After millennia of slumber, the ponies of Tambelon have awoken. For good or ill, they set their sights on the surface.
The darkness in that forsaken town was old beyond reckoning – older than even the immortal diarchs who ruled over the surface world. Even when the three great tribes fought over a kingdom of ice and despair, only the eldest of unicorn sages remembered the city in darkness. The city outlived those sages; outlived each scrap of esoteric lore; outlived all memory of its existence.
The darkness was ancient and stagnant, undisturbed save for the passage of air through the labyrinth and mines. Without the bell’s magic, unfortunately, the stillness faltered after one hundred thousand years.
The ponies of Tambelon Stirred.
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