//------------------------------//
// X — Once More Beneath Equestria's Sun 
// Story: At the Mountains of Discord 
// by Glimmervoid 
//------------------------------//


X — Once More Beneath Equestria's Sun


I will admit to being sullen company as Derpy, Rock Watcher and I travelled south. The air was deathly cold and burnt my lungs with each breath. We made the journey in long translocational hops, marked only by flashes of magenta light. Derpy stayed close to my side, unwilling to risk the sky without utmost cause after the fate which befell poor Mountain Flower. I gave Rock Watcher most of my cold weather clothes and kept him close too, in order to share body heat.

The spire of the Elder Things stood as tall and true as ever as we passed by, a perfect cyclopean structure born of sophant minds of an eon past. However much damage the exploding war shoggoth wrought, that damage did not reach the outside. It had already survived five hundred million years. Looking at it, I did not doubt it would see as much again.

After some searching we located the monolith where we had stashed our flight sledge, and I dragged it out of the cave using telekinesis. It was laden down with the heavy equipment we'd been unable to take with us, and again we'd be leaving it behind. With only a single draft pegasi, weight would be critical. I piled anything not directly related to our survival into the cave, taking only a day's food and water and lightweight things such as my photographs and notes. We'd be able to resupply our consumables at the sub-expedition camp.

Derpy hitched herself without a word, I tied Rock Watcher securely down and we set off towards the towering dagger peaks of the Mountains of Discord. She never looked north once, a sensible precaution in my mind. Our return crossing was by no means easy but proceeded better than our outbound flight. The winds resumed their malicious attacks, but the light of day enabled us to endure their onslaught with greater resistance. Part of that resistance involved cutting our speed, and, in one place, dragging the sledge along a skeletal path beneath a razor-sharp gale. It was late afternoon by the time we reached their southern foothills. After the alien strangeness of the northern plateau, the relative mundanity of the southern geography came as something of a relief. As we flew, I called up the beacon locating spell, and listened to its crystalline melody. It danced and contorted through my mind, resonating with the strange music from my dream. Guided by the notes, I directed Derpy straight the sub-expedition camp.

We swooped down from the sky just as the day's light faded. Four flying karts lay quiescent on the snow, like sleeping dragons. That might have been enough to worry me, but I saw ponies moving about, bundled tight in protective garments.

As soon as we landed, I levitated Rock Watcher, and went to find Spike. He sat with Steelheart by a large communal cook pot, slowly stirring with a spoon.

"Twilight!" he said as he saw me and jumped to his feet.

"You're meant to be a day and a half gone," I said as I limped up, ribs hurting. Rock Watcher bobbed behind me, as warm and steady as my magic allowed.

"It's the strangest thing," he said with an impish grin. "I've misplaced my lucky quill, and I couldn't possibly leave without it."

I gave him a long, level look. "It's behind your ear, Spike."

He raised a hand and mimed shock. "So it is. What a fortuitous discovery. That means we can all leave in the morning. Together."

I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath. Damn number one assistants. If you couldn't trust them to abandon you in an icy charnel wasteland, what could you trust them to do?

Doctor Steelheart saw Rock Watcher's unconscious form and frowned. "Get him to the kart, quickly." We set off together at a hurried pace. The examination lasted a tense twenty minutes. Steelheart set up an IV for fluids, and I looked away as she pushed the needle into his flesh. When done, she turned back to me and said, "He's in a coma of some kind — not responding to anything I can do. I can't do much more without a hospital.

"We'll leave first thing tomorrow," I said. "How critical is time?"

"He's stable, but we should make best speed. Now let me have a look at you."

Steelheart had of course noticed my limp straight away but practiced prioritisation. After examining my ribs she ordered me to bed at once. Since we lacked beds, she settled for a flat bench next to Rock Watcher. Her medical magic did make me feel alot better, though.

As I lay in a pleasant numbness, Spike came to see me. "Mountain Flower?" he said. There was no accusation in his voice, just sympathy. He tousled my mane with his long claws. I told him the tale as succinctly as I could. When I'd finished he said, "Bingo disappeared from the camp two nights ago. I sent ponies to look, but there was no sign, and the Svalbarding pegasi wouldn't get near the Mountains of Discord." Given the fate which befell Mountain Flower, I felt they were wise in this regard.

We left the sub-expedition camp around 10am of the 20th. It was strange to fly without constant magical effort on my part but tranquillizing too. We pushed a steady pace, not as frenzied as our northwards journey but by no means slow. Princess Celestia Land appeared below on the second day, Derpy sighted the Storm Horn at 12am of the 22nd and we made the main base by 1pm. The ponies of the camp greeted our news with sombre dismay, though some of it had already reached them by dragon fire bottle. I could barely stand to look at them. Whenever I did, I saw their cutie marks dissolve as if under acid. I saw their bodies melt like wax. I saw the shoggoths who lurked within their hearts break free. Most of all I saw Mountain Flower's eyes, shimmering with the hate she never had the chance to show me in life.

Striking the main camp was a lengthy affair. We'd arrived in the Uncharted North on the 6th of June, 46 days ago. Ponies had settled in. Still, most of the expedition was eager to leave after learning of the slaughter, and I had my documents, granting me authority to order them to do so. That was excuse enough for even a stubborn pony.

We left on the 24th, taking virtually the entire base with us. With the equipment left abandoned at the sub-expedition camp and all the food we'd eaten, the Aeolipyle's holds were empty voids, stomachs just waiting to be filled. As before we spent the night at Svalbarding, and I dug deep into expedition funds to pay death benefits to the families of our deceased pegasi hirelings. The truculent one winged factor gave me a hard look as I handed over the bits, and I didn't know what to say. After that I went personally to the telegraph station and sent the messages which needed to be sent. The berry wine began to taste better as I started on my second bottle in the small hours of the morning; it let me forget. We left with the dawn and sailed hard south. Without the wind and hazards of the Uncharted North, we travelled fast and made Canterlot by 9pm the same day. I left Spike to supervise the unloading of the airship, ordered Doctor Steelheart to see Rock Watcher to the hospital and went straight to the royal palace. Some things I couldn't let myself avoid.

Despite the hour, the major-domo ushered me past the guards and to the reception room of Celestia's chambers. At other times I've been glad for this privilege, but right then I cursed it with all my soul. A minute after I sat down on the plush sofa, Princess Celestia entered the room. I rose and bowed my head.

Even with my eyes averted, I could feel her golden warmth against my coat and other, more fundamental things. Anypony who's been in her presence knows of what I speak; it's a divine radiance that makes ponies want to do better, that makes ponies think they can do better. "I," I said and choked to silence, but muteness wasn't an option; I had to tell her, even if my heart burst from doing so, from causing so pure a creature pain.

"Dead," I said looking up. "Forty ponies. I couldn't, didn't save them. I was stupid and not good enough." My body shook, sobs and terror racking my form.

For a single brief moment I saw an infinite deep well of sorrow behind Celestia's eyes, then she locked it away. She swept forward and drew me close, cocooning me with hooves and wings. Slowly, in the words of a mother, she soothed my pain. "Shoo," she said. "You tried your hardest. I'm sure it wasn't your fault." Her touch spread the warmth of the sun through my flesh. I felt like warm clay after a hot day, but this paradoxically made me shake all the harder. I was meant to help Celestia — accept her pain and condemnation — but she helped me instead. She'd pushed aside her own pain to ameliorate mine. "Everything's going to be okay."

Once I stopped shaking, I told Princess Celestia the full story, leaving nothing out. No detail was too minor and no mistake glossed over. In retrospect, I accepted more blame than was rightly mine, but she didn't judge.

The following week proved very busy. I slept at my parents' house, in my old room, with its old bed and decorations from a long-gone time of my life. The palace staff would have gladly prepared me an apartment, but I needed the comfort of family right them. First thing the next morning I checked in with Spike to make sure the unloading preceded well and everypony was well. Once done, I headed to the Canterlot Constabulary offices and spent the rest of the day filling out death reports. They took my gathered evidence and conclusions with a solemn stoicism, and I promised to be available if they had any further questions. Come the 27th, I laid the same evidence before Canterlot University's own court of enquiry. As tradition demanded, they would carry out their own review of the fatalities. As of writing, they are still weighing the evidence. Over the following days I bounced between these three duties and a dozen more. The administrative burden of winding down the expedition seemed almost more than setting it up, but of course I was shouldering it alone this time. Whenever the burden seemed too much I needed only think of Bingo's insane eyes or Rock Watcher's infirmity.

Right away I realised the full truth of the expedition must be kept as close as possible. The slaughter of the sub-expedition had already run like wildfire through the newspapers, but only a few discreet individuals knew the cause and even fewer knew what I found on the far side of the Mountains of Discord. Nothing must wake the sleeping shoggoths. Among those I told were my friends. Applejack and Rarity arrived the evening of the 27th, and though I had little time to spend with them, I appreciated their presence greatly. Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie trickled in over the following days.

On August 1st, I went to Princess Celestia again and outlined what I thought we should do. She listened, considered carefully and agreed. There would be a royal ban on all travel north of the Mountains of Discord. Furthermore, we'd work to discourage further geological or archaeological expeditions to even the southern portions of the Uncharted North. Opening the silver egg had loosed four monsters on the world, and, worse, their first act had been to invade the shoggoths' realm; what else might lie waiting, locked in ice and rock? We must weigh all our actions with greatest care. Move too swiftly or forcefully and foalish ponies would wonder what great secret we hid. Reveal all to those not equipped to deal with such knowledge and the shoggoths' realm might become a treasure to be tapped or raided. Too many among Equestria's elite would poke a hornets' nest to see what happened.

The full details of the expedition would be locked within the university's restricted stacks, with further copies stored in the Royal Archives and Canterlot Library under similar access constraints. I also agreed to write this document to preface those reports, as a ward and warning. To destroy any knowledge absolutely is impossible and ill-advised. Ponies yet to come would read the reports and would learn the terrible secret of the plateau beyond the Mountains of Discord. This document exists to stop ponies of science looking passed the risks and seeing only reward.

In preparation I once more dove into volumes of forbidden law and eldritch providence. I researched, crosschecked, made lists and constructed spider web diagrams. In the weeks it took me, I came to understand more of what I'd found in those eon old tunnels and corridors. The knowledge did not sit easily with me, but I had no choice.

Some questions remain, and I will do my best to answer them here.

The actions and revival of the Elder Things from the silver egg is the greatest remaining mystery. How did they survive their five hundred million year imprisonment? How did the male live without a head? Heart-make — a professor in the folklore department and glutton of knowledge disquieting — pointed me towards a possible explanation within the logbooks of Wayward Leaf, a underappreciated scholar of sophant races the world over. While visiting the far off Morrow Hills he recorded and provided translations for many of their songs. Within a chapter titled 'Black Hymns of the Discordian Sect' I made a most interesting discovery.

The hymn had a poetic rhythm, even in the crude translation. It spoke of 'Old Ones' who created all life as an accident or joke. These Old Ones were creatures of flesh and spirit but longed for the sweet song of the machine. To achieve this, they bound 'mechanical daemons' to their bodies. This, I believe, refers to the Elder Things' practice of technological augmentation. The hymn went on to extol the greatness of these daemons. It claimed that when an Old One died, his daemon awoke from its slumber and became a god, to be worshiped by the still living Old Ones. My study of the Elder Things' history does not support a group of semi-divine machine spirits, but I can see kernels of truth in the idea.

What if the Elder Things' augmentations contained a form of artificial intelligence? In times of danger, such as great injury or apparent death, this intelligence would take over control of the body. It would defend that body from threats and then travel towards the nearest source of help. Elder Thing medical science was as incredible as all their technology. Even medically dead, revival may have been possible.

This explains the almost robot like behaviour of the Elder Things — simultaneously very simple and very advanced. They saw the ponies of the sub-expedition as a threat, so killed them. They had to go home, so they headed north and fought passed shoggoths to get there. Rock Watcher's foalnap is the only complicating factor. It speaks of forward planning and complex directives. In the end, though, I understand only the barest aspect of the Elder Thing psyche. Perhaps they were programed to capture a single attacker for intelligence purposes? The Elder Things in question date from the interregnum between Yeb-Ineat and the Mi-go. The residents of that forgotten era were hardened by their near extinction and yet retained the full might of their technology, a puissant combination.

If I am correct in my thinking, what does it mean for the two Elder Things yet intact? The male without a head and the female I threw aside both existed when last I saw them. Did they fall to the war shoggoth's death cry or subsequent attacks? Or had they survived and found whatever prize lay at the end of the corridor? I do not know and doubt I ever will. The knowledge that those two elder beings might yet live is no comfort at all when exhaustion drives me from my work and to the hungry grip of my bed.

My dreams represent a second mystery — less vital, perhaps, but all the more confusing in the lurid fashion of the unconscious. Strange visions plagued me in the Uncharted North and have continued to do so intermittently since my return. I saw eldritch metaphors of stellar engineering and pantheons of mad gods. At times those cosmic deities spoke to me. At other points, part of me spoke to them. Is it the height of arrogance to think that such beings would deign to touch one lone pony, even the wielder of an Element of Harmony such as myself? Perhaps my slumbering mind saw patterns in chaos and attached meaning? That is the logical, rational inspiration, but still I wonder.

Of all the dreams the longest and most vivid was the vision I experienced upon the chthonic road shortly before Mountain Flower met her fate. In it, two groups of unlimited power treated with me. One commanded I turn back, the other that I go on. Even in the wallowed depths of my conceited arrogance I do not believe my alleged benefactors cared for my personal fate. That leaves only something I might accomplish — a boon, task, ritual or action. The most likely candidate in this regard is the Elder Things' wonder weapon, but how either group wished me to interact with that fearsome construct of a bygone age I do not know. Despite my readings in dreams, prophecy and clairvoyance, my nightmares remain as incomprehensible today as they did in the numbing grip of sleep.

Rock Watcher's fate is not a happy one. For all that Mountain Flower died saving him, he has not recovered. The hospital staff preformed every test and treatment they could think of, but not a one produced appreciable results. I'm informed he's not in a coma, but rather some form of deep meditative hibernation. The patterns formed by his autonomic magic mimic those of hibernating animals — focused inwards like an inverted sun. In this state his body needs far less water, food and even air. Indeed, the hospital needed to massively scale back his fluid drip after he near hyper-hydrated.

The leading theory postulates some near-miraculous response of autonomic magic, of the kind occasionally exhibited by earth ponies in response to extreme trauma. They say to survive his foalnap by unthinking captors, he did it to himself. While I would like to believe in this theory, I have my doubts. The Elder Things and their strange sciences seem a more likely culprit to me. And, as I've said before, hellish Elder Thing science lurks within the heart of every pony. Might that not include ancient leashes and shackles?

After a few weeks the university had him transferred to a long-term care facility. I visited him once but did not linger. He just lies there, on his institutional bed, dead yet also alive. No one speaks loudly near his room for reasons they cannot name.

Pinkie Pie kept me sane through my work, dragging me to bars, night-stables, art galleries and museums. I don't think the last two agreed with her overly much, but she went for my sake. I solved another mystery during a visit to Longhorn Museum. In their modern collection, I found an exhibit on Glory Hooves. If you'll recall, Glory Hooves headed one of the major past Uncharted North expeditions. Next to her favourite hat, a loop of rope and a whip was a small black-and-white photograph, depicting her return from the North. Glory was a tall and powerful mare. Next to her stood a smaller, younger pegasus, wall-eyed and with a bubbles cutie mark. Glory Hooves. Derpy Hooves. The resemblance was obvious. Mother and daughter. It explained why Derpy joined the expedition; she wanted to follow in her mother's hoofsteps.

I met with Derpy for my work a few days later, and she happily confirmed my hypothesis. As it turned out, she'd assumed I knew. We talked through our journey together, with particular focus on the terrifying fight against the transformed Mountain Flower. I think we both benefited from the experience, though me more than her. While immediate horrors fazed Derpy as they did anypony, she possessed some remarkable quality of character which let her return to normal with alacrity. I envied her easy smile and happy eyes. When I awoke gasping from fevered dreams, I barely felt a pony.

On the final fate of Mountain Flower and Bingo I can only speculate. The dark powers of the Uncharted North warped them and stole thought and reason. It would be best for all concerned if they died, either in the storm or by subsequent exposure, but I fear I may be influenced by Elpis of pegasi mythology in this regard. No bodies fell to earth where we could see them, though Rock Watcher's condition meant we did not linger to search. It is possible that one or both survived. If so, they should be considered highly dangerous. Bingo saved my life, but he didn't do so because of moral character or altruism. He serves a new master now — a conductor of cosmic horror beholden to no moral code recognised by the great philosophers of history. I doubt even the most advanced medical science could return him to sanity now. Mountain Flower is no longer pony at all.

And so I will end as I began. Should another expedition to the Uncharted North be planned, take heed of my words: Do not go. Do not ignore Princess Celestia's edict or attempt to work around its restrictions. Look to its spirit and my warning. The sleeping terrors beyond the Mountains of Discord must never be awoken, and the insidious power of those icy planes will turn even well-intentioned actions towards their dark ends. Study this document. Weight my reputation. I have glimpsed the monsters of the north and would wish them upon no pony. Do not go.