//------------------------------// // Working Artist // Story: General Winter // by SONBoomer //------------------------------// "...And this one is of the Harmonia's Maidens Nunnery, located in between the two valleys, on the passage towards the sea." "...Now that's jus' plain creepy." "...It is... They say that this was the place where they committed the most depraved, though, not the most vile form of deviant obscenities... As you can see, it's tower is the most tallest and sturdiest of all, and the support of the copper spire on top of it has collapsed, making it wonky..." "Wonky?" "It is constantly bobbing back and forth in the high wind during nights, though, it never falls off, as it is too heavy, and it is so far high up that the sound barely reaches down..." "Still creepy fer me..." "Not so much as the others were... Check out these aerial sketches..." "Even creepier..." "Maybe... That large hole torn into the corner there made me feel like I was staring down on a screaming face." "...Did you really had to mention that, sugahcube?" The conversation was the first thing that reached them, as they ascended the dark, narrow stairway. It opened up into an expansive room, rectangular in base, but distorted by the boxy protrusion of the stairway's exit, the top of which now serving as a shelf for bits and bobs, haphazardly objects that used to be just laying around, before the attic was cleared out for the adolescent colt. The ridge of the roof and it's structure was supported by two pillars, now serving as the base of shelves as well, one holding books, the other, equipment for painting and drawing. There were a few blank canvases stacked near a wall, and quite a few with actual paintings on them... They were very live-like, almost to a photorealistic level, all depicting landscapes or certain ponies, no doubt, from the surrounding area. The sketches were a bit different. Rather than depicting everyday activities, they were portraits of certain ponies, both familiar, famous, and fictional. There were drawings of fantastic scenes, and depictions of machines beyond their wildest imagination. Phantasmagoria, ever-present throughout the collages. The artist, on his general equestrian name: Deep Harvest, was standing before one such collection. As an interesting splice between his parents' genes, his fur was burning red, while his crest and tail were in a blazing, yellowish white color. His cutie mark was precisely defined white silhouette of a sickle, cutting, or rather, arching around a flower's white stem, the flower itself being in the shape of a five-pointed red star, with white outlines, and the petals twisting counter-clockwise. His eyes, dark brown like his father's, zigzagged between his own work and the face of his visitor. The guest in question was an orange mare with a hay-colored mane and tail, both tied at the end by a green and a red band. Her brilliant green eyes settled on the unsettling imagery before her. Her cutie mark, three apples with their stem pointing inwards, forming a peak-down triangle shape, was clearly visible on her flank. The three mares and the drake took notice of four different details: Sunset observed the two ponies. The mare was, undeniably, a farmer, more precisely, an applefarmer, as several factors (cutie mark, accent, stature, being an earth pony, the shape and size of her flanks, plot and hind legs) supported this. To be even more specific, a member of the Apple family, one of the most widely known apple producers on the Equestrian Maneland. Heck, some of them even gained very high positions in the foodstuff department of many local governments. Another thing to note about them was their high intelligence. Their southerner appearance and traditions deceived quite a few, until the emergence of AppleSoft, the groundbreaking OS and hardware producer company that steamrollered the market, leaving only two considerable competitors: the quiet and practical, community-forged Lunix system, and the monolithic MacroMark, with it's spearheading product, the Screens™. Despite the progress and success some Apples made, the majority of them prefered to stick with their roots, and continue their lives as farmers. In fact, some made their success without leaving the farm. The Apples were classical capitalist, who didn't dreamt of political influence or a private army, heck, not even a huge fortune, just a working business. That's how a branch of the family wound up in the Union of Councils, bringing inland applefarming to the Northern Region, which now made up a considerable bulk of the Union's income, as they were the only ones who could organically grow apples in the winter. Among the leaders of the many greenhouse farms are the geniuses that brought forth this idea, coming to the only place that was open to such innovation. Sure, it was a state-run business, but the state trusted them enough to let them lead their workers, and they took pride in that. The stallion was an earth pony as well. He had the same stature as his father, but without his gait and bulk. He was already taller than him, and will probably end up even taller, as his growth wasn't quite finished. Sunset also took note of the brown Stetson and the worn, greenish-brown budenovka with a black five-pointed star outline on it's front, both on a nearby table. Both seemed to be passed down through generation, though the Stetson seemed to be older, while the budenovka was more battle-worn. Trixie's observation was more in regards of the room and the artwork: Despite being an older building, the two sides of the roof had large skylights, and the roll of shutters were visible at their top. Two, large bulbed lamps provided a clear, white light under the gray sky. The room was sparsely furnitured, had a floor carpet, and an electric heater plugged in, as the heating didn't run all the way up to the attic. The vast majority of the Northern Region wasn't controlled by weather teams, and the whole of Yucrane being a part of that majority, residents had to learn to adapt to the weather instead. None of the pictures in the room were framed or hanged up, though some were stuck to the wall using adhesive putty. There weren't many paintings - only about a dozen, compared to the nearly sixty or seventy coal and pencil drawings. There weren't any drafts. Whatever this colt had drawn, he was content with it. And yet, there was sense of detachment within these works, as if the artist had only made them half-heartedly, which seemed impossible, considering their quality. No, this was a sensation that the blue mare had witnessed before... Ponies, most notably adolescent students, doing things they were good at, but for one reason: to do something productive in their lives. They weren't living up to their full potentials, as they were pursuing their hobbies, not their special talents. His cutie mark was even further proof of this theory. The orange mare, on the other hand, seemed like a more simpler, "average" case (if such even exists): a southern belle, with appreciation towards obvious talent, even if secondary. Spike took in the scent of the room: Obviously, the stallion only worked, but never dined or slept here. His preferred tool was charcoal, though, he also used graphite just as regularly, while paint, of multiple kind, was rarely used. His fur also permeated by the smell of iron, possibly due to his role as an assistant next to his father. He seemed to be slightly anemic, though, that could be a result of the local climate, and he didn't inherit his mother's metabolism. The applefarmer was more healthier, and stronger, although the stallion seemed to have huge reserves of stamina, enabling his body to autopilot throughout the night, countless nights, while he created, only to wake up from his daze at noon. Developing this work-driven insomnia might have lead to him developing his weakness, despite his stature. His pheromones betrayed his expression, at least for the young drake: he was flustered by the presence of the mare, and he could already tell that others have entered his room. Yes, he definitely claimed this room to be his own, The mare had no interest in him, though she did found him a hoofsome fellow. Her scent indicated multiple siblings, an older brother, a younger sister, and possibly some elder, presumably a mare. Twilight kept staring at the mare. She was sure that she had seen her before... And that voice... "Well, I can't say I was expecting a visitor, let alone five." Глибоко muttered, although a shy smile still resided in the corners of his mouth "Добридень! Я Глибоко Урожай! Or Deep Harvest, if you prefer that." "Wow... You don't even have an accent..." Sunset was impressed "Sorry to barge in unannounced, but..." "No no, it's fine..." the stallion replied, taking in the sight of his new guests... "Welcome to me... Gallery, I guess... I heard you met my parents..." "Yes..." Sunset replied, with a rare smile "They're very charming people..." "They sure are..." the orange mare sniffed, cooly... "Oh, sorry..." the fiery unicorn replied hastily, noticing that she hit a soft spot. "Nevahmind..." the applefarmer sighed "But who'r ya, strangers?" "Ah, excuse us..." the purple unicorn replied "My name is Twilight Sparkle..." "I'm Sunset Shimmer..." "And I'm the Grrrreat and POWERRRFULL-- OOF!! I mean, I'm Beatrix Lulamoon... But just call me Trixie." "And I'm Spike. Pleased to meet ya!" "Well, it's a pleasure making your acquaintance!" the farmpony replied, shaking the hooves (and claws) of each of them. She had a (quite unsurprisingly) strong hoof "The name's Applejack, but just call me AJ." She stopped, dead in her track, as she noticed the scholarly unicorn mumbling to herself. "...Beg yer pardon?" AJ asked, picking up something coherent from the murmur. "...And her nickname is AJ-I GOT IT!" Twilight's sudden cheer made the others jump "The southern accent, the cutie mark, the cowpony hat..." "It's a Stetson..." "...The Stetson hat, reaction to parents being mentioned, the sporadic vocabulary." "...Ah wouldn't call it sporadic, to be frank... Oh." "Now all I need to know is WHY she's visiting the Northern Region!" Twilight exclaimed, rushing her words "Because, because, brave new world or not, no southern pony would be keen on travelling to the Union of Councils, unless..." "Mah family has business 'ere..." Applejack replied, as nonchalantly as she could muster "Well, not exactly here, but..." "Within the Union!" the purple pony cried "Specifically, the agricultural sector, which is almost entire state owned! And, unless this is a very far-off branch of the family, they're probably working with the apple production..." "...And they do!" the orange mare mused, nodding. "And there's only one, distinct family that runs any form of "business" in the name of the state within the Union of Communalist Council Republics!" "The Apple family!" the others (baring AJ) exclaimed, roped in by the lavender unicorn's enthusiasm. "And finally..." Twilight exhaled "Your nickname, which isn't really a nickname at all, oh no!" She approached the orange earth pony, who took a step back, slightly intimidated by the live brainstorm. "Applejack is your nickname, but to everypony who knows you closely, it has almost completely replaced your full name, as your real name is a bit long to always pronounce." She stopped, peering into the eyes of the mare, now up against the wall, taking tentative steps to either side, in case she needed to run. "AJ is the monogram of your name." Twilight announced, with a content smile on her face "Your full name is Apple Jacqueline." The others (apart from the stallion and the applefarmer) were dumbfounded. "Ap... Apple Jacqueline?!" Spike uttered. "Who... Is she?" Deep asked. Twilight smiled, and, nodding theatrically, began: "Apple Granedine Smith, wold-renowned inventor was the first one to create an aircraft that could last long enough to fly across the ocean, allowing earth ponies to travel between continents, a privilege that, before her, could only be accomplished by the most strongest, fastest and capable pegasi and griffs. That she did at the age of 20. At the age of 25, she patented the Optimal Food Conservation Method, which allowed us to be able to carry fresh fruits and vegetables to faraway lands struck by war and famine. At the age of 30, she married Orange Wendell Lloyd, also known as Orange Well, her foalhood friend, and had three foals at the age of 35: Orange Mall, the mare who brought the concept of market halls, and later, super-, and hypermarkets into reality, all on the island of Manehattan. By then, Granedine was 55. Apple Field, who started a successful business in making apple-related products in the small, coastal town of Neigh York, which came to vener his name, when Granedine was 60. And finally, Apple Oracle Hard, who was the first to combine ranch farming with small gardens, using apple trees, creating a new form of agricultural land, the "orchard". He didn't move away from home, staying in the town of Ponyville, along with the now elderly "Granny Smith", now 65. Oracle lived a peaceful life. He married a clever, cheerful mare by the name of Clover Nadine, a local polymath. She gave birth to three foals... But none of them could meet their grandfather by then..." At this part of the 'story', Twilight's voice suddenly dropped, realizing she had probably reached a sensitive topic. She glanced to the side; Applejack's expression remained nonchalant. With a deep breath, she continued: "Oracle and Clover's happy life was cut short by two tragedies: a sudden stock market crash left the businesspony side of the Apples in poverty. The Oranges eventually rebuilt, but the branch that lived in the "Big Apple", which got it's namesake from them, died out. The second disaster... Was more close to home..." No... She couldn't continue... Applejack was staring into nothingness, her gaze avoiding everyone's in the room. Sunset swallowed, and took the mantle: "After giving birth to her third foal, Clover had suffered a stroke. It came out of nowhere, as she didn't lived a lifestyle that would've induced it, but some say that that was exactly what caused it. The sudden, repeated strain of foalbirth. She survived, but was left paralytic to her left side. Her personality changed, as the damage altered her mind. She became embittered, "wilted", as her husband put it. Unable to work on in the orchard or come up with new ideas, she attempted suicide, and was hospitalized, where she finally died, showing off her outstandingly strong will in the most terrifying way: deliberately holding her breath, even against her body's every attempt to keep her alive, until her lungs collapsed." "Господи!" the stallion exhaled. The orange mare remained stoic. "Oracle was devastated, and had reportedly blamed himself for his wife's death. The tragedy also pushed him into an existential crisis, although other's claimed he wasn't the philosophical type." "Or the alcoholic..." the farmer mumbled under her breath. "One night, he went out into the field, searching for something. When morning came, he was nowhere to be found. Presumed dead, his foals, Biggar Macintosh, Apple Jacqueline and Apple Bloomery were thrust into the hooves of Granedine, aged 70..." Sunset stopped, taking a deep, shaky breath, and glancing at Trixie. The blue unicorn pointed at herself, and Sunset nodded. Clearing her throat, Trixie continued with a sincere tone. "The foals seemed to follow the steps of other, noted family members. At the age of 15, "Big" Macintosh got his hooves at a Unix home programmer system, something he bought from the first payment he got, working on the family farm. He set up the machine, and under one night, designed an operating system, and hardware, that would serve as the basis of all future AppleSoft products. Under the next five years, he built up AppleSoft without even leaving the farm, and while continuing to work the fields as diligently as ever. He got acquainted, developed a relationship with, and is now engaged with the local teacher, Miss Cheerilee Willows. Rumor has it that they got acquainted for a business-based reason: being the mathematically minded stallion he was, Macintosh' grammar was absurdly bad, and he needed to learn how to write formal letters." "Heh, the only word he could prop'ly spell from the start was "illiterate"..." Applejack chuckled. "In the meantime..." Trixie went on "The youngest sister, Bloomery, or Apple Bloom, as her family called her, became somewhat of a child prodigy, possessing several, quite coincidental talents, and teaching them to her friends, despite the fact that she hasn't gotten her cutie mark yet." "That's what nags her the most, aside from the teasing, and in the same time, the thing that drives her... Aside from the teasing..." the orange mare pondered out loud. "And then, here's Applejack." Spike continued, taking the word from Trixie "So far, she hasn't excelled, well, not when compared to her family, but she had shown signs of various prominent abilities, as an athlete, as a leader, as a businesspony. The latter isn't really that new..." "Comes from the fact that mah family has always participated in the market..." "But there weren't any sportsponies or politicians in the Apple lineage so far..." "And in the latter case, we intend to keep it that way!" Applejack declared sternly "Seems like ya know me well." "Most scholars know of "Pomme Potentielle"." the fiery mare grumbled, catching the farmpony by surprise "Old-fashioned teachers and certain figures of authority speak of the "simple, clever mare of the orchard" in a tone, that, if I were paranoid, would consider to be hinting an acceptance of crimes against equinity as a means to an end." "I... Don't quite follow..." Applejack mumbled. "But surely, you understand..." Trixie added sarcastically, having suffered from the same rhetorics for some time by now "I mean, what else can make plants grow more than bonemeal?" "Bonemeal? What are you...?" she stopped, dead in her tracks "Oh..." "Clever girl." the blue mare sighed. "Pomme Potentielle. Get it now..." AJ exhaled, growing pale "Oh my..." "Well... Anyways..." Spike muttered, after a long, really awkward pause that gave way too much time for the previously mentioned things to sink in "You two were in the middle of something..." "Oh! Oh. I was... Showing my drawings to Applejack." Deep replied, stepping aside to reveal his work. The three mares gasped. "Oh, joy..." the young drake whispered. The pictures were all made in the same, unique style, unlike any of his previous works. The edges were smudged, blurry, yet harsh, as if they were gashes made with a paintbrush. But all was composed of none other, than colored charcoal. All the cold colors: white, gray, black, and blue, blended together on the paper to form the macabre imagery. Churches. All the churches from the land, all the decrepit, desolate monasteries and nunneries, the temples long abandoned, in various states of decay, but with one sensation permeating all: Terror. It seemed that, either the Ignis Deae had no idea how to build churches in this climate, or that the weather was particularly harsh to tall buildings. The latter was more plausible, as they had seen no buildings, aside from the smith's house, that was taller than two, may three levels. Instead, they rather expanded horizontally. In every aspect, the churches here - aside from those that were built before the cult had emigrated here - all stuck out like sore thumbs. Most of them were built out of heavy stone bricks, all sparing stuccos or any external decoration, and lacking the onion domes that the Norther Region's churches were famous for. Their design was somewhere between roman and gothic, purposely made imposing, most with a frontal bell tower that stood monolithically above everything in it's vicinity. This imagery was also picked up by the Церковь Террора, or Church of Terror, which, serving both as a museum and as a reminder to all about the activity of the Ignis Deae, had the vague, but still recognizable silhouette of one of their churches - a pretentiously huge, slightly oval, barn-sized main church building, with an actual, obelisk-shaped monolith tower serving as it's entrance. They had a vague glance at some of them during their train ride, but then, they only seemed like passing shadows. Unlike their brethren in different countries, the churches of Yucrane's valley-plains covered the land like ulcers. Black glass sticking out of the pale skin of an enormous, beautiful creature, no longer suffering from the shards, but with pain still lingering near the flesh. The central image was the one that captured their attention the earliest. A familiar building. "The Church of the Forgotten Martyrs..." Twilight whispered, a shiver running down her spine. "Stone Fort" Harvest replied "That's what it was called before the Ignis Deae seized it as their own. Grandfather said this used to be a religious community, even after the revolution began." "How come?" Trixie asked "Didn't the Order terrorize the townsponies?" "Not here..." the colt replied "As my grandfather put it, it was "an outpost among outposts". The member they chose to be positioned here was... Sort of a pariah to them. A gangly, but apparently hoofsome stallion, more of a theologist scholar than a priest or maddened preacher. He was a lonely sort, only seen during the sunday mass, which he would organize to be very formal and efficient, making them rather... Compact, compared to what ponies where used to before." "Really? Why would he shorten them so much?" asked Spike, sitting down for what he anticipated to be a long story. "He used the "remaining time" to explain philosophical trains of thought to his lamb, leaving them with an open ended monologue, and a question hanging. I asked about him around town, and they said he was a cold and distant stallion, always isolating himself in his personage, or wandering about in the chapel, reading aloud books written in odd, foreign languages. His name was "Twisted Spire" - like that, no translation. He told his followers to call him by that name, full name, all the time. He wasn't an arrogant equine, but he had shown... Disdain towards the town, especially to ponies he considered to be... Unintelligent. In fact, his entire life seemed to be built around gaining more knowledge. He was rarely seen on the church gardens, choosing to tend to the more secular aspects of priesthood, such as the cleaning and maintenance of the church itself, during the night. With monthly intervals, he would visit the local tavern to drink, usually choosing a mixture of the strongest grog available, with milk added, drinking it in the same manner as one would drink tea, just sitting close to the center of the counter, staring in front of himself, or scrolling his gaze across the room with an unreadable expression. He would then leave, sharply at midnight, always, and walk straight back to the church. Despite being a tall stallion, and quite the looker back in his day, according to some of the older mares, he was still surprising unnoticeable. An equine of mystery, he still provided the comfort that the presence of a holy pony could bring to a town, which only increased after some time..." "How so?" "It was all due to something the ponies here now call the 'Carrion Incident'..." he paused here, noticing his "audience's" flinch "Don't worry, it's not as ghoulish as it sounds, but it was quite a graphic scene..." "I'm afraid to ask..." Sunset muttered "But... What happened?" Deep Harvest sighed. "A couple members of his cult came to town, to collect "their" allotment. Well aware that Twisted Spire was not imposing such requisitions on the town, they decided to collect them from townsponies themselves, starting in the "place of sin", the tavern. The night the chose to raid was the same one that the colt of cloth chose to socialize as well. He arrived somewhat late, for reasons unknown, storming in to find his... Compatriots... Already merry with booze and making an ass out of themselves..." This time, the group held their flinches, aware that the Northern Region cared not for political correctness. "With a few stern words, he motioned the talaric bandits outside, into the snowfall. For a long time, there was silence. Finally, the guests of the tavern, even those that have been visiting for a time longer than any could remember, and had grown accustomed to "unusual going ons", have decided to go outside. A graphic scene greeted them. Not even in the revolution would they saw such gore displayed with such perverse generosity. The three bandits laid on the ground, in the middle of the street, looking more like fresh corpses, than alive. But they were breathing, even if with a wheeze and coughing up blood with it. They had scars, gashes, bruises and observably broken bones. One of them even seemed to have suffered brain damage, having a swollen eye and his head tilted at an odd angle, constantly rocking back and forth, and being unable to emit anything, but pained gasps and unintelligible moans. Under what only could have been a quarter of an hour, they were stripped naked, had their crests and tails shaved, with the precision of a sailor who had just drunk his liver away under a single night, and also appeared to be cut, burned, choked, and close to hypothermia. They were covered by their own blood, and, judging from the smell, as one elder stallion with a particularly good memory told me, their own faeces and urine as well. Needless to say, the tavern dwellers were shocked down to their core, unable to comprehend how the stallion of cloth, a holy pony, could cause such severe harm to others - clearly, the town was, until then, left unscarred by the machinations of the cult. What also surprised many was the apparent brutal strength, and sadistic imagination of the priest. The pony of cloth kept his clothes clean, however, it was only his disheveled, silver gray crest that differed from his normal stance, along with a look of pure rage upon his face, as he roared into the night: "FILTHY, INEQUINE MONGRELS! UNTALENTED DABBLERS, PEDDLERS OF FOOLISHNESS AND SELF-CENTERED IDIOCITY, WITH THE AUDACITY TO CALL THEMSELVES THE HARBINGERS OF HER HOLY WRATH! YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN LIVING CARRIONS, MAGGOT-INFESTED CADAVERS THAT DARE TO REMAIN AMONG THE LIVING! THE CHEEK! YOU BARBARIANS HAVE NO RIGHT, AND NO LEGITIMACY TO EXIST IN THE SAME, HARMONIA-CREATED WORLD AS THESE PONYFOLKS DO! AS I DO! But fear not! Not only are you ROTTING from the inside, but now, I'VE MADE YOU LOOK THE SAME FROM THE OUTSIDE!" As the three bandits scampered into the oncoming blizzard, Twisted Spire kept hollering: "CARRIONS! FLEA-BITTEN, MAGGOT-HOUSING, BASTARD CARRIONS! THAT'S WHAT ALL ARE! ROBED MUSKETEERS OF LIES AND COWARDICE! CARRIONS!" For about a month, he remained awfully silent, holding even shorter sunday masses, and not coming to the tavern. This kept everyone on edge, because, as much as he alienated himself from them, the ponies here still loved him, and considered him to be their own, one of them." He suddenly stopped, reaching out to a pile of softer-looking paper, and pulling out an old color photograph, placed in an worn, cardboard frame. Hoofing it around, he showed that it carried the bust image of a stallion, noticeably slender and of noble origin. He wore what appeared to be a black overcoat with a white shirt, it's collar held up by the priest's collar itself. His fur was a darker gray, while his not exactly short, but neatly combed back crest. His eyes were also gray, an almost metallic shade of it. While he held his head high, his expression was not one of arrogance, but one of deep consideration. "W-Well, I gotta admit..." Applejack stuttered sheepishly, a blush growing on her cheeks "Fella' was quite the looker..." "Uh-huh..." thus Sunset. "Indeed..." thus Trixie. "Yes..." thus Twilight. "What happened to him?" asked Spike, after a drawn-out groan. "He disappeared when the revolution reached this region, he disappeared." came the reply "The cult never used his church as a stronghold, and as soon as he left, it began to... Warp, almost as if he was the only one keeping it safe from corruption. In fact, they abandoned the church right after the night he disappeared, presumably around the time the White Guard roamed trough town, tailed by the Red, or rather, Grey Army, as it was called back then. This town was never really of any value in terms of military strategy, being one a dozen that spread across this valley. Without him, the church just... Succumbed. Many say it was consumed by the fanaticism and visceral hatred of the Ignis Deae, the very fundamentalist ideology that Twisted Spire's crystal clear mind couldn't tolerate. I can't even imagine how looks on the inside, although I've heard tales of pegasi who had to inspect the building, as they were obliged to, and reported that everything inside has just... Blackened, covered in some sort of hair-like moss. The elaborate bell organ, that Twisted Spire put together to fill in for the absence of a real church organ, has also corroded into a stiff, gross-looking mess metal, just ROTTEN inside it's frames and gearwork. Even the grand bell in the church tower had became tarnished, if it hadn't fallen down from up there yet, although, we've probably would've heard that... And so would've had the entire country." "Any guesses as to where Twisted Spire may be?" Twilight asked "He sounds like an interesting pony." "Nopony knows. But, unless he was an alicorn in disguise or a light wraith, there's little chance of him still being alive." Harvest replied "Although, I wouldn't be surprised if he still was." "How come?" "After the revolution, the Makrovchina inspected his personage, and found countless books regarding equine anatomy, arcane magic, and numerous sketches and design plans for incredible machines, but none of which seemed to have any purpose besides, as they put it, "maintaining it's own equilibrium". Some suggested that his priesthood, and his strained alliance with the cult, who, as I said, positioned him here, served as a cover-up for him to access forbidden books, or a even a dwelling within the dark arts." "...Any evidence to support this?" Sunset asked. "After he left, the church literally became his namesake." the colt replied "And also, his books, sketches and research is still in the personage, locked away from the harsh weather." "Has anyone besides the military seen it?" "No. Nopony dared to wander there. Like the church itself, the personage is off-limits." "But there aren't any rules forbidding you." "No. But in this case, we wouldn't even need one." "At the end of the day, you still don't know what really is in those documents, but you're willing to believe that what the military has supposedly found is what's in it..." "Seems so." The fiery unicorn eyed up the colt one more time. "You know..." she mused "It's no wonder he looked down on you guys... OK, let's see that statue!"