no longer whirs and hums with precision to create that base sustenance.
Along the far wall, an eerie sight can be beheld. A steady blue light illuminates a bank of wide windows that look out upon an inland sea. Its clear waters are calm. Not a ripple mars the surface of the pristine waters. They seem to glow as a deep blue light finds its way from the deeps beyond. Despite the vantage point from the cafeteria, naught can be seen below those deep blue waters.
The other feature just beyond the windows is a great, inverted pyramid hanging above the still waters. Its mirrored walls reflect the blue below. If one has sharp enough eyes, they might notice a mirrored bridge between the pyramid and somewhere above the cafeteria.
Making one's way back out of the cafeteria, it is only a short walk to a small bank of vending machines. Though a common sight in numerous areas around Equestria, it might strike one as odd for them to be in an area so close to a cafeteria. If one happens to have a special keycard and a number, they might find that two of the machines part. This reveals a door, which, under the watchful eye of the cameras, will open to reveal a silver-lined room within.
Stepping into this room feels like a trap, especially when the doors seal behind oneself. But it’s not. Remaining calm and still reveals the purpose of the room. It is not a room at all, but an elevator to the bridge high above the clear blue waters.
The elevator is nearly silent. No sweet-smelling air makes its way to this silvered room. It is not the quickest ride. Staring into one’s reflection can often be disorienting, especially with the silent movement of the elevator. Once at the top, an additional set of doors crack open. Where one would expect a security station, there is naught but the bridge.
Gentle blue light filters through the domed arch that acts as the roof and cover for the bridge. Despite the calm of the waters below, the air seems to dance and shimmer. At the far end of the bridge, there is a sliding door. It, too, is mirrored, almost hypnotic in its suggestions. Above the door sits small domes that reflect only that which lies before them.
The air whispers and shimmers as one walks across the bridge.
It whispers of power, of belonging, of things best left in the dust of the world.
However...
With an honest word, and the gift of an insignia of one who once held the keys to sustenance...
The doors may open.
Inside, lies only madness.
