//------------------------------//
// Sol - Embarkment 
// Story: The Forging of Harmony 
// by The Sweezlenub 
//------------------------------//

	Sunlight played through the stained glass windows of the College Library and onto the stone floor of the room, which was strewn with dog-eared books. On the floor, which was quite cold, sat a young filly with a bright fandango mane who was leafing through a massive tome, scouring each page as if they contained the solutions for any and all conceivable problems. Perhaps there were even the solutions to some inconceivable ones, one might have thought as he judged by the look of firm consternation on her face. She was wrapped tightly in a frayed but well-loved quilt, her eyes glancing from line to line as she devoured the thick, steadfast text of the massive magical lexicon.
“ALCHEMICAL TELECOMMUNICATIONS” read its cover in a font that in absolutely no context could be be perceived as anything other than tedious. That font itself would make most curl up into a small ball and try desperately to forget how to read. It would make many more fall asleep on the spot. It would even make your average unicorn well up with tears of exhaustion, before turning and shambling away in desperation. But this filly sat utterly intrigued by this vast volume as she scanned in silence the dishearteningly diminutive text. She read aloud whispered words in ancient tongues, tasting the Old Equush incantations as if they were strange and foreign nectars.
A crimson mare who sat at a nearby desk scribbled feverishly through paperwork. The desk was piled high with the stuff, and would’ve looked fit to collapse from the strain if it weren’t for the glowing magical reinforcement that was plainly working on the weary wooden table. Even with the arcane assistance it looked thoroughly spent, its surface gouged, ink-stained and even sporting what looked to be burns in some places. The mare forced to work at this deteriorating workspace seemed its equal in exhaustion. There were bags under her eyes, and she frequently nodded off only to spring back time and time again from her unremitting stupor. Her hand would spring to life at intervals and regain its frantic pace through the pages and pages of classroom supply requests, sheets of homework, and grade reports.
She was a teacher at the city’s magical primary school. Her mane was grey, mousey, and frayed from her years of labor in the Stormchantry, and it was kept tied up in a tight bun. The mountains of paperwork which ever besieged her desk did not seem to bother her anymore. Unhappily, she gave a short sigh, looking down at the unicorn filly who had lain on the floor since early that morning and whose attention was still entirely consumed by the colossal compendium before her.
"Sol?" Said the bright-red mare.
The bundled white filly did not respond, so absorbed was she by the composition before her. She squinted at the miniscule runes, her mouth silently working to pronounce them.
“Sol!”
“Yes, Rose?” Her attention broken, the young pony looked up from her book.
“I asked you: Do you really understand any of that?” Rose repeated. “It’s quite complicated stuff. I can’t imagine you’re retaining a word of it.”
“I do understand it,” said Sol. “Look,” she indicated a particularly dense passage. “This is a spell that lets you talk to ponies when you’re far away.” She scrutinized it for a second. “No, wait, that’s this one here. That one was something else.”
Rose cringed. “Quite right. In fact, don’t read into that one, Sol. I thought all of those spells had been redacted by the Truth Bureau since the, err, incident last week.” She shook her head. “Never mind. What was it you were showing me?”
“This.” Said the alabaster young mare, pointing to a block of intricate text. “You can use it  to still talk when you’re far away.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“I think so.” Said Sol nervously. “Teydin and I tried it a couple of times, and we got into different rooms before it broke down.”
“Oh, lovely, you’re still hanging around with that bum.” Rose sighed. “Well, if you were able to initiate the spell at all, that’s something to be proud of. This is high-level stuff.”
Sol smiled.
“I wish you’d stop hanging about that bard, though.” Said Rose. “He’s just trouble, I tell you. You should spend more time with the other Initiates.”
Sol rolled her eyes. “Teydin’s just eccentric. He’s not dangerous.”
“I don’t know. He seemed to think all that business last week was some kind of sick joke.”
“I think it was a joke.”
“Well, it was a sick one. Wouldn’t be surprised if I never ate a sandwich again.”
They both nodded.


* * *


Sol arose before the break of dawn. Looking about, she could see that none of her fellows had yet done the same. But for now she would let them sleep. Presently, she had other matters to attend to.
She reached down into the depths of her memory for an incantation that she had learned many years ago. There it was. Pulling from the murky reaches of her mind, Sol began to speak softly the Old Equush words.
“Lenturum bilas,” she said into the silence. Her words were absorbed immediately by the blanket of snow. She waited for the magic to respond. Roughly translated, her words had meant “Okay, magic, here’s the rub: I’m headed north for the foreseeable future, and I may or may or not be returning anytime soon, or at all, but we’ll see. Regardless, I’m going to need some ties to this place in the event of my, Teydin’s, or the Professor’s homecoming. I figure the best way to go about that is by bringing up some kind of communications channel with Rose. So let’s get on with it.”
Old Equush is so easy. Sol thought to herself, satisfied with the result as the magic thought about what she’d said, looking for loopholes, misplaced commas, and such. Upon the conclusion that there were absolutely none of either, the magic reluctantly agreed and a alchemical fettering was set upon Rose’s home. Sol was just close enough to target it, but now that it was there, it would hold until dispelled.
Her arcane business finished, she turned to see the puce pony from yesterday glowering at her. He seemed to have just awoken. Quickly, Gerbil adjusted his face into an artificial smile.
“Good morning,” he said. “How nice to see another early bird in the group.”
She smiled at him. “The same to you. I believe your friend’s been up for some time.”
“Oh, has he,” Said Gerbil. It was not a question. “Splendid.” He bared his teeth and walked away sulkily.
“That was weird.” Said Teydin, returning from his early morning walk. “Where’s Sir Turvis?”
Sol tilted her head toward the castle gate, where the Professor was desperately pounding on the outer door. Upon seeing the other two glance in his direction, he said loudly to the gate “And that’s final!” He then coughed and whispered something else, giving the iron-barred door a final pleading glance, before exhaling loudly and sauntering back to the group.  “Just giving those fellows a piece of my mind,” he said truthfully.
Sol and Teydin stared at him glumly.
“Yeah, okay,” said Sol. “At least you’re still being honest with us.”


* * *


After breakfasting on a bitter ration of kelp, courtesy of Gerbil and Flask, the three exiles used the saddle bags that had been thrown to them earlier to pack up their possessions. Having done so, the group embarked on the first leg of their journey with gusto.
They descended down the mountain with ease, the early-morning sun shining brightly in the east. The weather was quite good; the snow had let up overnight and forgotten to resume in the wake of day. As they made their decline from the high peak they talked merrily of the quest to come. Sol was nervous to make this bold journey, but felt liberated as she traversed the rocky road, a track dug into the thick snow by generations of merchants.
As they walked, Teydin took the opportunity to explain to the ambassadors the story of the Brothers Do and their exploits in the High North.
“Fascinating,” said Gerbil. “And they’ve been past the Derelict Strand?”
“If the map’s anything to judge by, they’ve been farther than that.”
“And how did the Queen verify its authenticity?” 
“They had a method of inscribing information beyond written words into their parchment. Their voices. Pictures of their surroundings, like they were drawn, but that could move. They contained so much information that they would take months to fabricate.” Explained Teydin.
Gerbil nodded. “And have you come across any such logs?”
“I think so. But any damage to the information makes them impossible to read. And believe me, you Fjordlanders weren’t ones to preserve fine artifacts.” Sol saw Gerbil sneer at Teydin once he had turned his back. 
They were nearing the base of the mountain now, and the sun was nearing the middle of the sky. The snow had begun to give way to sparse shrubbery now and the ground was more brown than white, though still very cold. The wind had also begun to rise. But the party would not proceed down into the Ventillian expanse which would soon lie before them and which even now they could see clearly for their vantage point on the slope of the mountain, rather, they would take a turn before its base, thus encircling the mountain by way of a pass that would lead between it and its neighbor. The same river whereon Gerbil and Flask had made their camp only two nights ago ran through that pass, and would, they supposed, be accessible to them farther along their route.
They relapsed into silence for the next quarter of an hour, during which time they made their deviation from the well-worn path onto the one whereby they would reach their destination. It was a neglected road to say the least, overgrown by the red shrubs that dotted the tundra and often slippery with ice. Wind poured from the pass through which they hoped to make their safe passage into the High North, and the bitterly cold gale cut at them angrily. But despite chill and slightly dampened spirits, the party carried on. Working over brambles and jagged stone towards the pass: their goal.
After some time Gerbil turned to Sol, looking concerned. “Err, I was curious: are there—” here he broke off, searching for the appropriate term. “—Others?” He asked, looking vaguely troubled. He glanced about. “Surely you three aren’t the only exiles.” He appended, the worry on his face beginning to grow. He fidgeted with his hat.
This was something Sol had not considered. Exiling criminals was common practice in Stormchant, and it was the wisdom of the Stormchantry that such was the best way for the city to dispense with its problems. Now Sol became worried. Where did exiles go? “You know, I’m not sure.” She admitted. “I guess I assumed they went south—I mean going this way would be—” she trailed off again, looking very uncomfortable.
“You were going to say ‘suicide’, weren’t you?”
“No.”
Gerbil glared at her.
“Okay, yeah.”
“Lovely.”
There was an awkward hiatus in the conversation, to which everyone was now listening.
“Why do you ask?” Said Sol suddenly.
Gerbil remained silent, but pointed to what looked to be a shadowy figure by a distant rock. Their suspicions were confirmed when it cursed loudly and dropped to the ground. After several seconds it climbed to its hooves and shuffled out of sight.
“Spooky.” Said Teydin sardonically.
The Professor gave a shiver, but then realized he was being mocked.
“Well,” said Gerbil. “Looks as if they didn’t go south after all.”


* * *


As the intrepid adventurers descended the rugged slope which led to the river’s edge, snow began to flutter down through the icy wind. Flask gazed up at the flakes, which swirled in the gusting air before each came to rest upon the stony ground or was dissolved in the brisk, frigid river below. Shrubs still adorned the ground here, but were more scarce, as if only some dared to brave this cold. Sol didn’t blame them, for the cold here was bitter and unforgiving indeed. It was past midday now, and getting on toward dusk. She feared to imagine what the night would be like.
As they stumbled down the craggy decline, a shape began to loom past the far rocks. Disregarded at first as yet another outcrop from the grey, flora-smattered mountain, the shape did not perturb Sol or her companions, but as their path farther circumnavigated the mountain, it began to rise into more prominence. For it was not the form of the natural: it most certainly was not continuation of the rock before them. No, thought Sol as she gazed out upon this foreign shape. This is something more.
“It’s a town,” said Teydin. “Do you smell that, on the wind?”
Sol inhaled deeply through her nose, and caught the scent of smoke upon the air, perhaps of bread. “It must be,” she said. The smell of food, however slight, was enough to illicit a rumble in her belly.
“Brilliant,” Said Teydin in wonder. “A town of exiles.”
Encouraged by the enticing aroma of baked bread, the party hurried on. It was easy now, for they were nearly on the bank of the partially-frozen water. Only a meager cliff kept them from it now, and its sound had now grown to a lively roar. The red shrubs were seldom visible amongst the stones now, and the rocks at their feet had become smaller and less cumbersome. A great wall, which extended from the side of the mountain, and out around the bank of the river was in clear view, and it loomed ever more ominously over the party as they approached. The ledge by which they had circled the mountain flattened out onto the banks of the chilling flow.
A sign, now visible from the quintet’s approach, glared down at the venturing group: “WELCOME TO BLACKHAVEN,” it grimly stated. “FORMER HOME OF THE LEGENDARY H.P. HORSECRAP.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” stated Teydin. The party exchanged nervous glances.