The Dark Origins of the Windigo

by Schattendrache

Days 2 and 3 (re-worked)

Author's Note:

Sorry to everyone that read the first version and then saw that it disappeared. I was talking with my co-author and he pointed out that the first version wasn't as good as it could have been. So this is the reworked version with more feels and less of my sciencey and dry way of writing journals.

November 24, 09:00
I am sorry that I did not rouse you from your sleep to bid you farewell, but the haste at which we needed to depart did not permit such pleasantries and matters of formality. I was awoken early today by a messenger of the crown relaying a shift in the weather in the Frozen Wastes. I thought little of it at first, letters of this variety arrived regularly for me as you know due to my desire to not venture into the Wastes without knowing what I would be facing, but I was more than a small bit perturbed that this could not wait until the rising of the sun, and you know better than I how I respond to such annoyances. Nothing came to mind as to what was so important as to require my immediate informing. I lifted myself from our shared bed, doing my best to not rouse you, and proceeded to the door to answer it. However, when I had taken the letter with a mumbled curse, it was revealed that our depart was to be done immediately. It seemed as if the inescapable wheels of destiny were intent on seeing me at the Spires post haste. With a grunt, I left my bed. Happy duty for the queen, isn’t it?

My tune however shifted when I read the message in its entirety. Apparently, a northerly current of wind had formed and is pushing a storm that had recently passed to return. If the reports are to be believed, the storm will be returning to the Wastes more or less one and a half days from when the report was received.

Out of fear for this being true, as it was said in the letter, our expedition needed to depart immediately, as the Wastes even at the best of times are an unforgiving mistress of ice and misery. And if we were to be within its hostile borders when the storm overtakes them, I fear our party may never see the face of another pony again.

I am writing this journal now at the first known resting place I know of along the Frosted Road. Despite its proximity to the Empire proper, and my reluctance to use it, the two members of our expedition not accustomed to the perpetual action of traversing the lands requested for us to stop. Well, it does help me to keep my promise of writing in this little diary for you. Anyway, while I could understand the plight of Orator as his line of work requires little in terms of manual labor or physical exertion, Iron Hoof surprised me. While I had not pegged him as the most athletic of ponies, I at least figured he had more endurance than he did. According to him, he had passed all of his physical tests to become a soldier but the four hours we had spent walking, and the headache from his overindulgence at last nights party, had culminated in the worst pain he had experienced in all his years.

Yes, I know what you would say, that his complaints could rival mine own from whenever you asked of me to help in the garden, but that is not the point. I wished him to be a bit more though, during this expedition we have to rely on each other, as your grandmother was so inclined to remind us, a chain is only so strong as its weakest ring.

On a less personal note, naturally, Hard Soil and I were quick to engage in banter at the young soldiers expense. While I mocked him for having the tolerance of a foal, telling him that even my dear wife could partake in a greater volume of the warming liquid than himself, the jeering from Hard Soil was of a higher quality. He proclaimed, “If your endurance is so lacking, I have pity for whoever agrees to bed you. If we do find a civilisation on the other side of the spires, your first night with one of their women will end with you panting on the floor before the bed sheets are even in sight.” As hard as it is for you to believe my sweet, those were the exact words from my new friends lips. As forgetful as I may be, the laughter from myself and the rest of the group ensured that the words that had been spoken would forever be remembered in their entirety.

Oh Morning Dew, how I wish that fortune would not have seen fit to deny me a peaceful life with you and our little home. Despite my misgivings and ill thoughts on the fate of this expedition, I do so dearly hope that the two of us will meet again with me having just returned from the Spires with a new civilisation been discovered and with a gift from the queen telling me I needn’t to treck again to the Spires. But for now, I must heed the call of our queen and venture into an unknown fate.

While Iron Hoof did not laugh at Hard Soils joke, and instead gave us a glare, I could tell he understood the comment and subsequent laughter was all in jest and chose to take it in stride. When the laughter died down, I informed him that I knew of some plants that grew in the Wastes that could help in easing his ailment. As I well knew, the cause of the poor lads pain was from failing to partake in enough water after consuming his drinks. I went about finding and gathering the required plants, Roc’s Claw and Crystal Grass, and brought them back for him. I shredded the root of the Roc’s Foot and mixed it in with the blades of Crystal Grass to make the remedy my grandfather had taught me. You know, grandpa Frostbite, not Burning Peat.

I remember the first time that I had that foul combination of flora given to me. I do not recall ever telling you that particular story, but if you wish, I will be more than willing to relay to you that particular story after my return. For now, I think it would serve to tell you that I have always done my best to prevent myself from using that particular remedy as its use is scarcely more preferable than the ails that it helps to alleviate.

When I gave him the mix and instructed him to pack it between his gums and lips he looked at me as though I had suggested he only consume soil. I will admit, if I was not as learned in the natural flora of the wastes, I too would find the use of them to be ill advised. But I indeed know of the plants that inhabit this ice encrusted tartarus-scape and what dangers Iron Hoof poses to the safety of our party in his current state. Upon my insistence that he do as I told him so we can continue our trip, he ceased his complaints and placed the remedy betwixt his cheeks and his gums. Before the taste of the foul combination could fully form within his muzzle, I clamped down on it with my hooves. He could hardly form a questioning expression before his face became contorted in a visage of immense disgust. But trying as he might to pull away from me and spit out the bitter plants I had presented to him, I held my grip upon his muzzle and was even successful in pulling him closer to myself. I conveyed to him the importance of holding the plants in his mouth until a time when all of their taste is gone, for if he were not to do this, his punishment for the night before would not abate.

But alas, I wish not to bring down the mood of this journal too terribly with the tails of my comrades misfortune.

I wish that my ability to draw was better than I know that it is. The plants that I have mentioned are not seen outside of the Wastes so my telling to you of my finding and use of them must conjure in your mind the image of a plant not seen outside of the realms of fantasy. Were my skills also to be sufficient I might also be able to show to you the image of the wastes that are laid out before me this very moment.

Oh, my sweet. It is when I look out at the Wastes at this time that I am reminded of my desires to show to you their beauty. The recent storm has dusted the ground in a fine layer of snow and turned the lumpy ground a gorgeous mix of white, green, and brown. When next spring comes around, I shall endeavor to show you it's splendor as the ice melts and ponds form betwixt the small hills that speckle the nearly flat expanse of the Wastes.

I feel that we have spent a sufficient amount of time at this first rest and will relate to my colleagues the importance of maintaining a quick pace so as to arrive at the outpost before we are overtaken by the storm.

November 24, 13:00
I was glad to have arrived at my desired location for our midday meal not long after the time I had been desiring we arrive at. Thankfully, Iron Hoof heeded my instructions and kept the remedy within his muzzle. It was only after we began to set up for our meal and I told him that he had most likely kept the mixture in his mouth long enough that he could now begin to remove it from his muzzle. And as I expected, he could not have removed it faster, scraping it out of his mouth with his hooves before dunking his head into a nearly frozen pond next to the stop in an attempt to flush the remaining fibers of the remedy from his mouth. I was almost reminded of a ice wolf with how fully he committed himself to flushing the remedy, where it not an act of tempting fate with an uncontrollable predator, I feel it would be fun to try to have one as a pet, though, I know you would never permit that.

Having examined the path that we took on our way to this point I saw nothing of significant note. As with every trip after a storm, the snow was somewhat thick and had buried most things shorter than the shrubs that passed as life out here. I must say that I’m impressed with the self control Orator has managed to display. Despite his inadequacies when it comes to physical abilities he has shown remarkable determination in his trek through the Wastes. While Hard Soil has been required to keep Orator from falling too far behind, the young stallion has shown a great deal of determination by keeping his complaints to himself. I know he wishes to voice his displeasure at his present circumstance, I can see the pain and misery engraved on his face, but besides his hard breathing and the occasional question on our position or the surroundings, he is as quiet as can be.

Our midday meal consisted of a hardtack, what passes as fresh produce, and a flower mush I was told was a popular snack known as Blumbiss. While I was used to hardtack and the almost spoiled fruits and vegetables on my excursions, I failed to see the value of the Blumbiss. It had only slightly more taste than the hardtack and was barely half as filling. Iron Hoof had packed them into our rations in an attempt to give our party something to eat that had some flavor and wasn't going to be rendered inedible by the time we arrived at the outpost. While I thanked him for his consideration back when we had departed, I dearly hope that the weight and space the bars occupy in our packs is made up for by the value they will provide us. I was desperately missing the food that you make for me when I am home. I had hoped that I could enjoy such luxuries for a while longer as my next expedition away from our capital had been slated for another month from today.

November 24, 21:00
I perhaps might have made a mistake in my evaluation of Orator’s ability to handle the physical requirements of crossing the wastes. Not long after our departure from our second rest area, Orator’s rear left leg seized up and elicited a horrific cry of pain from him. While the others wished to stop for the night and wait for Orator to return to a state where he could properly travel, I overruled them. I knew how far we needed to travel and the timing we would need to arrive at the outpost before the storm front fell upon us like a cruel blanket made of ice and death. I reasoned with them that we needed to reach a hollowed-out hill several kilometers further into the wastes if we wished to arrive in a timely manner. I volunteered to help carry Orator as long as Iron Hoof and Hard Soil could manage splitting Orator’s load between them. The two agreed, and with that, I lead the way with the young stallion laying across my back. He apologized profusely for the inconvenience he was causing at the beginning and often would ask to be let down to continue the remainder of the trip under his own power, but I refused him this at every occurrence. I understood the danger he would be placing himself under if he attempted that.

We were fortunately able to arrive at my desired hill only an hour behind the time I would have preferred we arrive. I had come to calling the hill ‘Old Stallion’s Nose’ on account of the hill having two entrances side by side that would often whistle when the wind would pass by them at sufficient speed.

When the four of us arrived, I had crouched down to allow Orator to leave my back, which he did in short order, and each of us, save Orator himself, threw off our packs and collapsed around the cavern. Orator volunteered to set up our sleeping supplies and prepare tonight's meal. None of us had any complaints, each releasing a moan of exhaustion and doing our best to appear as corpses in the cavern. When Orator finished setting up our camp and preparing our food, the noise the three of us made as we each moved for the first time since we arrived could easily have been mistaken for the dying wails of ponies that had been run through by a lance.

After our meal was finished in silence, each of us retreated to our own sleeping bags that had been placed around a central fire. I do my best to not show it to my comrades, as I must possess the visage of the leader they need, but I write now in great pain, as I have not needed to carry the weight I did for the distance I did for quite some time. Hopefully tonight's rest shall help to alleviate this by the time I wake on the morrow. Oh, what I would not give to rest in our warm bed next to you instead.

November 25, 11:00
I woke this morning gracefully, as the pain I was subject to in the late hours of yesterday had managed to abate while I rested. This development spurned me on and gave me hope for an excellent day. Looking out the mouth of the cave, I noticed that the sun still had yet to crest the horizon, bathing the Wastes in the wonderful early morning light, known only to those willing to motivate themselves to view its splendor. Unfortunately, my assessment of today's quality had been far too preemptive in its declaration. Not five minutes after my natural arousal from my slumber had I walked out of the cave and beheld with great horror that the storm front had been bolstered by an increase in the winds that had pushed it back towards the Empire. The storm was now likely to cross over us an hour or two sooner than expected. I galloped back into the cave and yelled for my comrades to awaken.

As they gave their best attempts at waking from the realm of dreams I packed away all of my supplies as quickly, and as carefully as I could. Before any of them had even managed to unwrap themselves from their sleeping bags, I had finished with my pack and had moved on to help assist in packing Orator’s supplies. While my companions thought me crazy for this behavior, but after glancing outside of the cave and towards the morning sky their opinion was quickly revised. I was glad to find that each of our party was capable of breaking down our camp in a timely fashion as we were able to make it out of the cave and continue on with our journey only minutes after I had roused them. We made excellent progress today. We were able to arrive at Ruck Ridger well before I had intended. Hopefully, this pace can continue as we make our final approach to the outpost.

Sorry my sweet that this entry is quite short, but we need to depart any minute now and time is running against us still.

November 25, 22:00
I had vastly overestimated our pace when we had arrived at Ruck Ridge. While it is true that we had managed to maintain the same pace we had been traveling at earlier in the day, the weather would not permit us a pleasant last stretch. A damnable gale accompanied the storm, bringing with it a biting coldness that sank its teeth into our flesh and covered our bones in rime. The sun had likely set by the time the wrath of the storm was brought down upon us. We could not tell, as the sun's embrace had been ripped from us as the clouds of the storm snuffed out the last vestiges of pure light we had, blanketing the wastes in a hostile grey. We traveled for an hour under the malicious clouds of the storm before it finally felt it essential to punish us for our existence here. We were accosted by random squalls at first that tore at each of us and stripped us of our own bodies heat. Despite our best efforts at fighting back by donning additional layers, the rouge winds still ripped into our flesh and turned our blood to slurry.

We hadn’t to wait long for our poor luck to worsen, a thick curtain of snow began to fall, covering our vision and rendering us all but blind to everything but those contemptuous white flakes. This was accompanied by bouts of hail the size of small stones whenever a squall would occur. We traveled for what felt to be an entire night, being bombarded and assailed by the hail and frozen wind.

I did my best to keep everyone motivated, but my knowledge of the wastes served only to taint my words with the fear that had enveloped my heart and begun to compress it with the force of a glacier. The party began to lose hope for escaping the storm the longer we remained in its grasp. However, whether it was the will of a god or goddess, our path eventually found us crossing that of a stallion in perhaps one of the heaviest coats I have ever had the privilege to bear witness to. He was more fabric than pony from the proportions we saw, his body was so large and wide it looked as if a nanook had decided to put on a pony’s winter clothing in an attempt to be more like us. His breath was clearly visible despite the harsh winds that would grab hold of it and steal every last speck of the fog that had been produced.

Yet despite all this, his shivering made him look as if was vibrating with excess energy ,and the sound of his chattering teeth was so loud and fast had he not been in front of me, I would have thought the sounds to be coming from a hammer striking a piece of wood at a speed only obtainable from the use of magic.

He asked us in a voice trembling from the cold if we were the group sent from the capital. When I confirmed to him that we were indeed that party with a voice just as wavering in it's delivery, I could see the tension in his posture melt away and give way to a stance that positively radiated relief. He informed us that we were a mere ten-minute walk from the outpost. He had been assigned to stand out in the storm and watch for our approach. I felt sorry for him having been given the unenviable task of standing in the accursed storm in hopes that our team make it here.

As we made our way to the outpost, a trek that lasted for far longer than the ten minutes we had been told, we finally caught sight of the outpost. It is a hard and unforgiving structure that extends into the sky with an obstinacy that gives it the appearance of being apathetic to this vile storm, as if the storm was beneath it and unworthy of consideration. Its size is almost that of the Crystal Palace, but where the palace is brilliant and flowing, the outpost is tough and fixed. It is a tall box made of other smaller boxes. Its walls are a dark grey stone, coated in thick layers of ice.

Had our party not known this to be our destination, I feel that we would have thought this to have been the structure of a hostile foreign nation with how strange its construction is to the structures of the capital and surrounding towns.

When we finally arrived in the shadow of the outpost, we were greeted to an imposing double door. Upon our guide knocking on it, the left door was slowly opened to permit us entry. Our party and the mass of cloth and fog that had served as our guide all but flung our icebound corpses into the structure with a fervor unheard of in all but the most desperate and irrational of ponies.

As we returned to our senses having finally exited the contemptible storm, we were subject to an environment just as harsh and undesirable as the storm. Unlike the outside of the structure, the interior was of a suffocating warmth. After being subject to the freezing of our very souls for the hours we walked in the wastes, the temperature of the outpost felt as if we had walked into the very sun. Even after removing all of my layers, I could not find relief from the burning of my flesh by the air within the structure. When we all looked to no longer be masses of ice formed into the shape of ponies, a stallion claiming to be the commander of the outpost came to our side and offered to bring us to the rooms we would be using for the duration of our tenure within these walls. With how weary the four of us were having survived the last leg of our trip here, none of us made any attempts to either ask the commander questions or explore the structure before we made our way to our rooms. Each of us instead dragged our broken and debilitated carcasses across the stone floors and up flights of stairs that might as well have been the spires themselves.

When I arrived in the room that I had been assigned, I all but keeled over and succumbed to my weakened state, crumbling into the bed and slipping into the realm of dreams before I remembered my promise to maintain this journal for you. I hope now that the storm breaks in the next few days and allows for the continuation of our goals so the party might return home in a timely manner. But for now, I must rest.