//------------------------------//
// Entering the Game 
// Story: Sombra's Recovery 
// by MisterEdd 
//------------------------------//

The Eye of Arimaspi blinked, its yellow glow dissipating until the horizontal pupil was restored back in its proper place. Grogar stepped away from the relic, a cloven hoof lightly tugging at his beard as he furrowed his brow in concentration. He'd been watching the proceedings unfold with rapt interest, chuckling to himself at every twist and turn of Tenebris' dark campaign. It was, admittedly, the most entertainment Grogar had experienced during his thousand-year imprisonment, almost allowing him to forget Tambelon's contemptible over-familiar surroundings. Were it not for the Eye's scrying powers, updating him on every event major and minor over the past millennium, he would've undoubtedly died of mind-numbing boredom eons ago.    

He was still amazed at the umbrum's capture of the mythical Pale Horse, a feat that not even Grogar had managed and for that, it'd earned him the Emperor's respect. Strangely, when Grogar witnessed Tenebris perform the Rite of Ashk’Anter, he found himself unable to remember the particulars of the ceremony. He knew that he'd been awake when Tenebris summoned Thanatos but he somehow missed it all the same. It was as if he'd briefly blacked out, then awakened from a micro-nap and was struggling to recall when he'd fallen asleep. Perhaps the powerful eldritch magic that inherently radiated off of the liminal deity disrupted the Eye of Arimaspi's space-piercing spell.    

"It doesn't matter," Grogar gruffly muttered. "I amassed power and knowledge without Thanatos and I don't need him now." 

There was also the matter of Primrose the Prescient. A pony who could accurately predict the future could be an asset to the Horned One's plans, especially if he could somehow get his hooves on her unpublished book of prophecies. Unfortunately, the wrinkly fortune teller had somehow discovered a way of warding her pitiful abode from being pierced by the Eye's magic, leaving Grogar unable to spy on her. How could some old crone manage to foil the power of the greatest warlock of all time?    

"Another thorn in my side that needs to be plucked," he grimaced aloud. "Just like those Elements of Harmony and the princesses. Why are alicorns so difficult to get rid of?"   

He could remember the day Old Alicornia fell, the way the massive spires caught fire and toppled into the ocean. The smoke could be seen for miles, the scent of crushed stone and burning debris swimming in Grogar's nostrils. It was a kingdom that'd reigned for ten thousand years and he alone brought it down in a day. Yet, despite his best efforts, there were survivors and they fled from the ruins, some of them even eventually settling in the land that would one day be dubbed, "Equestria". It was a pity that it was already taken, converted into an empire of fear by Grogar himself.  

Shutting his eyes, Grogar grunted as he filled his horns with magic and released it. The air around him popped, thaums bursting and reshaping themselves in preparation for an enchantment. Sparks flared in a vertical circular motion, crashing against one another as they tried and failed to create a solid shape. The ram snarled, forcing all of his mental power and concentration into the task, his horns burning red-hot from the strain. The discharges bounced around wildly, creating the outline of a shining oval.  

"Come on...come on! I command you! Eh gro-gar varashuu bah!"  

Finally, there was a burst of light and a swirling vortex materialized, ebbing with little crackles and lightning bolts.   

A spell book and a piece of chalk sorcerously floated over to him, the ancient tome snapping open to the desired page while the chalk carefully sketched a thaumaturgical circle on the floor. Grogar found that his magic was returning slowly but steadily, refueling itself far quicker in weeks than it had in centuries. Before, he struggled to lift a battle-ax but now he could effortlessly levitate multiple objects at once and conjure bursts of flames. The real challenge was opening up mystical doorways, a magical feat that he regrettably still struggled with, which was infuriating given that a master of his degree should be able to perform it in his sleep. When he actually slept, that is. 

"I may be blind here so I require a second pair of eyes to serve me." 

Adding the finishing touches to the circle, including several geocentric shapes in the interior bordered by rows of swirling runes, Grogar next brought out several lumps of gray-brown clay and dumped them into the center. Mashing them together, he molded the slick substance into a pony-sized mass, sculpting the legs, neck and muzzle until the simulacrum became adequate. For the eyes, he chose a pair of smooth black stones with wavy yellow-orange lines, constructed out of the same material as the Eye of Arimaspi, essentially allowing them to function as miniature scrying-stones. A homunculus was a relatively simple construct that any low-level mage was capable of creating, essentially being an artificial life form whose intelligence ranged from non- to semi-sentient, depending on the sorcerer's needs. However, it took an experienced sorcerer to craft an autonomous homunculus, particularly one who shared a visual-auditory link with its creator.     

Pouring his own magic into the circle, Grogar intoned the sorcery-laden words of the incantation, white-yellow light flooding the chamber as the circle flared to life. Black streaks of electricity crawled over the etchings, the runes and shapes pulsating with malefic power and sending a booming shriek throughout the desolate halls of Tambelon. The clay figure was ensnared in the claw-like grip of the electricity, a golden iridescence encompassing it. The limbs spasmed in the process of animation, the homunculus' head jerkily wagging atop its rubbery neck. A seam tore in the front of the muzzle, the clay ripping open to form a mouth and allowing the equine to gasp out the first of many shuddering, frenzied breaths.  

Cutting off the power to his horns, Grogar watched his newest creation with fascination.

"Can you understand me?" 

The homunculus, startled by the ram's sickly-sweet tone, tumbled onto its stomach.

"W-where...a-am...I?"   

"You are here, in my home. Consider me your father."

"Fah-ther..." The homunculus placed a shaking forehoof onto the floor, then another and slowly hoisted itself up. Its legs wobbled and it took a few baby steps forward, walking with a swaying, awkward gait. "Yes...fah-ther...father..."

He peered inquisitively at Grogar. "And what is my purpose?"

Lowering himself down so that the two were at eye-level, Grogar placed a hoof onto the homunculus' shoulder, giving him a paternal smile.

"You, my special little foal, have a very important task."

"Y-yes?"  

Grogar's eyes lit up with malice. 

"You're going to help me take over a little kingdom known as 'Equestria'..."