//------------------------------//
// Entry 1 
// Story: The Terror's Dream 
// by GrouchoMarxDisciple 
//------------------------------//

This entry, interestingly, appears second in the book. It is also written in this curios cypher, and took me several hours to translate.
March 15, 1003 A.E.

I have decided to begin keeping a journal, here, to make sure that what I find is not lost to the fluxing and waning of my mind. While I was once able to keep a vast amount of information in this mind of mine, age is catching up to me, and with age, forgetfulness. This study could change everything, what we know about Magic is all wrong. Despite being an Earth Pony, my magic is fairly strong, and I use it to confound and beguile the unicorns who believe us to be inferior.

After studying magic for years, I am ready to begin chronicling my findings. I hope to publish this journal, once it is completed, as a study of magic's true form. I will, of course, remove these anticdotal writings beforehand, for I seek not to bore my readers, but to educate them.

When I first began my study into the realm of magic, many years ago, I found that it is not as clear-cut as "unicorn lights horn, object levitates". No, magic is much more complex, with the ability to cast spells being a long and difficult process. I have deep respect for those souls who have spent years studying it's application and use.

However, in our haste to study how to use it, the topic of where it comes from has never been covered. The only scholar I could find who ever spent any amount of time was the famed "Star Swirl the Bearded", who mysteriously disappeared before his greatest accomplishments could be realized. Unfortunately, I do not have access to his records, as they are kept under lock and key in the Royal Archives. I suppose if I were to ask for them I would be laughed at. What use would an Earth Pony have for the writings of a Unicorn Magician?

Actually, a lot.

My first fling with magic happened when I was very young. I distinctly remember the day. I was only a blank-flank colt then, and, though my tooth was sweet enough, my height was lacking, that cookie jar being just our of reach. My mother had wisely put the jar out of my reach even if I stood on my tippy-hooves on top of a chair. I remember feeling so dejected, like my world was over.

Oh, how foolish the young are!

It was then that I imagined it. I imagined being a Unicorn, which would solve my problem of the out-of-reach jar of sweets. I imagined magic covering the object, it falling into my arms, the ecstasy of biting down into that chocolate-brownie-batter cookie my mother made, and...

Then it happened. The miracle.

I heard a scraping noise. The ceramic of the jar scraping across the wooden shelf. It was only an instant, but felt like an aeon. The jar visibly moved off the shelf, but, unlike in my fantasy, my level of surprise surpassed my dexterity, and I dropped the jar, it and its precious contents shattering across the kitchen floor.

To this day, my parents believe I jostled the shelf, but I know the truth. 

I used magic. I, an Earth Pony, magically moved that jar. There is no other explanation. It was from that tender age I decided to begin studying magic and its origin, knowing that I could use it, and therefore something we all hold to be truth is, indeed, false.

I have come to the conclusion that magic, though it takes skill to wield, is not from within, but from without. Unicorns have a horn which appears to have evolved to harness it, making their application of it that much stronger. But, that does not make it exclusive.

There is ambient magic in the air. It surrounds us, runs through us, and pervades us. But it is not from us.

I have requested an audience with the Princess. I feel confident she will admit me into the royal archives after reading a sampling of my research and study. I also feel certain she will confirm to me that there is a central location, somewhere the magic comes from. If we can trace the magic to it's source...

I must put down my writing now. I am being summoned.

That is the end of the entry. After that, there is something written in the margin. I have translated it below.

This night of death and doom and tears,
is naught more than a dream.
And when the Dreamer 'wakes, my dear,
That is when we all should scream.