//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: Bleeding Soul // by Rostok //------------------------------// 17 is pretty old for a blank flank, I must admit. Well, really old. It's not like I don't know my passion in life; I'd give anything to be like Daring Doo, swinging across chasms, finding ancient treasures, escaping from Ahuizotl's clutches by a hair's breadth time and time again. The problem, I guess, is actually doing anything about it. I mean, there's hardly a signpost pointing out of the town saying "Adventure! 15 miles" is there? I'm not some heroic pegasus with wealthy patrons like Daring that can live out in the wild facing beasts on a daily basis, just a unicorn that's going to be a mare and should be out finding a proper calling in life as my parents love reminding me. As my dad always says, they're all stories, not a real mare with a real job and a house and an upstanding stallion and bills and foals and by this point I’m half asleep from boredom. "Silverstreak, dinner's ready darling!" I groan, pulling my eyes away from the list of things I need with me to go out camping tomorrow. Doing things like this almost feel pointless now, no matter what I do nothing special ever happens, no mark appears on my flank showing the world I'm made for exploring the wilderness. I'm starting to wonder if I should just let it go, try and find something more down to earth to enjoy- "Dinner! Don't make me tell you again!" Another resigned groan finds its way out. "Coming Mum!" Why can't I just be free? "Are you sure you've got the whole lot?" Ughh, like I need more even more questioning now when I'm about to leave. "Yes Dad. I've done this before you know." His eyes shoot daggers and he shuts up. Finally, time I can get away. My mum's not getting involved, she's probably a bit beyond caring now and would rather bustle around making breakfast than get into another argument. The pancakes on the stove do smell lovely, but even they can't dissuade me from setting off now and to be honest, this time I'm not sure where I'll head other than far away from here. When I planned all the trips and hikes I've done in the past (alone more often than not, there aren't many that care for being friends with a blank flank at this age) they insisted I go through my route and plan with them, at least now they trust me a little. Or perhaps they really don't care anymore. I know I certainly haven't lived up to them, my dad Steady Structure being an accountant and local town council member and mum’s the manager of a small restaurant down the street. I'd far rather fritter away my time wandering around the outdoors, as they would put it, than endure their cloying presence day in day out or pursue any of the prim and proper activities that might ingratiate me with the upper-class Trottingham ponies. Without ceremony, I hoist up my saddlebags and head out the door, earning no more than some muttered goodbyes in return. So long Maresborough. It's not a big town, being one of the smaller satellite towns around Trottingham itself (can't say I like the city, lovely buildings but the ponies do tend to be a little up their own plot if you ask me), and it's a fairly short trot out of town into the fields and woods. Usually I'd head out south-east over the gently rolling hills of farmland to catch sight of Trottingham and the Canter mountains in the distance, and Canterlot itself on a clear day, in the distance. It's several days walk even at a quick pace to the capital, and quite a popular route but honestly, I've never really seen that much appeal. Too much in the way of banal sunny fields and lanes, not enough adventure. I’m really not a Canterlot filly anyway. Then again there's not much else in the way of paths leading any other direction, especially not into the Haydean Forest that extend around the North and West of the town past the few farms in that direction. It's nothing like the infamous Everfree, why almost nopony ventures into it is beyond me. There's never been any mention of dangerous plants of wildlife. Still, unlike previous times I'm not bound to a proper trail. Can't have a proper adventure if you're not heading out into the unknown, can you? It's probably prudent to make sure I do actually have everything before I set off, I'm not sure I really want to test to see if my cutie mark is related to being horribly lost in the woods without shelter. I take stock on a picturesque little bench by a stream on the lane leading out to the westernmost farms; food, water, coat, tent, pegs, compass, map, flint & steel all present, along with sundries. As always it's far more of a pain repacking saddlebags than emptying them, and I do my best put cutie marks out of mind. Plenty of time to agonise over things later when I'm not out to enjoy myself. In lieu of interesting things to see on the way out of town, my mind wanders around a comment from an old history teacher: "We ponies are herd creatures at heart. We're at our best with our family and friends surrounding us to support us, it's how pony society has flourished since the ancient days.". I can't help but think that it all breaks down when you're the one that doesn't fit in with the rest of the herd. The lauded loving tolerance and acceptance of us ponies is hardly all it's claimed to be I've found. I suppose nopony likes to be reminded of those directionless few without a place. Then again, all this dour stuff is probably what's putting everypony off me. I can't really help a wry smile. The train of thought breaks as a style appears, leading over into the fields before the edge of the wood. There's a brown-coated farmpony with a wide brimmed hat on the far corner, going around slowly cutting back the grass, sickle in mouth. He gives me a nod before returning to his labour. Probably the last pony I'll see until I get back. I can't say why, but it does raise my spirits a little. Just so long as it's not the last one ever. The opening into the woods at the far end beckons closer and closer. The way the soft shafts of sunlight drift through the leaves of oak and beech is simply delightful. There's no real path beyond it, just a couple of lightly worn animal tracks winding off between the trees. I give a last look back in the direction of the town. The farmpony paused, looking at me with a brow raised, before quickly turning away and resuming his swooping cuts with the sickle. The town itself looks different from afar, with all the small personal details removed it's just another oversized countryside village really. It's hard to equate that to the place where I've spent all my life. As I'm staring a butterfly flutters in front of my eyes, it's glorious azure wings dancing around in the breeze as it flies behind me. Following it round it's clear now how much more alive the forest is, the chirping of birds and the rustling of wind in leaves accompanying the gentle swaying of grasses and flowers in the soft gusts between the trees. Though it's dominated by green, all around there are splashes of colour; from the last of the spring's bluebells to wild dandelions and berries of red and yellow growing on bushes and in the undergrowth. This is where I belong, not in the carefully manicured towns and cultivated fields. Here in true nature. With a quick adjust of the saddlebags, I remove the map, compass and a pencil with my magic, and mark my entry point and the direction of the small track ahead of me. Wouldn't pay to get lost out here, even if I probably can remember the way back. Holding them in the soft green telekinetic glow I finally set off along the animal track, staring out into the trees looking for more signs of life. The blue butterfly is still visible in the distance, floating seemingly at random only to alight on a nearby flower for a second before passing on. Even so, it's clearly headed deeper and deeper into the forest, using what looks like a corridor of thinner vegetation around me and the path. Every 20 minutes or so I take another bearing and check my rough location on a map. From what I know, the forest's quite large, at least a long day and a half's hike from side to side, ending in barren hills and rocky highlands that border onto minotaur territory. Meeting a minotaur. Now there's a thought. I've heard that they can grow to over 10 feet, and some can cast limited magic even without a horn. Not really sure how accurate that is, but generally rumours like that have at least some grain of truth. An involuntary shudder from a mix of fear, excitement and the rapidly cooling temperature in the shade of the forest overtakes me. I compulsively check the map again, I've been dawdling long enough making slow progress, time to press on. As the hours slip by, the subtle changes in the forest become ever more noticeable. Huge, ancient trees get more and more common, dominating saplings and leaving wide open spaces beneath their high canopies. Without any distractions the flowing patterns of gusts and breezes between these lofty, natural vaulted ceilings start to appear in the leaves above and in the hardy grass below my grey hooves. The more I hear it, it sounds like music drifting from afar that's playing the woodland as it's instrument. With so many old oaks squirrels are common sight, darting across the open ground to reach the safety of the trees. Wherever I am along this little natural highway there’s always at least one watching, turning a curious eye down onto the strange grey pony invader wandering through their abode. The changes seem to be more fundamental than just that though. The air here is different, tasting cleaner as attested to by the increasing presence of delicate lichens spreading over trunks and branches, filled with countless tiny scents of wild flowers and bushes rather than the ever-present wheat and corn crops back home. I've been going for several hours now, though captivated by just wandering through this endless little paradise it's hardly felt like it. The quiet tumble of water on rock must mean I'm approaching the small river shown on my map several miles into the forest, stretching roughly north-south. Surrounded by all these lovely plants, there's a rumble down in my stomach. Definitely time for lunch. The river bank seems a good a picnic spot as ever. I must have been going a good five or six hours now. It only takes a few minutes to reach, barely more than a large stream no more than a few meters wide and looking through the crystal clear water it's only a few hooffuls deep judging from the stones emerging from it in places. Perching on a rock on the edge and dipping my tired front hooves in I unlatch the saddlebags to reveal my carefully made flower sandwiches. There's a cute little frog hopping over the rocks over the far side, protecting the burgeoning family of tadpoles in a tiny cove of rocks. I don't even need to look further to tell the scene is being repeated all the way along the length of the river, with a constant chorus of croaks trying to take over from the bird calls diffusing through the canopy above. The way the stream marks out a clear, if patchy area of sunlight in the otherwise tree dominated skyline combined with the nearby water seems to be creating a haven for the plants otherwise left out in the forest proper, highlighting what seems to be a noticeable track down the side of the riverbank to the left of me through the rushes and beds of flower adorned grasses. Temporarily leaving the food I pull out the map and trace the route the path has taken me. It's not marked on the map, despite being too direct and straight to be created by the wandering of animals from food source to food source. Finding the faint trail of the river on the map it's clear that it's part of the boundary for the greater Trottingham county, beyond it is wild Equestria left untended by ponykind. Perhaps ponies do still visit these woods though? A path like this looks more like a route somewhere rather than a meander through the woods. It's clear that it's always following this trail, I've barely seen any small tracks branching off for a long while now. Hmm. Remembering the sandwiches, I finish them off while thinking it all over, though I'm sure I could find a nicer selection of fillings out here. With everything packed and saddlebags on, it's time to go. Going by what I can see of the sun through the gap in the trees, it's about 3pm. Still plenty of time to find a good place for the tent somewhere. Invigorated by food and what looks like an unfolding puzzle my pace is quicker than before, trotting along with purpose following the course of the river. The soil here is much softer than inside the forest, and my hooves are noticeably starting to sink in slightly. Even with careful observation I can't see any sign of large tracks other than those I'm leaving myself. Looks like a point to the no ponies theory. The far bank is starting to look concerning though. On this side there hasn't been much in the way of undergrowth, allowing relatively easy passage even off the animal tracks but that looks to be changing across the stream with all sorts of ferns and bushes completely covering the forest floor. Wild Equestria indeed. Perhaps the path doesn't cross at all? Something in my gut tells me it will but I hope at least not through that mess. After half an hour or so on the riverbank the first proper landmark appears ahead. A tall silver birch is stretched out over the water, roots half submerged and trunk leaning inwards to try and catch the sun. I'm pretty sure it's the first one I've seen so far, rather odd to see a single tree all alone surrounded by strangers. With its shimmering off-white bark it's not unlike me I suppose, forced out by all the other 'normal' trees. It's not even got any bushes for company. Poor thing. By the look of it though the stones in the river near its base are poking up high enough to get across without having to take a bit of a dip. I will admit it does look rather promising. Drawing up closer the clear area at its base extends further in. Well, looks like I've found my path across. Treading carefully from stone to stone the short distance to the western bank, I lean against the lone tree, staring into the woodland. Far from an animal track, there's a particularly regular grassy path leading inwards, looking just as manicured as any self-respecting pony's lawn with not a weed or stray creeper marring its surface. Part of me wonders if I'm in over my head, it's clearly sculpted carefully by somepony -or something, and from what I've seen they certainly don't have anything to do with the town. There's no similar path leading back out of the woods to the east. I take another look back up at the tree. "I'm guessing you can't give me a little advice?" As trees generally tend to do, it continued to stand there stoically silent and motionless save for the gently rustling leaves. "Some friend you are." I stick a tongue out at it to show my displeasure, turning back to look down the way ahead. Oh come on, get a grip. It hardly looks like it's full of evil dark magic does it? With a harrumph and a tighten of the saddlebags I trot off down the little grass causeway, mind made. I must say, it is a delightful place. The grass is perfectly soft, cool and springy underhoof, probably tastes nicer than the regular stuff too, not that I'm particularly inclined to find out. As the signs of the river behind me fade behind corners the air starts to change too, not as clear as it was earlier, now full to burst of all sorts of sweet scents that fill the air. It's relaxing to just let your hooves carry you along without effort and truly take in the occasional flourishing blossom, the stray bees and butterflies and the tittering songs of the birds sometimes visible swooping around above. Loosing track of time completely it takes me a couple of minutes to start to notice and actual song starting to drift in on the occasional gust of wind. I stop dead on the spot. Listening closely, it's clearly a voice, the song itself meandering and looping back on itself yet wholly without recognisable words. It's neither alluring nor scary, just a whimsical little tune really. It doesn't take long to close in on the source of the sound and a clearing appears in the distance ahead, dominated by a tall standing stone perched in the centre. It's a sight to behold, jagged bare rock jutting out of the turf at a slight angle, patched with moss and lichen. The voice is clear now, definitely a mare, or at least female. I suppose out here there's no telling. Leaving the entrancing song I take a few steps forward into the clearing itself that's roughly circular around the stone, with several other paths like mine leading off who knows where. Entranced with the song it takes me several seconds to register it drawing to a close and the head of a doe appear sideways around one side of the stone. "Well met, pony" Startled by its sudden appearance, I'm unable to reply for a moment, most likely gawping terribly, knowing me. She's taller than me on her dainty legs but much thinner and longer of face. Her rich brown eyes are much smaller than a pony's but with larger brows above them they're full of inquisitive expression. "It's quite alright, I assure you I don't bite. Unless you're actually a flower. I do take it you're not a flower in disguise?" Pardon, what? "Hello?" I never would have thought deer would live in forests this close to Equestria! All I knew was that they tended to hide from all the other animals, they hardly told us anything in school. "Probably not a flower then." She pauses for a second, twitching her nose, "though perhaps of the wall variety?" "Um, no. I'm pretty sure I'm not a flower. I did enjoy your song though." "I'm glad of that, thank you. In which direction are you headed?" "Well, to be honest I don't really know. I was just walking." "Is that so? You're certainly not a lost pony, since you've just been found by me, and talking of me, I'm Maeve. Is there any particular motive behind your 'just walking'?" "Um, I was looking for adventure really. To try and find my cutie mark. I'm Silverstreak" The doe paused for a second, staring at me with a puzzled look before slowly rising from behind the stone and walking out onto the grass in front of me. The luscious sheen on her dappled brown coat is lovely, shining in the late afternoon sun. Everything about her body and movements are dainty, from the way she places her long slim legs to the moderately short, thin snout sniffing at my scent. "Adventure? That's a lofty goal, for sure. I can't say that I can tell you which path leads to your cutie mark, Silverstreak, other than probably not the one you've come down since you're not bearing it already. Adventure comes in all sorts of different forms though, different for every deer. Or pony. What's your favourite flavour? Mine's scandal and intrigue. And rafting. I'm sure there's some of it present here somewhere, whatever kind you're looking for." "All the adventures I've read about seem to include exotic creatures or ancient ruins or hidden treasure of some kind, though I'm not sure if that's really accurate." She tilts her head to the side, giving me a disarming smile, friendly yet clearly finding some amusement at my cluelessness. "Well, for adventure of that kind I'd have to suggest taking the path to my left, and then heading directly west once you reach a smaller standing stone. I seem to remember there was another pony looking for something, perhaps it was adventure, perhaps not, in that direction. He was a very different pony to you though. Certainly one I didn't feel like revealing myself to. He had a wild look in his eyes, for sure. Very driven. What his business was, I can't say, other than that he was clearly in a hurry to arrive and rather smug upon leaving. He came from the west, unlike you. A very different pony indeed." That's pretty cryptic I must say. I'm kind of wondering if I'm biting off more than I can chew now. "Well, thank you I suppose. I was wondering, do you live here?" "Here? No, I don't. I'm just travelling. Looking for a new adventure of my own kind I suppose, this is a rather nice place to stop though. Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. If you ask me." "Well, um, thank you." I say, casting my eyes around furtively trying to work out just what she's referring to. "Oh, don't look so confused dear, it's a quote. I doubt many ponies have taken the time to delve into our verse sadly." She looks up at the sky, whistling a snippet of a tune, seemingly distracted until she whips her head back to me. "Do you plan on finding said adventure today? Or wait until the morrow?" I have to agree with her that the light is starting to fade, it's probably not a great idea to go blundering around at night here. Especially if I'm going to follow her instructions to go off the path into the woods. "Do you reckon that I've got time to find it today? I'm meant to be getting back home tomorrow." "You'd do best to leave soon. Do feel free to find me here on your way back, I shall eagerly await your return to hear all the gory details." "Definitely." Well that's certainly the most ominous gesture of friendship anyone's given me. She sits down on her haunches, giving me that slightly sly smile again, clearly in the know over something. I'd all be far easier if she stopped being so obtuse all the time, are all deer like this? "Out of interest, just what exactly do you expect me to find out there?" "Yourself of course. Or you could lose yourself. Perhaps a mixture of the two I suppose, maybe even both completely and simultaneously. Now that would be interesting. Do have fun." It’s clear that's my cue to leave. Somehow I don't think I'd really envisioned other creatures similar to ponies being that different, though now that seems about as naive as could be. After readjusting the weight of the gear over my aching back I turn and head off down the path Maeve indicated, starting to look a little less inviting with the sun deep in the sky.-------- With all the trees around it's hard to tell, but I'm pretty sure the sun is setting now. What little I can see of the sky is a deepening blue, blurred with a hint of orange in the clouds. I know I really should have made camp much earlier, perhaps at the crossroad clearing but the desire to see out what Maeve hinted at in these strange woods is almost overpowering. I've no idea just how far this standing stone is and frankly with the light leaving it the forest is becoming more and more sinister. While the day was full of vibrancy and life, the coming night seems to be oddly still, devoid of many of the insects and small creatures I'd have expected to be starting their nocturnal foraging around now. My mind can't really decide whether to revel in this blanket of quiet and solitude dropping over everything or to bolt in fright. I need to pitch camp soon now, though at least with my horn I should be good for light. As darkness falls to its fullest extent, the promised stone appears from the gloom, leering up like some ancient petrified tooth worn down by the ages. The path's not really got the room for the tent, so I'm forced into undergrowth, pulling it back with my magic until a large enough clearing for the tent. I deliberately made sure to avoid the location of the stone itself, I certainly wouldn't want to destroy the very trail I'm meant to be following. Anyway, these mysterious obelisks give me the chills. Thankfully with a little magic it doesn't take long to erect, and after a hard day's walking I'm glad to tuck myself inside polishing off some baked goods for a rather late and unorthodox dinner. I've gone this far, and thinking about what I'm going to find out there is gnawing at me inside. There's no turning back now, just waiting to see what tomorrow brings. I awake around dawn, my back aching from being twisted oddly on the uneven forest floor. Light's starting to come out from the gaps in the trees. I've never been too bad at mornings but waking after a short night's rough sleep is never nice. With a groan I drag myself out of the tent, taking in the sights and smells of the woodland around me. The dawn chorus is light here, the birdsongs few and far between. Curious in a place so full of life such as this. I know it's the last thing I want to be doing, but I force myself to pack everything up before eating. I can do that on the hoof, and I don't want to waste precious time with the very final leg of my journey left. Crunch time. It takes some time before everything's ready to go, and going by the sky the sun should be on the horizon now. Forcing my way back through the bush, I stumble onto the main path. Looking at it now in light, the stone is worn but there's no lichen or moss growing on it, unlike the previous one. That's certainly odd. I wander back and forth, looking for any sign of a path off to the left while shaking the tiredness from my bones. Thankfully, there's evidence of passage left by bent and broken branches a little way further on, continuing deeper into the shaded forest. Unlike the rest of the way, it's barely more than an animal track evidently forced through by a pony before me, going by the faint hoofmarks left in the ground. They're certainly not new, and they seem to be going both ways. I distinctly have a gut feeling I'd rather not meet anypony else out here. It's strenuous pushing through the bushes and saplings, but I know that's not the reason for my heart hammering in my chest. With every passing minute the sounds of animal life fade away into a cloak of eerie stillness. I know part of me had been doubting the truth of that the enigmatic doe had said the afternoon before, but quite quickly all of her cryptic clues were vindicated. Sloped walls of stone started to appear ahead through the trees, not tall enough to reach the canopy. Before I knew it the track opened up and straightened, flanked by several lines of smooth stone obelisks about the height of a pony forming some sort of overgrown causeway through the wood. Stumbling over roots and leaves I trot faster towards the strange edifice. Approaching, it's clear it's not a building as such, more an ornate walled courtyard. Though the walls outside are as perfectly smooth as they are blank, through the opening in the side wide pillars covered in both swirling spirals and creeping vines of ivy line a pair of crossed walkways of stone over a dark abyssal opening in the floor. The whole thing looks square, with similar openings on each of the sides. When it comes to expeditions out into the wild, I think I might have jumped in at the deep end. Taking it in closely, it appears each walkway is supported by the pillars that pass through them in the overgrown plant beds along the edges, paved neatly along the centre with off white stone flags bound together with a rough green-grey dappled mortar. I walk inside breathless, trying to take all these odd details in. The interior walls appear almost normal to the mind at first, what appears to be a regular tessellating pattern or ridged plates are actually slowly changing in shape as they progress both across and down the walls, playing cruel tricks on the mind as the shapes morph and shift irregularly. Overall it's just unsettling in the extreme in so many different ways, from the contrast between smooth and plain exterior to meticulously detailed interior to the gaping black abyss below my hooves with no sign of a bottom. An involuntary chilled shudder runs down me, pricking my coat hears on end. Other than the wind the whole place is as silent as the grave, a dead spot in a teeming oasis of life. It's probably a place no sane pony would want to investigate, but honestly I'm not sure if I could live with myself if I turned back now. There's clearly something amiss about this place, but absolutely no clues here as to why. It's whole reason for being built and purpose is a mystery, not least of how somepony would get down into the deep hole below me. I'm sure it can be done somehow. There's too little up here to justify its existence it seems, I'm certain the answer must lie beneath. There's no real ornamentation or pictograms of any kind and certainly not a single indication of any kind of script save the patterned walls. If they have a meaning it's certainly far beyond me. Taking off my saddlebags I rest them against a pillar and unpack some essentials into a smaller bag, a little water and food, a compass, a pencil and a pad just in case. I'll leave the rest here, no sense in lugging everything around now I'm here. Anyway, it'll mark just which of these four near-identical paths I took into this place. Pausing, I take a look back at them and leave a small scrap of paper tucked into the earth of one of the beds on the other side of the path. The thought of my bags not being there when I come back is something almost too scary to consider at the moment but in a situation like this I really don't feel like leaving anything to chance. Now it's time to find my way inside. I finish the walk to the centre, and find another unexpected feature. Among this little world full of patterns and regularity, the central square rock between the middle four pillars where the path meets is simply a square hewn block of pumice. Odd for such a rough and raw material to be used by the look of it. Stepping onto it, I can't really see any kind of reason or mechanism involving it yet. I stand there for a while, trying to puzzle the whole thing through. To be honest I'd never been the amazing at working out cryptic puzzles and I can't help the feeling this one is just going straight over my head at the moment. It takes several minutes before I look back down at the rough stone and notice it's sunk about half a hoof's width in relation to the rest of the floor around it. Experimentally I jump up and down a little, and feel it giving very slightly beneath my hooves. Before long it's starting to fall below the level of the thick flagstones making up the path to the slabs of rock underneath. Looking back at the rising walkways around me the lines around the flagstones are starting to pulse a faint green. Looking closely at the matter between them there's specks of green reflective material mixed in with the mortar. Crushed emeralds by the look of it maybe. It hits me finally. The gems mixed into the mortar are storing the magic holding up the central stone, and now gently lowering it into the abyss around me. Presumably pumice because it's far lighter than most other rocks. Interesting. As the ground level passes above my head I turn my attention the hole I'm slowly descending into. Other than the strange fading patterns on the walls there's nothing really to see, just the featureless dark. The ride down is an exercise in patience most definitely, and it's only then that I realise why it's still very dark down here, despite the largely open roof leaking more and more sunlight all around me with the day wearing on. A hanging, thin mist is slowly building up as I get deeper and deeper, absorbing the light and leaving the beginnings of a grim gloom about the place. It must have been a good half hour before I finally reach the bottom; a blank, dark stone square with the same paths marked by the bases of the pillars soaring above. Stepping down off the pumice plate I descended on, I carefully survey the wide room before stepping out into one of the quadrants and looking up at sky above me. The opening to the sky definitely doesn't look large from here, too small to really make out the 4 bridges. It's chilly down here too. With such gentle acceleration and deceleration I must have been going deceptively fast at maximum speed. It's pretty clear I'm damn deep down here. Sadly with the walls being devoid of any large features I've got no easy way finding out to what extent. The whole place looks and sounds utterly still, the sound of my hooves on the stone is painfully clear as it bounces lightly around. What a space! Reading about things like this in books is so far from seeing it in the flesh it's incomparable. I can't imagine the sheer effort to design and build this, or how long it would have taken. Maybe years. Maybe decades! There's no real reason to believe ponies made this, it probably predates even the Royal Sisters. How many other ponies have walked through history like this? Putting all that behind me I return to the platform that carried me down. Alarmingly it's knee height from the floor and rising. Experimentally I rear up and place my front hooves on it. The motion stops, and it returns equally slowly to its position at floor level. Looks like it needs weighing down. No way I'm staying in this place if my only ride out is one long wait away. The only candidate I've got to leave on it is my water bottle. Taking it from my bag, I place it in the centre of the stone and back off, watching to see if it rises. After what feels like a suitably long time to confirm it’s remaining firmly rooted to the floor I turn and look back at the various paths to each wall. Where the path meets it there's a tall rectangular opening, the interior as black as night. I turn and check the others, from this distance they all look suitably similar. I should be ok just going up to them and having a peer down them. Actually entering hallways leading into blackness seems a little too far right now. Picking one at random I head over. I'm hesitant at first, though the dead silence when I stop moving is at least slightly comforting. I'll be able to hear something coming even if I can't see it. If anything is there it'll certainly hear me but that can't really be helped. The first opening I reach is just blank blackness. I light up my horn, but all that does is reveal a straight, featureless corridor continuing into darkness. I dim my horn again. It's hardly better than twilight down here, but something inside me feels reticent about disturbing the abounding darkness any more than can be helped. I definitely don't fancy a trip down there. I take a look at the wall pattern in this area, just some strange angular shape. Nothing I recognise at least. With a bit of a sinking feeling I head to the next. It's a similar story there, though this time the opening has slopes top and bottom inside, leading to a smaller, square tunnel. I take a few steps up into it to see into the tunnel proper. It's just as featureless as before but something feels amiss again. The brief period of extra lighting reveals that the floor, ceiling and walls are all starting to tilt. Hold on a second. The whole tunnel looks like it starts to rotate as it progresses. Very surreal. Again the morphing pattern all around it is of unknown design, this time a curved amorphous shape. Time for the next tunnel. Cutting across again, my blood runs cold as I approach the pillar path and the wall. The fog seems to be noticeably thicker here, congregating near the tunnel and presumably inside. Not only that, the previously alien and unknown pattern on the other walls seems to have shifted into a decidedly skull-shaped visage. I stop on the spot, eyes fixated on the gently swirling dark clouds slowly drifting outwards into the main chamber. Let me think, I'll live without checking if that's a coincidence or not. Emphasis on the live part. After regaining some confidence and double checking that the pumice panel with my water is still present and untouched, I work up the courage to look at the final one. Approaching it close up a faint light is visible deep inside it, definitely flickering and changing slightly. It's barely enough to notice, but clearly not the abyss of darkness in the other three. Illuminating the opening, the short hallway seems like it opens up, with steps leading down into what might be more lines of pillars marking either side of the path in a wider hall. Well, if there's one to investigate, it's definitely this one. After avoiding lighting up my horn on the off chance something would see the light, I think it's probably worth it now. What little light's coming through the door isn't really enough to see by. Focusing, I weave a small ball glowing the same dim red of my magic floating in front of my face and slowly push it forward into the gloom. A long hall opens up below me, stretching off beyond the reach of my dim light. It's an imposing sight, made even more eerie bathed in the soft red glow, the steps lead down into a long colonnade lined with wide, round pillars made of a dark stone. They end some way in the distance, leaving a large flat wall with a pair of doorways in the centre, one at ground level, the other suspended above it, seemingly more of a viewing gallery. There looks to be a carved frame around them but from this distance it's hard to tell. I start down the steps, entering this grand space, leaving the relative comfort of the open sky behind me. The sharp clop of my hooves echoes around, reverberating around and illustrating the sheer size of this place. So much for trying to stay unnoticed. It looks like there's walls behind the lines of pillars, flat stone faces lined with the faint shadows I've cast. The dark fog curls around their bases, obscuring things at ground level. The redness is absorbed in the fog, making the contrast to the total black of the shadows even more pronounced. The whole thing feels so unnatural, so far from Equestria or anywhere ponies should live, bringing images of Tartarus to mind. Plenty of dark nooks for forgotten dark beasts to hide in. Why of all things does it have to look like the entrance to Tartarus, flickering flames and all? Why did I have to have red magic? Why of all things? I can feel my heartrate rising and breath quicken as all sorts of Tartarian scenes of blood and fire and monstrous flesh flow into my mind until suddenly the reminder of a single thought hits me like a distilled beam of Celestia's sunlight, calming me like jumping in cool fresh water after a summer's day. Of course red light doesn't harm your night vision. I AM meant to do this. This IS my destiny. Taking a moment to compose myself I acknowledge all the dark images as (hopefully) irrational and push them out of my head, focusing on the here and now. I look up, but the pillars just continue stretching up into the blackness above me. Again, just darkness. Nothing actually sinister. Just no light source. With a final breath to finish re-centring myself, I give a mental shrug, just another mystery. It doesn't take long at all to reach the long path at the foot of the stairs, and I turn and look back up at the entrance, a solitary grey rectangle of hope amongst the dark. The stairs themselves are interesting though. They're the same width as the slightly raised stone path, yet wandering around them close up they appear to be separate vertical slabs rather than one carved entity or lots of individual blocks. A question for later perhaps. I turn, lightly walking along trying to work out if there's any clues in the design or the construction as just why this whole thing is here as it is. After a short ways I stop again. It doesn't seem like there's any change or irregularity as I progress. Why though? Why this featureless hall with only one entrance? As always, a stillness abounds and lost in thought I start to tune into the sounds of my breath, and steady beat of my heart. Turning my head back to look at the entrance the rustle of my mane seems just as loud as the bustle of Maresborough square. A thought strikes me. I suck in my breath and focus entirely on completely motionless. The silence is perversely deafening. In all my life, I don't think I've ever really experienced silence. Not until now. Until, almost too faint to hear, a sucking sound. It's rhythmic, coming in short bursts. The sounds of breathing. In an instant it feels like every single hair on my body stands on end. Life. Something’s ALIVE. My mind, already starting to tell me to take a breath starts screaming in terror and oxygen starvation, completely overloaded. I'm paralysed. Every muscle in my body is utterly rigid and tense as if trying to propel me into sprinting out of this place but something, the terror, the certainty that any motion will shatter the only evidence of its source, holds me completely immobile. The feeling builds and builds like an incoming tidal wave, every single part of my mind and body fixated completely onto that quietest of sounds. The dread moment of consummate fear shatters as my throat reflexively gasps for breath and I stagger reeling for breath in an explosion of sound. Barely aware of controlling my own body I bolt for the exit, all higher thoughts and quiet motions abandoned. I find myself back out into the square courtyard before my mind starts to click back into gear and I start to take stock of my surroundings. I turn my head, expecting some monstrous creature of wicked eyes and slavering jaws to be hounding my tail but everything seems as still and quiet as it was when I descended. I slow to a trot, approaching the pumice lifting stone to the surface. Only when I'm standing next to it does my heart finally slow it's hammering rhythm and I can take stock of things. Well, whatever it is must have heard me. I doubt that anything that lives in this gloom has anything less than impeccable hearing. I reach for the water bottle with my magic and step on the stone, ready to ascend. I am so done, I am so, so done. Looking down, the pumice pad still seems anchored unmoving to the floor. Immediately I quell all creeping thoughts that I'm trapped down here, clearly it's designed to take people in and out. I hope. I prod it with my magic, feeling it out as best I can but the whole thing seems inert despite the complex spell on it. In mild frustration I shift my weight up and down, feeling it give ever so slightly. I give a little jump and something clicks when I land, suddenly releasing whatever tether bound it and starting it's ascent. I look around, taking the place in. The dead stillness and quiet. The angular, regular geometry broken only by the disturbing patterns on the walls of the abyss. The unsettling graveyard fog. Whatever creature is left lurking down in that tunnel. I never really believed I'd experience anything like this in my life. Who knows if I ever will again? Idly while the indistinct tessellating patterns pass me on all sides I check, and yep, still a blankflank. Maybe my talent's not for adventure, delving deep and solving mysteries like Daring Doo. I kneel down, uncomfortable on the rough pumice slab, trying to reconcile this terrifyingly enigmatic place with going back to my banal life to find a banal job and talk to my banal parents about the weather and whatever the Trottingham hoity-toity are up too this month and finding a nice colt to settle down with. How do I walk away from this back home and try to explain this to them? They'll never believe me, even if I drew pictures. When I saw this place for the first time it felt like my destiny and now I just feel empty. Lost in my malaise of depression I barely register the light and sound of the wind starting to return and it takes the stone bridges passing in front of my nose to realise I'm already up at the surface. I feel drained, coming down from the adrenaline and having to face real life. My saddlebags are still sitting there in the midmorning sun, marking the road back to my boring old life in boring old Equestria. Am I really so done? Daring Doo doesn't give up and neither will I. All I gained going down into the abyss were questions, both about it and myself. Why was this sinister place built? By whom? Am I meant to be the one to find out? Part of me is rightfully still scared, who knows what was making those sounds or what other dangerous things are waiting in the gloom. But now that I'm back out it means too much to me to come away with nothing. I'm left to stew my decision as I return downwards. Descending back into the belly of the beast to face the unknown I realise the life of an adventurer like her isn't defined by the thrill of discovery or triumph over the adversity, it's about facing the realisation of your darkest fears without backing down. Facing danger and trusting in your fortitude. The rising sun hasn't done anything to improve the temperature at the bottom, if anything knowing there's something alive down there makes it even chillier. Again I leave some things to weigh down the stone and carefully identify which tunnel I'd entered before. It seems no different and despite the nagging thoughts in my head to forge onwards or flee I force myself to stop still and stay calm. As before, I start to hold my breath, listening for that ever so faint sound of breath. Nothing. I walk back down that path towards the dark entrance, creating another small light to lead my way. Knowing what's down there helps ease the tension a little but the gathering mist and bottomless shadows create doubts that can't be ignored fully. Battling my racing heart, I step down into hall itself and pad as quietly as I can into the gloom until I'm maybe a quarter of the way along as best I can tell by the 8 shaped openings faintly visible at the far end. Doing all I can to stay calm I take a deep breath and focus my body on becoming still. And there it is, the now unmistakeable sound of breathing. A rough sound. Perhaps it's sleeping? It sounds completely unchanged. Trying as hard as possible to stay silent with woeful results, I creep deeper into the subterranean hall, slowly getting closer and closer to the odd double entrance far ahead. It takes several minutes of wincing at every hooffall in baited breath, but I eventually approach the twin doors. The frame, unlike anything I've seen before in this place, is of patternless rough granite that twinkles softly under the magic. The lower is a pit of blackness, even with my magical light, a font of the grim gases I've been seeing emanating from all over this place. The upper however takes my attention. The blank-faced corridor in it splits into an intersection, and from what I can see the right fork is the source of the faint light I thought I saw earlier before entering. The light is constantly shifting in intensity slightly, despite the light I'm producing and the scant light from the far end both being static. The only problem is reaching it. I stop in thought, and the now quite clear sounds of ragged breathing surprise me. They're certainly weak and irregular, sounding far more like the product of a dying animal than a live one. The door above gives no hints about getting up there, though it's about the same height off the floor as the one I came in on. Looking back through the gloom at the steps and portal of light in the distance, a thought strikes me and I look down, scrutinising the floor. The path here is constructed from thin horizontal blocks of even width that stretch between each side of the path. Perhaps they raise into similar steps? Wandering around their vicinity, no mechanism to control them appears, and it takes several minutes of retracing my steps before I happen across a lone circular stone in centre of the path halfway along. With a hard press of a hoof, it lowers down and the rumble of shifting stone echoes through the walls. Like a receding wave, the stairs behind me fall away, receding to the floor with a series of deep thuds. I swing my head around, breath taken away as more shoot up ahead of me, leading to the passage of ethereal light. Success! Letting the sounds fade, I trot forwards, staring at the glow in the tunnel shifting like sunlight reflected from water. Almost silent but for the soft click of my hooves, I ascend the stairs, and enter the bare corridor. It's still not clear what's creating the light shining from the entry, but the doleful sound of laboured breathing is back stronger than ever. I approach, turning the corner carefully, trying to prepare myself for whatever unknown magic it could throw at me. Pulsating tendrils of purple magic spark and writhe through the air like lightning, centred around an uneven, suspended shape bathed in their sorcerous light. It's tall and furred, partially wrapped in cloths and furs with a hood obscuring all but it's predatory muzzle. A diamond dog. The bolts of magic shoot through its body, through its limbs and into its chest, jerking and twisting it like a ragdoll, leaving its mouth open in hollow screams turned to rattling gasps of pain. I take a step back in a sudden moment of terror, unable to stop myself letting out a short whinny from shock. I’m frozen to the spot, taking in the scene in morbid fascination. After several seconds of the dog and the swirling maelstrom ignoring me completely, it's clear that it's bound by the magic, completely held fast in its tortuous bindings. Some of its belongings are strewn around the floor, various trinkets, a pack and a wickedly serrated sword lying along the passage before it. After the initial shock has worn off, nothing seems to be happening other than the involuntary spasms of the dog before me. The way the tendrils dance is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, in a way it’s staggeringly beautiful, if not for the dog held fast in the centre. What a monstrous thing. Though, perhaps this the victim, not the monster here. Looking at how it's things are scattered around it could have been taken by surprise. It certainly wasn't brought here to be trapped like this, and nor would it live here with travelling supplies like those. The more I stare at it, the less frightening the sight is, and the more pitiful it becomes. The thing before me has lost everything except its life. I don't think it's even registered my presence. What a fate. Maybe the cruellest end for a creature that looks like it expected to live and die by the blade. Thinking of it's blade, it's the closest thing to me, a short distance inside the passage that looks untouched by the magic lightning. Tentatively, I move hoof by hoof towards it, edging closer and closer. I know I shouldn't, but it's the only concrete object to vindicate my tale when I get back home. Still, the lightning doesn't strike, only dancing around a short way in front of my face. Reaching forward with a forehoof I brush the hilt and a flash of light erupts. I lurch back with shock. My head is ringing, feeling suddenly heavy and nauseous as strange and unwanted sensations overcome me; the tangy taste of blood, the ruffle of harsh winds through matted fur, the heady scent of musk, the clammy fatigue of running through snow as my lungs burn and my sweat turns to ice in my coat, an explosion of pain and cold steel entering my side, the broken body of a diamond dog with a spear through it's skull laying on bloodstained rocks, a sudden glimpse of a bright yellow unicorn clutching a sword with a sneer, replaced by my own canine body pierced by purple magic and wordless yet deafening howls of despair. Like the sudden release of massive pressure, I return to my own body and I see the dog before me straining it's head forwards, eyes glowing yellow, arms trying to reach toward me in desperation. I stumble back, falling over my back hooves as the lightning retreats back to the diamond dog's now limp body. It remains unresponsive as I regain my breath and push myself away from it. My heart is hammering in my chest like a train, all the composure I'd rebuilt lost. I have no desire to see more. Galloping away along the tunnel and down the steps, I pause only to jab down hard into the stone circle at the midpoint of the great hall, without giving any attention to the moving stonework behind me. Bolting up the stairs into the square plaza underneath distant blue skies, I relax, falling back onto my flank and staring back into the dark depths gasping for air and retching a little. What just happened to me? It was as if I was overcome by hallucinations when I touched the sword, but all those sensations felt far more real than that. More like visions, from the eyes of the bound diamond dog. My body probably registered the shuddering sensation rocking through me earlier as shock, though maybe it's more than that, some effect of the magic binding the dog that gave these visions? I don't think I feel any different. Then again, with powerful magic like this? Who knows. I must have been lying there a while, trying to take it all in, before I finally notice that the shadows of the weak sunlight penetrating the dark fog in this place have started to swap sides from where they were when I entered. It's past noon already. Hurrying back to the centre of the square, I step onto the platform, gratefully taking large swigs of water from my bottle. After the encounter I'm definitely very much done, and more pressingly I need to get back, preferably before nightfall. Given how far I've got to go, that doesn't really look that likely. With the new sense of urgency, the ride up seems agonisingly slow, and by the time I reach the top I'm dashing towards my saddlebags. Stashing what little I took down with me, I pop a bread roll into my mouth. I swing my saddlebags over my back and take a last look around. So this is what it feels like to go looking for ancient ruins and buried treasure? I'm still shaken by what happened down there, and it really hits home just what I'd gotten myself into. I'd never thought about it before much, but thinking about it there's got to be a reason places like this get abandoned or lost in the first place. The death of a civilization almost sounds the least ominous. There has to be some reason why ponies, or whoever built this, would choose to forget about it. I'm sure it's probably not a nice pleasant one. Making sure I head out the right way, I set back off into the woods, looking thoroughly more pleasant in the midday sun. Even though the animals seem to be avoiding the stone construct, it's lovely to get back out into the sights and sounds of nature. It takes a fair bit of searching and looking at the compass for a bearing to finally find the rough track I followed to reach the place, obscured by all the vegetation. It takes a lot of concentration not to lose the path, and it's only once I happen upon the sudden break in the trees and the standing stone do I allow my mind to wander. I know I'd been trying to avoid it, but now I can't stop wondering over the things I saw, felt even, when I touched the diamond dog's sword. Whenever I try to remember them, part of that intense rush returns for a second, refreshing the sensation and the vision. It feels like I'm remembering the actual event, rather than just what I saw in my head. I can't describe how unnerving it is to be able to recall things that I've never done before like they were happening to me yesterday. I'm pretty sure these are the memories of the diamond dog, but how am I still able to experience what it's experienced? When I concentrate I'm getting tiny fragments added on, things I don't think I saw the first time. Am I still able to tap into its memory, even after I'm no longer connected by the magic binding it? I just don't know what to think. It almost seems beyond comprehension. Being surrounded by plants and creatures again suddenly feels more soothing than ever. Where I'd been was no place for ponies. Something about it felt just fundamentally wrong. As I'm trotting along, a familiar sound of faint singing wafts down the path towards me, soothing my uncertainty. It takes a little while to get close enough to start hearing it properly, but it's quite a different tune to the previous one, constantly double-backing on itself and returning to melodies only to take them in different directions. It reminds me of the tiny swirling eddies in the stream I crossed yesterday in a way. When I actually reach the crossroads clearing, Maeve is lying on her side in the grass with her head arched up to the sky, finishing her song. Without bothering to get up, she turns her head towards me. "Have fun?" I'm a little startled by her abrupt question. If I'm honest, once I'd started going down that pit things started to get a whole lot more eerie and unnerving than fun. "Well, I did in parts I suppose." She tilts her head, muzzle scrunched up a little in thought. "Were they the important parts though?" I'd say being zapped by unknown powerful magic and having something else's memories in your head is probably the important part here. "I don't think so to be honest." With a deft little roll she hops to her hooves and approaches, with a distinctly concerned look on her face. She paces around me, inspecting me as if I might have changed. "Well, that's dismaying. Still, there are a lot of times when the path to adventure and the path to having fun lead in the opposite direction. You did find what you truly came for." She taps my flank with a hoof, just behind my saddlebag. Shaking my saddlebags off hurriedly, I peered round at my side. A pitch black circle, with small vein-like tendrils of all colours snaking out from around it's edge. I blurted out a half gasp of surprise, half squeal of excitement, unable to contain my shock. I'm completely overcome. How? It must have been whatever that... connection was with the diamond dog. It wasn't there when went to leave the first time. I must have been frozen in place for a little while when Maeve breaks the shocked silence, "An interesting sigil. Perhaps indicating interesting adventures, in the past or the future." I look back at it again. The vaguely eye-shaped mark of circular black void and polychromatic lines growing out from it stares back at me. It's linked, undeniably. Maybe to seeing those visions? What does that make my talent though? She gives me a wry smile and starts to walk around me, inspecting it from all angles. Her nose gets closer and closer until she's barely nuzzling it and I leap away in shock, eliciting a musical laugh. "Relax, I already told you I don't bite, you're not a flower. Unless you want me to bite you," she adds, biting her lip with a gleam in her eyes. There’s the beginnings of an awkward silence, until they shift to puzzlement. "The void in the centre absorbs all light, I think. There's no sheen or change in it, no matter how you move around. A very curious sigil indeed." She completes her circling and returns to facing me. "You look rather out of sorts, if you don't mind me saying." For a brief moment I consider asking her if she could make sense of everything I'd witnessed, but the rapidly waning light warned me against it. Not to mention how odd she is, even if she is polite. "I've got to go. My parents are going to skin me if I'm out another night." I stammer out, still more shaken than I had realised at getting my cutie-mark after today. She lets out a soft snort, "If that's the case I won't keep you. I won't be here long but if I ever come back this way I will check for letters or presents," She glances around the clearing, "Hmm, leave them under the stone I sent you to, that seems fitting. Especially presents, no one ever gets me presents." I turn to pick up my saddlebags and fasten them up for the hopefully brisk journey. By the time they're on securely she's already halfway into the undergrowth. "May you live in interesting times!" she shouts out before disappearing altogether. "I'm home!" Dad looks at me scathingly as I come through the door into the kitchen and pull off my saddlebags into a corner, "And about time too. We finished dinner an hour ago." It had been a long trip back. I was more tired than I thought from the morning's exploration in the strange structure and carrying all my kit as well made it a long slog through the woods in the last of the afternoon sun and creeping twilight. Being this late I'd anticipated the frosty reception. Even if he didn't say it to my face in as many words I knew he thought going out into the wilderness was a foolhardy pursuit for earth ponies or some reckless pegasus. Dirty and dangerous and pointless. I turn back to start unpacking my saddlebags, every motion laboured from the wave of exhaustion that inevitably hits upon returning home from a strenuous day out, completely oblivious to the occasional shuffle and writing of my dad's papers on the table stopping as he's caught speechless by shock for a minute or so. "You found it? Your mark?" I stop dead. A peculiar sensation runs through me, adrenaline and anxiety. The excitement of finally finding my cutie-mark after long years being ridiculed rushes back afresh, only to be met by the crushing thought: I'm going to have to explain all this. How in Celestia's light-filled land to I explain it? "It's.... it's a long story." His unchanging expression of complete shock prompts me to go on, starting with the rather normal walk out of town through the woods, before meeting Maeve the deer and how she directed me deeper into the forest, until he cut me off. "Ok, ok, enough of that. What really happened?" He’d gotten over the shock, looking concerned and alarmed now, "That did really happen dad. I swear". He looks at me, not even trying to hide the disappointment and contempt in his eyes, not even deigning to argue with me before writing it all off. "What does it mean? You know what it means, right?" "Well, there was this Diamond Dog suspended in magic-" "Enough of the horseapples sweetheart. What does it mean, plain and simple?" At this point it feels like my heart's collapsing and dying like a burning airship. "I don't know dad." I lower my head, letting my mane fall over my face to try to hide my welling tears. I knew it was probably hopeless but the pain from having it confirmed was more than I could ever anticipate. Looking through my wet eyes and locks of hair all the power of the disapproval and anger that had built over the years seemed to have gone from my dad's face, all of a sudden he looked more defeated and world weary than I'd ever seen him. He looked up and opened his mouth, "Just..." For a second he froze, clearly lost for words, jaw hanging. With a slight shake of his head he returned to staring down at his paper blankly like a stallion who's watched his life and loves turn to ashes in front of his eyes.