//------------------------------//
// Day 4 
// Story: The Dark Origins of the Windigo 
// by Schattendrache 
//------------------------------//

November 26, 11:00
The morning after our arrival at the outpost was marked by the continued onslaught of yesterday's storm. I know not, however, if the storm has crossed over or approached the capital. Whilst the mages of the capital help to protect it by lessening the power of a storm that crosses over, I can’t help but worry for your safety. Even within the hardened walls of the outpost, it is all but impossible to shut one’s senses to the howl of the storm as it rages against the stone walls in an attempt to tear through them. Were I not exhausted and beaten down from yesterday’s trek, I doubt I would have gotten a single moment of rest, for all the windows of the outpost rattle from the gale and resonate throughout the entirety of the structure. The cacophony is great enough that one might think it audible in the capital. 

I am however grateful for the hospitality of the ponies of the outpost as this morning's meal was a great relief, mostly due to our consumption of the questionably edible material within our rations. We were given the luxury of consuming foods only seen in the immediate area surrounding the outpost. A plethora of mostly fresh berries and roots constituted the majority of our meal with only a strange tea to accompany it. It was excessively bitter, containing some unfamiliar spice. The most peculiar aspect of the drink was its inability to cool. I left it untouched for the better portion of an hour and yet the libation refused to let up its expulsion of steam, rendering it even more unpleasant with time.

When questioned of the drink’s origins, the residents informed me that it was a beverage exclusive to the outpost, as the plant that bestowed the drink both its persistent warmth and hardy spice solely grew here. This uncanny plant they dub the ‘fireweed’, releases around itself a field of warmth that does not permit the formation of ice nor temperatures below a certain threshold. Even a storm such as this one has done nothing to cool the small patches where this plant is found. Even when used to produce the drink, the magical warmth of the plant remains. This fireweed is also the reason for the excessive warmth of the outpost as it is cultivated within these walls.

Upon the completion of our morning meal, our expedition group, sans Iron Hoof as he wished to converse with his fellow guards, met within the commander's quarters in the northern wing of the base to go over the information on the Spires. The Commander arrived shortly after our group had settled around the large table holding a detailed map of the immediate vicinity, explaining that his presence had been delayed due to a failure in the masonry along the northeastern wall. Since I had obtained what could charitably be considered adequate rest, and was not in the throes of advanced physical exhaustion, I was capable of recognizing that the captain was a Pegasus very much the senior of Orator and Iron Hoof, but decidedly the junior to myself and Hard Soil. 

As you know, my love, my memory for what I witness has remained unrivaled among the many ponies that engage in transporting supplies between towns within the empire, but for the life of me, the visage of the commander had not been fully impressed upon me the previous evening. On my return, I will endeavor to stay by your side for as long as possible. The stress of this expedition has placed a heavy toll on my mental wellbeing, and I hold no doubts that the Spires will be even less accommodating.

Writing this now, I can not help but to allow a smile to creep its way across my muzzle. Looking back, I regret that your regular and persistent pleads to see me reduce my work-load and to enjoy your company were for naught, and it was a single, ill-informed journey that finally saw me reflect upon what a poor husband I have been. I wished to provide for you a life you would enjoy, and only now do I see the error of this. The irony is not lost on me that in my efforts to play the part of a loving provider, I have become quite the opposite; a painful absence within your life.

The commander approached the table and stood at its head, at the western edge of the map, before he began to explain what he knew. According to him, the leyline has been of a particularly odd disposition this past week. According to what the mages have noted, upon a shift in the outpouring of mana, the storms that characterized the Spires began to subside. That had been only two days before the clearing of the weather and the sighting of the lights on the other side. According to him, the outpouring of mana was both the most stable to have been recorded from this outpost and was currently responsible for the measured power of the storm here.

When pressed, the commander clarified that should the Spires no longer disturb the leylines, the storm would be of such a brutal and dangerous potency to have been capable of killing us upon our arrival. Thus, the outpouring was protecting us and the outpost from the storm. 

Not wishing to look unfavorably at our luck, that the very mountains responsible for the ends of countless pony’s lives were currently the cause of our continued existence, we inquired as to when the storm might pass and the way made clear for us to ascend the Spires. Regretfully, were our party to have been here when the Spires first cleared, the way to the opposing side and the return would have been assured. As of now, from both their experience and understanding of how the Spires behaved, the outpouring should, from their guess, only permit passage for the next three days before its nature shifts. Beyond that, models and predictions, by even the most knowledgeable on the subject, diverge into wild and useless variance.

The problem lied in the fact that, at its current progression through the Wastes, the storm would abate to what the commander considered an acceptable level in two days' time. If the outpouring will indeed last for only three more days, and the storm’s power will not sufficiently remit until the second, our expedition risks the likelihood of losing our best chance at reaching the foreign civilization.

Orator, Hard soil, and I stood in silence for what felt like hours on hearing this information. We had been tasked with discovering the source of the anomaly and, should we find ourselves met with a new people, establishing contact with them. If we were to miss the opportunity, we held no illusion that the queen would order us stay ‘til such time as to again attempt a traversal of the Spires.

I could tell that such a fate was highly undesired, perhaps even feared, among the members of our party. To be relegated to the outpost for the length of time such that we, again, saw the manifestation of favorable conditions would in all odds consign us all to an extended existence within these walls and extirpate what lives and goals we had before this damned excursion.

The commander, seeing our reactions, calmly and empathetically expressed that this was the most pertinent information for us and that we were dismissed to do as we saw fit until such time as we could determine our most sensible course of action.

November 26, 20:00
The remainder of my day was consumed by silent contemplation. None of my compatriots seemed inclined to come together so as to articulate their grievances nor any ploys or methodologies we might implement to mitigate the severity of our plight. I remained within the quarters I have been assigned since the meeting with the commander, save for the briefest of stints to acquire a mid-day and evening meal. 

I have been racking my mind over my experiences within the Wastes and have found my knowledge falls short of a solution. I know not what to do. As you well know, I have done well to find myself safely surrounded by either earth or crystal and stone, should the weather turn foul. I know only the proper procedure to prevent my death at the hooves of a bitter storm such as this. With you in my thoughts, I could never deem my life of so little value as to risk it in a mere storm, be it a simple one that devours your very breath or a fury like the one that bombards this outpost. I was entrusted to see to the safety and success of this mission, but in all my years I have never learned what is desperately required of me. Mine own failures shall spell either our death or our self-imposed exile.

I






I am sorry my love. My time within both these howling walls and my own head have chipped away at the sanity I have tried to hold so desperately to. Every second leads me to darker thoughts; of my mortality, of my responsibilities.

Of you.

I fear not for my own safety, nor quite for the safety of my companions. I fear what weight my disappearance might place upon you. I fear the damage I might bring to you should I return having failed to protect those I had been charged with. The stress and displeasure I may cause to you by how distant I fear I may become.

I fear the heartache you would feel should I be unable to return to you.

Upon my completion of this entry, I will assemble the members of our party, as well as the commander, back to the commander’s office and propose an idea. We have an estimated window of three days to forge a path to the other side of the Spires. Should we leave before the first light of the morrow, my estimations place us on the peak at the first light of the second day. We will see if this civilization indeed exists. Should we find them, we must conduct our business with all haste, convincing one of their number to join us on our retreat. I know not if we would be consigning them to a life away from their people, but that shall be a concern for a later date.

I shall not see my life complete save for by your side.