First published
Starswirl the Bearded: widely regarded as the greatest unicorn wizard ever to walk the Earth. But was he really the genius history has made him out to be? Or was he simply a mad magician, whose unethical experiments in magic were justified by results pleasing to the eye of the public?
The answer is neither. Fortunately, he left a personal journal behind which might shed some light on who he really was.
Adorable bit of cover art from Eveyann
Today was truly a wonderous day! My father has retired as King Aurum's court wizard, and I, not surprisingly, was chosen as his replacement. I for one, intend to wow the unicorn populus with my magical prowess and keen wit. Oh yes, I can feel that this is the beginning to a marvelous career in wizardry, it is.
Today was rather emotional. It's been years since I've seen my father. Actually years is an understatement. I've never seen my father. Since the day of my birth, he has entertained and wowed the masses at the Gilded Lily, the unicorn grand capital. Today was actually the first I'd ever seen of him. He came in a chariot pulled by two rather muscular mud-dweller stallions. He seemed worn and tired, and also relieved, though of what I could not say. More than anything though he seemed happy to be home. Scarcely a moment had passed after he stepped from his mode of transport that he had thrown his forelegs around me and my mother. And it was a minute after that he forced me onto the chariot. He left me with only these parting words: "Do not let them stifle you as they stifled me, my son. I love you. Do not forget that." The dirt-children turned the chariot and sped off before I had a chance to respond. I never did get to say goodbye to my mother.
We encountered certain unforeseen circumstances on our way to Gilded Lily. A snowstorm, unaccounted for in all reports hitherto provided by the weather committees of the Pegasi, prevented us from going any farther today. Blasted bird-brains must be miffed about something or other. Anyhow, we were forced to stop over in one of those mud-child farming villages I'd heard so much about from traveling merchants. It wasn't nearly as dirty as I'd expected it to be. Of course, it was still ridiculously filthy, as were the inhabitants. Amazing how even in months where they are not required to work the fields they can still manage to be covered in at least a layer of dirt. The inn we rested in was no more pleasing to the eye. I was required to sleep on a bed of straw. Literally a bed of straw, The food at least was decent, though I made certain to check it thoroughly for any undesired particulates. Now I'm afraid this entry must end here, as the innkeeper has told me they have a strict lights-out curfew, and as I am writing this entry by candle-light, I am breaking it. Stupid Mud-dweller.....
The storm has let up enough to allow for one to go outside, although we still won't be going anywhere today. Whatever those damned Pegasi are upset about it had best be resolved quickly. I'm not sure how much longer I can last in this filthy town, with its filthy ponies and their filthy activities. All day, I've been receiving dirty looks and sideways glances. My own coach-stallions refuse to be seen within six feet of me, a fact I shall make known to King Aurum upon arrival at Gilded Lily. I've been trying to keep my cool best I can, as even with magic on my side, I would be no match for the combined mongoloid strength of all these mud-dwellers. I fear I would have provoked them by now if not for the food here to keep me occupied. And what wondrous food it is! I learned through overheard gossiping that the innkeeper was a notoriously bad cook, to which I say, 'Such high standards for sustenance these low-born mongrels keep!' Their salads and sandwiches are simple, yes, but also incomparably delicious. And the desserts! I was provided at the local bakery with a confection known as a 'doughnut.' At first glance, it appeared to be simply a sugar powdered piece of bread, which I would have been perfectly satisfied with. Imagine my surprise when I happened upon a filling of fruits! If these mud-dwellers can create confections so magnificent, perhaps they are not so disgusting.
Finding nothing to do in this dreary town but eat, and already having consumed a good portion of my funds (and many, many doughnuts) I made the mistake of taking a midday nap behind the inn (as the innkeeper does not allow daylight tenants.) I awoke to the sound of many young fillies and colts playing in the snow, in itself not a problem. When I opened my eyes to find a young mud-dweller filly sitting in front of me watching me sleep- that was a problem. After screaming like a mare and getting over my initial shock, I asked her why she'd been watching me. Apparently she'd never seen a unicorn before. Not surprising in the least. She asked me if I'd ever seen a Pegasus before. Only in passing, I told her. Then she asked me why Pegasi, Unicorns, and Earth Ponies (her words not mine) couldn't get along with each other. I told her it was because we were all different. She asked why being different meant we couldn't get along. I wasn't sure how to answer that, as I myself was unsure of the answer. Needless to say, the filly forced me to ponder an issue I would rather not ponder.
Note to self: Take no more naps behind the any inn.
Nothing of any great significance happened these past few days in this podunk little village, aside from a major decline in the doughnut population. This would be a major issue for me if not for the fact that the storm let up yesterday. Snow still coats the roads, but the mud-dwellers have provided us with a shovel-like tool to be attached to the front of the chariot. The way they explained it, it pushes snow aside as the vehicle moves forward, clearing a path and allowing the vehicle proceed unhindered. Clever for the mud-dwellers, but altogether unnecessary. I, as a unicorn of prodigious skill, will have no problem simply moving the snow out of the way as we travel. Still, I humored them and allowed my coach-stallions to attach the device to the front of the chariot. Again, wholly unnecessary.
I misjudged how tedious and boring the process of removing snow from the road mile after mile without end could be. So it would appear that the shovel-like device came into usefulness after all. But now I'm tired and very, very hungry. Unfortunately, I failed to protect my food properly and now I have nothing to eat, as nearly everything I packed has been frozen solid. And in this weather I doubt any of it will be thawing anytime soon.
Addendum: I seem to have found a mysterious package tucked away in the chariot. I certainly don't remember packing it or purchasing anything similar to it in that filthy town filled with delicious food. I asked my chauffeurs if it belonged to either of them. The one that possessed manners enough to respond to me said he had never seen it before. I'll take a closer look at it tomorrow. Right now I need to sleep.
I took a look at the package today. In it was a doughnut, much like the one I'd had on the first day we'd spent in the mud-dweller village. This one was filled with custard rather than fruit. It was delicious.
Addendum: Upon further inspection of the wrapping of the package, I came across a note marked "To Mr. Unicorn, From Honeydew." Unaware of who Honeydew was, I proceeded to read the note. It read as follows:
"Dear Mr. Unicorn,
I can't write yet and most of the other ponies in my village can't either, but my daddy is the record keeper for our village so he has to write down records of every bit of food that we grow, so he knows how to write, so he's writing this for me. I think that it's sad that you don't think different types of ponies can get along, but I do and I hope some day that you can change your mind maybe. I hope this doughnut will help. I saw how much you liked them. My mommy made it (she's the baker!) Anyway, I really hope you can learn to like Earth ponies Mr. Unicorn. Because I really like you.
Love, Honeydew.
P.S. I hope I see you again someday. I really want to know what your name is!"
. . . . .I'm not sure how to react to this.
We have set up camp for the night. From my prior knowledge of my nation's geography, we should arrive in Gilded Lily by midday tomorrow. I'm as giddy as a schoolcolt, ready to begin his first day of studies. My sleep escapes me, I'm so excited. . . and yet something else haunts me, keeping me from slumber. I keep thinking back to the mud-dweller filly. Why was she so ready to accept me as a companion? Did she not realize our kinds hated each other. Perhaps it is because she is young. She has not yet learned to hate as she must. But I begin to wonder. Must we teach our young to hate? I will sleep on it. . . if I ever fall asleep.
The morning arrived before I was able to rest or make any serious thought on the subject matter of Honeydew. . . I mean the mud-dweller's letter. I'm not sure why, but I just can't shake the question she posed to me: Why can't we get along just because we're different. I know the answer: because we are so fundamentally different both physically and culturally, by all rights it should be impossible for any of us to get along except under the most necessary of circumstances, as has been the situation for as long as anypony can remember. The Pegasi have created weather necessary for proper natural balance, the mud-dwellers have grown the food required to sustain all of pony-kind and the unicorns have raised the sun and moon accordingly for proper adjustment of the internal clock of all living creatures. As stated, a situation born of necessity. But have any of us ever actually tried to get along? Certainly the children of our races do not seem to know they must hate one another. And again, I must ask: must we teach them? Perhaps I shall pose the question to King Aurum when I meet him. But then again, perhaps not. . .
My chauffeurs were surprised to see that I had awoken before them. They even went so far as to ask me if anything was wrong. I of course, being unwilling to share my personal issues with such lowborn filth them, told them nothing was wrong and that I was simply suffering from a bout of insomnia. Strangely enough, they allowed me time to sleep before we continued on our way. Do they want something from me, I wonder? Will they use my grogginess, my foggy mind, clouded as it is with so much. . . so much. . . what was I going on about? Perhaps I am over-thinking this. Still, it is strange that they would show such consideration towards me, especially since I have shown no such consideration for them. I must say, the actions I have witnessed these past few days are confusing many of the things I have learned about how the world is supposed to work.
We arrived today at Gilded Lily. Well, I arrived anyway. My chauffeurs, being Earth ponies, were stopped at the gates. I'd say I was sad to see them go, but my mother raised me not to lie. Anyhow, the town is just as splendid as I assumed it would be. The streets are so polished, one would assume they were paved from porcelain. Not a speck of dirt to be seen, and I couldn't be happier. I also couldn't be more nervous. I intended to run to the castle as soon as I'd entered town, but the sight of Castle Aurus was. . . imposing to say the least. I've rented a room for the night and plan to collect my nerves before going to introduce myself to the king. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of the stallion who I shall serve under for the rest of my life, after all.
Once again I find myself deprived of sleep. But no thoughts race through my mind as they did previously, nor do I fear for my safety as I did in the Earth pony village. No, it is pure nervous energy that keeps me awake this night. I am unsure of how to compose my self for a meeting with the king. What do I say? What do I wear? Should I prepare a speech with which to announce myself? Should I coordinate my outfit to match my speech? How would one even go about such a thing? Mother would know what to do. . .I just reminded myself that I never got to say goodbye to her. She must be worried sick about me. . . . Listen to me prattle on like a hyper-active yearling. I can't allow my emotions to get a hold of me like this. And my mother never was one to worry. Still, I think I'll write her a letter soon.
Addendum: Retrospection upon recent entries into my journal has brought to my attention that I have been referring to the mud-dwellers by their self-appointed name of Earth pony. A subconscious error on my part, likely from spending all the time I did around them. So for the future, should anypony but myself come to read this journal (and I do not know how such a thing would occur) let it be assumed that anytime I make the mistake of saying 'Earth pony', I meant to say mud-dweller.
I'd completely forgotten that today was my birthday. I'm aged twenty years today. And still, I have no cutie mark. What is my purpose in this world? When will I find it? Why haven't I found it yet? Do I even have a purpose? . . . I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight, what with my nervousness and now my existential crisis. I believe I'll cease attempting. . . . Perhaps now would be a good time to write that letter. I have to go find some proper stationary, as to write my mother a letter upon the yellowed parchment of a personal journal would be insulting.
I'm couldn't find any stationary, so that letter to my mother is going to have to wait. Fortunately I ran into the innkeeper on my way back to my room. I mentioned my parchment problem to her and she said she should have some spare scrolls in her personal quarters. She wished me a happy birthday and said she might have something else to give me as a gift. Quite thoughtful of her, if I do say so myself. . . wait. . . how does she know it's my birthday. . . That snooping trollop read my journal! Why of all the-
Addendum: She brought me the stationary she promised, along with food and drink for us to share. She finds my concern for my mother, as well as my mixed feelings over the Earth ponies mud-dwellers, to be endearing. I'm not quite sure how to feel about her. She's so brash and unapologetic, but I can see something in her eyes that intrigues me. A thirst for sensory information. She seems to take in everything she looks at so deeply. And oddly enough, I find my self looking at her quite deeply. Her lavender hair, her deep plum mane, her eyes a purplish pink. I take back what I said about Rain being a trollop. Though she is still a snoop.
Note: Rain is the innkeeper's name. I doubt I'll forget it.
I don't know how, I don't know why, and frankly I don't care but some way or another I wound up in bed with Rain last night. When I woke up this morning, it was with a feeling of ecstasy. Then I turned my head to the side, saw her lying next to me, smiling softly in her sleep, manage to put two and two together, and now I feel nothing but shame. I smell of filth and my appearance is worse than my smell, if my reflection is anything to go by. Oh sweet, merciful magic, what would my mother think? What would anypony think if they were to discover this lecherous, adulterous venture of mine? Whatever the case, I must strive to keep this whole ordeal hidden. I don't think either me or Rain would be able to handle the public humiliation. So I've decided that I'll be avoiding her inn at all cost, to avoid arousing any suspicions.. In fact, I think I'll just make it a personal rule never to sleep in another inn ever again. Ever.
The lack of private bathing facilities in a city such as Gilded Lily is shocking to me. It borders on scandalous. Though who am I to speak of scandal. And honestly, there's nothing all that bad about communal washrooms. I mean, you're only bathing in the filth of everypony who has used the bath before you. And my filth is particularly. . . filthy. At this point though, I'd be willing to douse myself in mud and peel the grime off layer by layer. Now that I think about it. . . no, that's a horrible idea. Anyhow, I'm going to try and wash the shame from my soul and then see the king. I've delayed my duties long enough.
Addendum: I'm foregoing my bath. I'd rather live with my shame one more day than watch wrinkly, old stallions bathe themsleves for one minute. So many wrinkles. . .
After burying my shame and burning the image of what I saw at the bathhouse from my brain, I finally endeavored to take my place at the king's side. Obviously he was expecting me quite anxiously, as no sooner had I mentioned my name that I was granted audience with the unicorn's grand leader, King Aurum himself. He spoke of how my father gave him many years of service, and how they had shared many a laugh with one another. He hopes to see the same from me, if not more. He also apologized for the storm that delayed my arrival. He explained to me that the Pegasi were preparing for the coming change of seasons, and while preparing rain clouds for the storms of Spring, one had run loose and turned to snow and hail across most of the country side. Feather-brained ninnies. . . At any rate, I've been shown my quarters for the night and intend to sleep well. After all, tomorrow marks the first day of the rest of my life as Royal Wizard.
Addendum: The king does speak most strangely, with words such as 'thine' and the like. I've been told that the royalty of all the races have an odd form of communicating but truly it's unlike anything I've encountered before.
Addendum: The Royal We is baffling in the extreme.
I really should see a physician about my inability to sleep. This past week, I can't have had more than twelve hours of sleep. But by the magic vested in me, I shall try my greatest to sleep tonight. If if I must bludgeon myself into unconsciousness I will sleep! Given that probably won't work though, perhaps there is a magical solution to my insomnia. A potion of some sort maybe? I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to devise such an elixir, if already it does not exist.
Addendum: Once again, a maiden, specifically a scullery maid, has managed to find her way into my room and snoop through my things. I can't even use the lavatory for five damned minutes. Still, she says she might have something to help with my sleeplessness.
Addendum: The maid brought me something to drink that she said should knock me right out. A sleeping elixir perhaps? Only one way to find out I suppose.
Honestly, I think I should just neuter myself here and now. Yet another mare has found it to be their whim to feed me, intoxicate me and rape me. Because that's exactly what it is. Rape. I don't care if the female is being forceful, if one of the two parties is either unwilling or unaware of the action of intercourse, then it is rape. I'm going to try and find a sensible male guard to help me cleanse myself of the burden that is genitalia, because if this happens again, the stench of my burning shame shall manifest itself physically. If I can't find a guard, I'm going to try and find the kitchen. Because I am hungry. And I really want a doughnut. I just hope they don't lock the kitchen at night. Because if I don't get my three-in-the-morning-post-rape doughnut, I might just kill myself.
. . .By magic, I'm tired.
I managed to find a guard. When he refused to cut of my genitals, I just asked for directions to the kitchen. Thankfully, he was willing to give me those. And imagine my joy when I discovered that the kitchen is occupied by at least one one cook at all times, in the event the king should ever desire a midnight snack. Now imagine my disappointment upon discovering that the chef had absolutely no idea what a doughnut was. And as it turns out, he doesn't care. As soon as I mentioned I had happened upon this confection of the gods in an Earth pony village. . . well first he asked me what an Earth pony was. But when he found out that I'd discovered them in a mud-dweller village, he refused to even consider making a pastry conceived by those most low-born of mongrels, the mud-dwellers. Pretentious ass. But anyway, I said I would do it. There was no doughnut to be had, so I'm going to kill myself. To any and all who find this journal, consider this the last entry. Stop reading it now, because there won't be any more.
My attempt at suicide has been delayed by a personal call from the king. For one reason or another, he requires his personal wizard to wake up every morning before moving on to his various royal duties. And for some other reason, he wakes up at four in the morning. But still, he is the king and to serve him is now my task. I shall perform whatever job is in store for me with as much vigor as I can muster, and do the legacy of my father proud.
Note: Mention the doughnut issue to King Aurum. Perhaps he has a higher appreciation for pastries than the asses who work the kitchen.
I arrived at the king's chambers with the aid of the same guard who directed me to the kitchen. As I walked away, he inquired as to whether or not I'd succeeded in neutering myself. I could hear him trying to stifle a laugh. . . he's officially made my shit-list.
The king seemed rather surprised at how early I had awoken. He said all of the previous stallions in my position had often been slow to rise, and the wake-up call at four was to ensure they were up at six. I told him that the only reason I was awake was because of my insomnia brought upon by troubled thoughts. I then proceeded to ask if any sort of sleeping potion existed, which might cure my plight. He said he would see if he could commission an alchemist or two to develop one. When I suggested that I aid in the research, he laughed for one reason or another. Confused, I began to aid the king in preparing for the day, helping him chose what royal raiment to wear, heating a bath for him, etcetera, etcetera. All the while, I told him of the grand ideas I had in store for my tenure as royal wizard. Each one just seemed to make him laugh harder. At least once, he said I was more brilliant than my father. This was obviously a compliment, so perhaps the laughter was based in pride? I'm unsure, but perhaps more will be made clear later on today.
Addendum: The king says I'll have plenty of work to do in the main hall. Again, I am confused. Would a royal wizard not have a private tower to work from? Anyways, I must stop writing as I now have work to do. Work for the king! And what glorious work it shall be. . .
My life is a lie. Everything I've been told, a falsehood, a fabrication. All my life my mother told me how my father was a great unicorn wizard, how he came from a long line of wizards who had served the royal family, and how someday I was destined to take his place. I waited, waited so long to be able to hold the position my father had held. And now that I'm here. . . I want to be any where but. My father was no wizard. I am no wizard. I have been LIED TO! Up to this point, I'd been depressed by the revelation which I was provided with today, but the sadness has given way to BLINDING FURY. I do not belong to a long line of wizards; I belong to a long line of fools, jack-a-napes, ninnies; to summarize, I AM A BUFFOON, born and bred to play the part of a buffoon! For I am not a wizard at all, but instead the court jester! Of all the bald-faced. . . I cannot even begin to fathom my own rage, and as such have no way to put it into words.
Perhaps I should calm down and try to look at this from a more positive perspective. After all, how many can say that they spend every day in the personal company of the king? . . . .Actually, that doesn't make me feel any better.
My job as jester is humiliating in the extreme. Now, that's not to say that the king and his subjects treat me poorly; on the contrary, they treat me with the utmost respect. But as one who feels that he is capable of so much more, a life as a source of amusement by way of cheesy limericks and self-deprecation is not ideal. My rage has subsided, only to be replaced with a profound disappointment.
Now, my earlier complaint about cheesy limericks, was not meant to imply that I'm bad at coming up with them. They come to me quite easily, as do clever jokes and the like. But that's the problem: they come to me far too easily. I need my mind to be challenged. I need to enrich my mind with knowledge. And my current position will not allow for that.
On the bright side, my newly found exhaustion, brought upon by my near constant dancing about and generally making a fool of myself has made sleeping a breeze.
On top of my usual duties as fool, I was appointed foal-sitter to the king's niece. Oh the joys children bring. I am of course being sarcastic. I will say though that babies, annoying as they may be, certainly are adorable. And Princess Platinum is likely the cutest baby I've ever seen. I'm baffled as to why her own mother can't care for her though. Yet another question for the king that shall inevitably go unanswered or laughed at.
And so today I was made to feel like an ass today. Of all the questions to be answered. . .
I learned today that Platinum's mother was one Gilded Lily; the mare for whom this city was named. She died during a raid on Gilded Lily in the days before it's naming, before it was the epitome of safety it is today. Platinum was her only child and King Aurum has cared for her since that day. Of course, that day was only a little over a year ago. . .
I think I'll be keeping my questions to myself from now on.
Babies are smelly. Very smelly. How can something so small create such a massively awful stench? I mean, really, what do they consume that could cause they're feces to produce such an awful stench?
Speaking of food, I haven't fed Platinum anything the whole time I've been with her. So I have no idea what she eats. That's not to say that she hasn't been fed; that's handled long before she's placed in my care. Well, it is usually. By some oversight, she wasn't fed today. Now I have no idea what to do. Should I find a wet-nurse? Do we even have wet-nurses here? Should. . . should I just find a cow? ARE THERE EVEN ANY COWS IN GILDED LILY, OH FOR THE LOVE OF MAGIC I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO.
My panic having subsided, I located the nearest scullery maid. Unfortunately that scullery maid was. . . her. That damned whore. That bloody rapist! My blood boils at the sight of her! She, however, seems to have to forgotten we had any sort of interaction whatsoever. Which just infuriates me even more! She, in contrast, was confused by my anger. And I, in response, doused the flames of my fury. . . temporarily at least. Apparently the king feels the occupation of wet-nurse to be degrading, both to the mare and the foal involved. So he makes sure to keep a small contingency of cows within the walls of Gilded Lily. They send at least a barrel of milk to the castle weekly, but for one reason or another, that barrel failed to arrive yesterday, meaning the Princess's food supply ran short, meaning I'm in in quite the pickle right about now. Oh no, she's starting to cry. . .
I was given directions to the lodge house of the royal cows. <---(what a sentence that is)
To make a long story short, there was much panicking and bumbling about on my part, much crying and fussing on the part of the princess (though what am I to expect from a foal) and some annoyed correction on part of the cows. Apparently, Platinum, being a yearling, foal though she still was, was to be weaned off of milk. Last weeks shipment was the last for Platinum and the cows were now only dwelling within Gilded Lily out of King Aurum's appreciation for their service.
Addendum: And so it would appear I was played for a fool. No surprise given my occupation, but still. That whore gave me false instructions, likely knowing full well that the cows were no longer obligated to produce milk. Mark my words, I will find some way to pay her back for what she's done to me.
Note: I did eventually find some warm cereal for Platinum to eat. It was very messy.
Platinum got into my journal and tore out my previous entry. Before I could take it from her, she ate it. She ate a page out of my journal. Aren't children grand?
While I could do without the literal consumption of my personal thoughts, I am going to miss spending time with the filly. Oh right, a page was eaten out of my journal, so those of you snooping through my journal (or perhaps even reading this from the future) are completely unaware of my current situation. The king found a proper sitter for his beloved niece so my duties are once again reduced to that of tomfoolery and general embarrassment. Oh the joy. . .
Addendum: Oddly enough, I find myself longing for the time I spent with Platinum. I don't recall ever really enjoying myself around her but I long all the same. Emotions are confusing.
Five months. Five months since I set hoof in this palace. Five months since I allowed myself to be subjugated and humiliated and various other negative past-tense verbs. Five months since I realized my life was a lie. I'm no longer angry that I was lied to. Nor have I surpassed anger. But I am dreadfully depressed, and I fear that if I don't find some way to alleviate my dreary mood, it will bleed out into my occupation. And there is nothing less entertaining than a depressed buffoon. Buffoon. . . to think that I would refer to myself as such.
Perhaps it would be for the best that my sadness makes itself known. If one such as I, at my age, cannot find his purpose and is instead forced to occupy himself as the king's personal fool perhaps death would be best for me. Because that surely would be my punishment for failing to perform my job: death. At least. . . I believe that's a crime worthy of execution. Honestly I don't know. There is so much I don't know. . .
These passing months I have begun to doubt my own intelligence deeply. Here I am, a stallion of twenty, with no talent, no purpose. I came to Gilded Lily with such ambition, believing that my job as "royal wizard" would bring some great revelation to light, that in addition to being a vassal of the king I would also discover what I am destined for in this world. Now little remains of my hopes, save for a few hastily written spell concepts, which likely would never have worked anyway. It's no wonder that my mother lied to me. If I had known that my father's job was so. . . well I think I've made it amply clear what it is, but if I had known, I would never have been so eager to have taken his place, and likely he would have died a. . . a humiliated shell of a stallion. Maybe it was for the best that I take his place.
I haven't thought about either of my parents in quite some time. I've been too preoccupied with my depression and the masking of said depression with false smiles and forced laughs. But now that I recall, my father said something to me as he sent me off, that fateful January night. What it was though escapes me. Perhaps sleeping on it will help. Or at least, it would if I could sleep. My insomnia has returned.
Sleep. . . I've almost forgotten what it's like to sleep. My father's words did not return to me.
The king has asked that I prepare a poem in honor of some Summer Sun Celebration. I don't see why I should have to. The raising of the sun is an action that takes place, no celebration required, everyday. Why we need to celebrate it now is beyond me. It's confused me ever since I was a colt. And now that I think about it, why don't we have a similar festival celebrating the moon? Surely it's just as important? Without the moon we would have nothing save for stars to light the night sky, and the light they provide is scarcely enough to wander about in the dark. That's it. Starting here and now I'm protesting the Summer Sun Celebration in favor of a . . .ummm . . . Summer Moon Celebration? Wonderful, my wits are beginning to fail me.
I think I see now why the Summer Sun Celebration is so important. For the past two days now, ponies of all shapes and sizes, of all races and genders, have been flooding into Gilded Lily. Everypony is aiding in the preparation of the festival. And the whole time, I have not heard one disparaging comment about race or abilities, nor of talents or purpose. Truly, it is a beauteous sight to behold. I just hope it lasts until the end of the festival. The last thing we need is another Equine war. And as fragile as the alliance between the races currently is, it wouldn't take much to spark a conflict capable of turning into one.
Note: I've made absolutely no progress on that poem I'm supposed to be writing.
Note 2: My father's words linger at the front of my mind, just out of my reach. It's infuriating.
If there's anything I've learned in my tenure as court fool, it's that if there's anything you don't want to happen, it most likely will and most likely at the time when it will be most inconvenient. That of course has nothing to do with what I'm about to write. It's just something I've learned.
Today I encountered somepony that I'd almost completely forgotten about. Rain certainly hadn't forgotten about me though. Neither did she attempt to pretend that what happened between us did not happen. Her bluntness was refreshing to say the least. And the confused feelings I felt at encountering her again: far less than refreshing. I can't put my hoof on why, but she seems to have become even more beautiful than when I last saw her. She seems more vibrant somehow; her mane and hair shine with the glow of a radiant dawn and all her movements seem so carefully calculated. And I can't be too sure, as she was wearing a rather large summer dress, but I do believe she's gained weight. There's nothing wrong with that though; it just means there's more to love. . . where the hell did that come from?
Note: I know what I'll be writing that poem about now. I just need to find a way to transmute my thoughts into words.
I have my concept for the poem, which hitherto shall go unstated until further notice (you know exactly why Rain; don't act all surprised when you read this) but my efforts to write have been stifled by my greatest enemy, that bully which has pushed me to my limits my whole life: the creative process. Honestly, you'd think it would be easier trying to get words to rhyme with each other, yet no matter how I try, my prose sounds as though it were written by a colt with a speech impediment, whose selfsame speech impediment somehow carries over into his writing. I envy those spoony bards who I've seen cavorting about, filling the air with song in preparation for the festivities. How do the words come so easily to them?
Addendum: I've been informed that poems don't necessarily have to rhyme. For reference material as to how poems of this type are written, the king has provided me with a book of poetry as written by Lord Sombra the second, Duke of Nigra Beliza. The content is rather dark and depressing, but the quality of prose is incomparable.
Note: My use of the word stifle earlier has shifted something in my mind, Perhaps by tomorrow I'll have remembered what my father said.
Raise the sails and come with me
We'll sail in the summers eve
the wind flows and the seagulls squeak
and you will see life's not so bleak
when we're sailing, you and me
right across the blue blue sea.
So ends my first attempt at a poem for the Summer Sun festival. My issue with rhyming has dissipated, but now I have to work on relevance to subject matter. Honestly, it seems more like I was trying to write about the ocean than the sun. Maybe Rain will be able to help me in this situation. Hhm. . . I got a little chuckle out of that. Going to Rain for advice on how to write about the sun. Say what I will, being buffoon does occasionally have it's merits.
According to what Rain has been teaching me this past week, I've been going about this poetry thing all wrong. She says poetry is about immersing yourself in the subject at hand, finding your feelings for it, your deepest, truest emotions. Then, as she told me, comes the hard part: putting those feelings to words. According to her, anypony can write a poem, even fillies and colts. But it takes a lifetime of dedication and a small measure of writing talent to truly become a poet. Unfortunately I don't have a lifetime. I have two days.
Addendum: While trying to grasp inspiration from Lord Sombra's book of poetry, Rain tore the book from my hooves and tucked it into her dress. She said I could have it back after the festival was over, but that right now, the last thing I needed was Lord Sombra. Apparently his rather dark subject matter and strange, almost fetishistic obsession with crystals aren't helpful in writing in verse about the sun.
After much toiling and troubling, I do believe I have perfected my poem. Or, at least made it passable to a mixed crowd of half inebriated nobles and peasants. I assume they'll be drunk, anyway. Everypony's had such a hard time holding their liquor these past few days, that it wouldn't surprise me if they all stayed home or at the inns, nursing their throbbing headaches. Though, I suppose drunken debauchery is preferable to race riots.
It's funny. I thought I'd be more nervous, but something or other seems to have smothered my fears. I have the utmost confidence in myself, and in the poem which I have created. In all honesty to myself, this sudden burst in self-confidence seems wholly unwarranted. I have no reason to hold faith in my writings; so why do I? Could Rain's presence have a role in all this?
The sun rises above us all
At last, the light in the dark
A time to celebrate love and life
And darkness and light
The sun continues to grow bright
Was there ever a time of darkness?
The moon sets as the night elapses
At last, the darkness will exist no more
A time to celebrate our differences
As night and day and dawn and dusk
The moon continues to fade away
And it will be dark no more.
To celebrate the sun and moon
And summer and winter and spring in fall
To celebrate the lovely day and night
A time to celebrate us all.
The sun will rise and the moon will fade
The Unicorns will raise the light for all to love.
And there it is. My poem. Never have I expressed such emotion through writing. I doubt I ever will again.
The festivities went exactly as planned. . . well, almost, though I believe any derivation from original intentions was positive. There were designated sections, meant to divide the Unicorns, Pegasi and Earth ponies, to segregate them and ensure fighting was kept to a minimum. But all of these designations were ignored. The lines were crossed and the races mixed and mingled. Any and all conflict was confined to simple, drunken brawling. If only our actual relationships as a species could be described as such.
The festival is over, all non-resident dwellers of Gilded Lily have gone home, and now I've been made head of the sanitation committee. That means I get to help clean a mess I took no part in the creation of. Joy.
The king was rather proud of my poem, and as a symbol of his appreciation for the smiles I bring to the faces of the members of the royal court gifted me with a rather charming outfit. And by charming , I mean gaudy, cumbersome, and altogether painful to look at. It consists of a hat reminiscent of something a forest witch would wear, only far more hideous, and a cloak, which is no better. It's a rather pleasant shade of dark blue, but is decorated quite garishly with stars and bells, so that every movement I make arrives about ten minutes ahead of me, as if I were a cow to be kept track of. The cloak lacks the bells, but is still just as painful to behold. I hate it, but it is a gift from the king, and so I cannot refuse it.
It's so ugly. . .
I would like nothing more than to burn this accursed outfit. But the king has decided to oversee the clean-up himself, and I have yet to find an opportunity to "accidently" have it destroyed. Rain has passed by on more than one occasion, stifling laughter as she does. Honestly, I think she's doing it on purpose. I doubt she has any actual business in this part of town. I mean, she runs an inn, shouldn't she be taking care of that?
Addendum: On one of the many, many breaks I took, I mentioned the issue I had remembering my father's words to Rain. She told me just to look at my previous entries in my journal. I'm such an idiot. . .
"Do not let them stifle you as they stifled me, my son. I love you. Do not forget that."
Do not let them stifle you. My father's parting words.
Perhaps I don't stem from a long line of imbeciles after all. Based on these words alone, I can make the assumption that my father was also fooled into taking up his position as court fool. Perhaps he also believed that he was destined for a life of greatness as the royal wizard. And perhaps he was also crushed in both mind and spirit, just as I am now. If I am to assume and believe these. . . assumptions, then I can once again restore my faith in my own intelligence, as it would appear that my father certainly has some faith in it.
Yes! I know exactly what I'm going to do! Regardless of my position as buffoon, I will make the time to study, make the time to theorize, make the time to test and forge new spells! I will carve out my own destiny, and prove to all who see me as little more than a jester that I am far more! But first. . . I have to find some way to get more sleep. . . I've had a combined total of twenty hours this past month and it's starting to take it's toll on me.
I've decided that the production of an artificial sleep-production spell is necessary before I move on to any other manner of study, magical or otherwise. Of course I have to figure out exactly what it is that occurs during sleep before I even begin devising a spell that replicates the effects of it. And as court jester, it would be unseemly to walk about the castle questioning everypony I come across as to the various symptoms and causes of a good night's rest. Oh what to do. . .
Addendum: I remember the king mentioning something about alchemists my first few nights here. He brought them up as a solution to the very insomnia that plagues me now. Perhaps I might be able to learn something from them. I should probably ask around and see where they live. The king would probably be a good place to start.
There are no alchemist. There never were any alchemist. At least, not within Gilded Lily. He was going to send for them from one of the other unicorn provinces, likely Nigra Beleco. I hear they have a bustling economy, centered around the production of cure-all potions and various other magical paraphernalia. He offered to send for them again, but my dire desire for knowledge won't allow me to wait that long.
On a side note, the king seemed rather terse today. I wonder what could be the matter. After all, the Summer Sun Festival went off without a hitch, and just two days ago, he seemed happier than I've seen anypony in a long while. Perhaps I'll ask him about it tomorrow. Or I could do some snooping. Snooping sounds fun.
It's funny how bad I am at being sneaky. It really is quite hilarious. So hilarious in fact, that when the king caught me eavesdropping on a conversation he was having with one of his general, one Orich Alcum the Third, he assumed that I had simply happened on them while practicing a new comedy routine. Of course, this was due in part to the fact that when he opened the door, I landed on my face and then accidentally did a backflip to compensate for my blunder. I swear, he nearly soiled himself laughing at the sight of me.
I didn't actually hear anything the king and his general said, given how thick the walls and doors in the castle are built. But the king told me, after he was done being doubled over with laughter, that he'd like to have a conversation with me. What he wants to talk about, I don't know, but I doubt it's anything that will play in my favor.
Note: I'm not so sure I like the looks of that Orich Alcum fellow. Something about him just seems off. . .
I was wrong about this not playing into my favor. But then again, I guess I was also right. . . hmmmm. Let's just call this a mixed bag in regards to my correctness.
The king had a very long, drawn out conversation with me about the current relations between the three pony races. To summarize: they aren't good. Apparently, Commander Stormchaser, General of the Pegasi armed forces, as well as their commander-in-chief, wasn't too happy about the mixed seating that occurred at the Summer Sun Celebration. He says that he won't have the cunning minds and steel-forged spirits of his pegasi corrupted by the soft, lazy natures of us unicorns or by the stupidity of the mud-dwellers Earth ponies. He threatens war unless King Aurum personally apologizes for what he called "the second greatest travesty to occur in the history of aviary equines." King Aurum, of course sees nothing to apologize for. And of course, this isn't the first time Stormchaser had made threats of war. He is, by nature and upbringing, an incredibly aggressive stallion and believes anything that goes against what he believes should be occurring is a personal affront on his character. Rumor has it that he once decapitated one of his own soldier's with his bare hooves, just for breathing too heavily. But for some reason, the king is taking this threat seriously. Why? I don't know.
The king says that the pegasi aren't above using dirty, underhanded tricks to win a war. They claim to be creatures of honor, but in fact are quite the opposite. In fact, as I was just informed, the attack on Gilded Lily which killed the king's sister had been made by unicorns, who when placed under the duress of a merciless beating, revealed they had been paid by members of Stormchaser's inner circle to try and kill King Aurum. Of course, we know how well that worked out.
(Running out of room on this page. Continuing on next.
(Continued from previous page)
The king says that with the threat of war looming overhead, there are very few ponies he can trust, not even his own personal guard. But he knows that he can trust me. When I asked how that was, he replied with the fact that my family had served his for countless generations. There was a loyalty deeply ingrained in our familial relationship that could not be replicated or betrayed. And because of this, he wants me to become his new personal guardsmen, in addition to my occupation as court buffoon. Amazing. The king of the unicorns, entrusting his life to a simple jester. I never thought I'd see the day. I never thought I'd think of seeing the day. This truly is a great responsibility.
Addendum: Apparently being the king's personal guardsmen means I can never leave his side, even while he sleeps. Further good news for me, as while I watch him sleep, I can both guard his life, and gather data for my sleep spell!
Tonight marks my first night as the king's guard. Honestly, it's significantly more boring than I assumed that would be. Of course, I'm not so sure I want there to be any excitement in this job. I don't know any combat magic, and honestly any excitement would likely lead into another war. Besides I'm not here to be entertained; I'm here to protect and serve. . . as well as observe and learn. Now, on to the observing!
Addendum: Perhaps I'll be observing from a relative distance. The king doesn't enjoy waking up to see me hovering over him, watching him. . . silently. . .unblinkingly. . . my eyes hurt.
Observing from a distance isn't really working out for me. It would be fine if this room were more properly lit, but as the king is sleeping, there is but a lone candle by his bedside. And now that I think about it, waking up to somepony hanging over you, their face lit by no more than candlelight, would be rather disturbing. Still. . . perhaps if I'm just a bit quieter, I can gather the information I require.
Addendum: Boy, is King Aurum a light sleeper. I managed to quell his qualms with my rather close observation of him by convincing him that the closer I am, the safer he'll be. I had a hard time of convincing him, but he said that so long as I promise to stop breathing so heavily, he'll tolerate it.
Night One of Research:
Nothing special to report so far. But if research yielded immediate results than the world would have far fewer problems, wouldn't it?
It's easy to forget when you're so engrossed in a task that your body has basic needs that you must fulfill. I caught glimpse of my self in a mirror and noticed that I've begun to border on emaciation. Why has nopony made mention of this to me? And why would the king even consider making one so frail as I his personal guard? Curious. . . I think I'll enlist one of the chefs to prepare me a nightly meal. With doughnuts. Many doughnuts.
Night Two of Research:
Something strange seems to be occurring with king's eyes as he sleeps. One would assume that when one sleeps, your whole body falls into a state of stillness, save for maybe the occasional toss and turn. On rare occasions, maybe even sleepwalking. Yet the king's eyes seem to only increase in activity as his slumber grows deeper. I will check tomorrow to see if the same thing occurs; this warrants further investigation.
The chefs aren't too pleased with the fact they are being forced to prepare Earth pony confections for me; in fact, out of spite, they have prepared me nothing but doughnuts to eat. Of course, I'm not complaining; it's likely one of the greatest things that's ever happened to me. But I don't like to have things done for me spitefully, even if they do work to my advantage. So as I left the kitchen, I made a comment about how the doughnuts were almost as good as the ones the Earth ponies made me. Chaos ensued.
Night Three of Research:
Once again, I find the king's eyes moving quite rapidly, in stark contrast to the rest of his quite immobile body. However, the rapid movements in his eyes seem to decrease conversely to the deepness of his slumber.
I wonder. . .
The chefs seem to have taken my comment disparaging their cooking skills quite seriously. Once again, they have provided me a meal consisting entirely of doughnuts, though it does not seem to be out of spite. They appear to be testing recipes, trying to find ways to make them better. And I admit, they have gotten better. Never underestimate a unicorn's desire to one-up those who stand beneath him.
Note: They still aren't as good as the ones the Earth ponies made.
Night Four of Research:
The eyes; why the eyes? What significance could they possibly play in relation to the sleep cycle? If what I've heard is true and the eyes truly are the window to the soul, could the eyes non-stop movement be the soul attempting to leave the body? Could this mean the king is approaching death? Perhaps. . . but then again perhaps not. Mayhaps I should try observing a pony of less advanced age, and see if their eyes display the same strange movement patterns the king's do. And if not. . . well, then I have to inform the king of some rather unfortunate news. Only further research will tell what the future holds.
I find all my thoughts turning to Rain. The only moments in which I was distracted from the thought of her beauty was during my observation of King Aurum. This sudden influx of pure emotion is strange to me. Maybe food will help distract me from that which I cannot have. As court fool, it would be a great punishment to sire a child, whose doom it would be to eventually replace me. And so I cannot have Rain.
Addendum: The chefs provided me with actual food tonight. They seem to be over their desire to show-up the Earth pony bakers. Fortunate for me, as I do believe all those doughnuts gave me a cavity.
Night Five of Research:
I'm trying to find a way to perform my research without leaving the king's side. My current post as royal guard disallows me the freedom to move about as I please. So some way or another I have to convince the king that his safety relies upon me being able to wander about the castle staring at various members of the staffing and nobility as they sleep. Should be simple enough. In all seriousness though, I have at least one plan of action that should play to my benefit while simultaneously allowing me to keep an eye on the king. This past week has been quite heavy in regards to the rapidly devolving relationship between the unicorns and pegasi. I'm beginning to worry not just for King Aurum's safety, but that of the whole remainder of the royal family, Platinum in particular. So I'm working on convincing the king to move her from her nursery to his room. That way I can keep an eye on the king, observe whether or not the movement of the eyes during sleep is a common affliction, and ensure that Platinum remains safe. I am genuinely concerned for her.
I distrust Orich Alcum. I distrust him in the extreme. I rarely see him about the castle (though this may be due in part to the fact that he is the royal blacksmith in addition to being a general in the king's army) and when I do see him, his movements are always shifty and his activities suspicious. And then there's his helmet. All members of the Unicorn Grand Royal Army leave holes in there helmet to allow for their horns to breathe. Yet his horn remains covered. Why this is, I don't know. But I'll be keeping a close eye on him
As if I'm not doing that enough already.
Night Twelve of Research:
I've figured it out. I've finally figured it out. The eyes themselves do not determine what stage of sleep you enter, they are simply a marker. A marker that shifts and moves to clarify the stage of sleep you have entered. To clarify what I mean by stages of sleep, for those that might read this, here is a brief list of the aforementioned stages, which I have been able to document through the usage of several simple mind-reading spells I learned recently, which I have made needlessly complex by mashing them together haphazardly, at great risk to myself.
Stage 1: A stage between sleep and wakefulness. Eyes moderately active.
Stage 2: Sleeper becomes gradually harder to awaken. Eyes slightly less active.
Stage 3: Sleeper far less responsive to environmental stimuli; what could be considered "deep sleep." Eyes just as active as in stage 2.
Stage 4 (stage of increased oculus motion): The sleeper is nigh on paralyzed and nearly impossible to awaken. The eyes move at a rate too quick to track by any current available means.
And there they are. And now that I am aware of how the sleeping process works, I can find a way to work it into a spell. But first, I think I should give this sleeping process a name. . . increased oculus motion. . . the IOM cycle? No, no, doesn't quite roll off the tongue the way it should. I'll figure it out.
I knew there was a reason I didn't trust Orich! He's no more than a filthy spy! A low-down, conniving, filthy spy. I saw him as he entered his smithing chambers today,removing his helmet, and just before the door shut, I caught a glimpse of his head. No horn to be seen. I must inform the king of this atrocity immediately! The integrity of our kingdom likely rest upon my exposing this. . . this. . . Mud-dweller spy!
The king is apparently completely aware of the fact that Orich Alcum is an Earth pony. I am floored by the fact that he would willingly allow a member of a race who has sworn upon our eventual destruction to reside within our walls. Does he not see the obvious danger in such a folly? Surely, the spy must have slipped some kind of mind-clouding poison into the king's food or drink, as he obviously isn't thinking clearly.
Addendum: The king says he appreciates my vigilance and that what I showed him is exactly what he looks for in a guard. He then told me that not everything in the world is so black and white as many would have me believe. He intends to tell me a secret later and says to leave Orich alone for the time being.
I don't get it.
Orich Alcum the Second's story is an interesting one indeed. Dating back two centuries, to the time of King Aurus, for whom this castle is named, a certain Earth pony blacksmith by the name of Orich Alcum fell in love with a unicorn maiden, whose name has been lost to history. Oddly enough she reciprocated. Since then, and after much fighting on the first Orich Alcum's part, the children of the Alcum family have had dual citizenship within the kingdoms of the Unicorns and Earth ponies. As the king also told me, they also wander between the two kingdoms producing weapons and armor of a quality superior to anything ever crafted prior. Why the king would allow the Alcum smiths to craft weaponry for the Earth ponies is beyond me, but he says it's because that they're just as much Earth pony as they are Unicorn, more so actually. As such they have the right to craft for whomever they please, so long as it isn't the pegasi.
Note: I also learned today that the first Alcum has a rare metal named for him: the appropriately titled Orichalcum.
Night Eleven of Attempted Application:
Success! Great Success! I have done it! Not only have I conquered my insomnia, but I am the first unicorn in nigh on a millennium to develop an entirely new spell that doesn't rely upon the mixture and application of some salve or similar substance therein. Actually, now that I think about it, those aren't exactly spells, more potions really. Whoever developed our system of spell classification obviously wasn't thinking clearly. But I digress.
Now that I've had the greatest night's sleep that I've had in months, I feel inclined to begin work on even more spells. But what to work on, what to make. . . and where will I find the time?
Orich actually isn't such a bad fellow when you get to know him. He seems to share many of my interests, in relations to magic, though he himself cannot cast any. And in relation to my still ongoing occupation as court fool. . . well to say the least, his sense of humor is lewd. I didn't even know you could make jokes about a mare's private parts like that. I mean really. And all those analogies about swords and hilts. . . eugghh.
So I've been thinking, quite a bit actually, on how should handle the whole 'not enough time to work on developing magic' problem. I think I may have come up with a solution. Considering that my sleep spell eliminated my insomnia and allowed to move through the Rapid Eye Movement cycle, as I have named, properly, then perhaps casting it upon myself again might shorten the amount of time in which it takes place. Some minor modifications would have to be made to the spell, but in theory, it should work. Of course, a lot of things should work in theory. But I have good feelings about this.
Orich is teaching me how his family has managed to manufacture such superior arms for so many years. I'm not quite sure I understand the whole process, but I remember him saying something about focusing your life energy into your hoof as you strike the metal, imbuing it with spirit and soul, strengthening it to the core and blah, blah, blah, I wasn't really paying attention. He's incredibly long-winded, that one.
Last nights testing validated my theory. As opposed to the normal eight hours I sleep, I found that I only slept four. Or roughly that amount at least. In any case, the amount of time I needed to sleep was halved, more or less. Pleasing results. Now to see if I can decrease it any further.
Rain now serves as a handmaiden here at the castle. Why she left her inn, I don't know. Why she was just able to waltz up to the castle, demand a position and be given one, I don't know. Why she has gotten so terribly large, I don't know. Why I care? Now that's something I really don't know. Anyhow, I suppose her working here can't be too bad. She makes for good company in more ways than one in exactly one way and no more.
Sleep. What is sleep? What defines it? I mean truly, how can you define sleep?
I'm a little frightened, as I performed the sleep spell numerous times, in an attempt to shorten the amount of sleep even further. The result is a little more than unexpected, though perhaps I should have had the foresight to. . . foresee this outcome. Every time I close my eyes, I find myself incapable of falling asleep. It's not the same as my insomnia. No, certainly it can't be. For when my eyes open, no time has passed, but I do not feel tired as I did before I closed them. I don't know whether to be scared or elated by this result, as it either means I've rendered myself incapable of sleeping, or have made it so I'll never need to sleep again. I'll be keeping track of my actions for the next few days, just to be sure.
I'm going to have to be perfectly honest with myself. I love Rain. I love her more than I've ever thought capable of loving another pony. But I have no way of knowing whether or not she reciprocates. That night we shared. . . it was a night I myself can't recall. But the moments leading up to that sensory blackout; those moments were magical to me. How is it possible though? How could I develop such strong feelings for a mare who is a stranger to me in such a short time? I would try to research the matter, but my heart, funny enough, just isn't in it. And there's also the fact that I have my hooves full with various other tasks, self-appointed or otherwise, the issue concerning my sleep being the least of them.
Addendum: It would appear that Rain has been made Platinum's personal caregiver. How? How does she just waltz in off the street and acquire a position so high as that? Though I suppose there is a plus to the situation, in my favor. Since Platinum now sleeps in the same room as the king, as per my request, Rain sleeps in the room directly across from us. Or, at least that's where she decided to sleep last night.
Side note: I should learn some combat magic.
I've caught up on your various escapades, and I must say, you've been quite busy. Let me address your misadventures in the order I read them.
Firstly, that chamber maiden you encountered is little more than a half-bit whore. I intend to have a few words with her when I get the chance. More than a few words. Actually, I feel words won't get my message across properly; perhaps I'll just relieve her of her trachea.
Secondly, the adoration you hold for Princess Platinum is truly endearing, and it puts my views of you in a whole new light. A good light, I assure you.
Thirdly, the fact that you have created, tested, and successfully executed a spell of your own design is extremely impressive. As to the matter of your inability to sleep, I believe, based on your previous notes regarding the sleep cycle, that you've simply compacted the REM cycle so far, that you can get a full night's rest in the literal blink of an eye. Of course, that's just a theory. I'm no genius.
Lastly. . . I had my own suspicions about the way you might feel for me. But just as you feared whether or not I would reciprocate, I feared you would reject my love, fearful of what others might think. But it is a relief to read that your feelings for me are as strong as I had hoped. And know that my feelings are just the same. When you have a spare moment. . . there are things I wish to discuss with you.
Sincerely
Love,
Rain
A note from the would-be wizard: Your complete and utter lack for my privacy and personal space is both galling and refreshing.
Rain and I weren't able to have that conversation as soon as she'd wanted. Our schedules haven't allowed for it. But we did manage to set aside some time to speak with each other. I wonder what she could possibly have to tell me that she couldn't have just written in my journal. I guess I'll find out later today.
Since I no longer require sleep (so far as I can tell anyway) I've decided all my time previously used for sleep will instead go towards the creation and testing of new spells. The only issue is: what spell do I begin on first? I have so many ideas, but I know if I start on one without prioritizing, I'll just move on to another before I'm finished. And there's nothing I hate more than half-finished work, especially my own.
Orich has decided I should forget about learning combat magic and instead focus on honing my physical strength. The whole point of being a unicorn is that I shouldn't have to perform degrading manual tasks. I mean, come no. Magic, Orich: do you know what it is?
Rain's notes:
I remember you mentioning something to me about writing to your mother. It doesn't seem that you've done that yet. I imagine that she's worried sick. Perhaps a teleportation spell, or something of that sort, is in order. You know, so that you can write to your mother more frequently.
On the topic of Orich's training: it's well intentioned. But you know what they say about the road to Tartarus. . . also I don't see why you're complaining about degrading manual tasks. Your profession is basically one giant degrading manual task.
Addendum: Actually, it's one big degrading magical task. And how did you write that so quickly? I just wrote this about two minutes ago.
And I saw your comment on how I could have just written it in your journal. . . so here it is. I'm writing. But I have no idea where to begin. So. . . let's start from the beginning. That seems most appropriate, after all.
Those few months ago, that night you stayed at my inn; I have no idea what came over me. Long had I been content to run my business, providing shelter to the weary and the wandering, without a stallion by my side to aid me. On more than one occasion, I had even joked to myself that I would never need a husband. And I suppose that in principle I don't, but I wanted one just the same. Somepony to spend the rest of my life with, with whom I could share my interests, my joys, my sorrows; and yet, as I walked the streets of this town, as I observed the various stallions that visited my establishment, I could find nopony that suited me. Granted, any observations I made were shallow at best, but I can assure you I'm a very good judge of character. You might even say that it's my special talent. Because it is. Judging the character of others I mean. Or at least, that's a portion of my talent. Returning to my judgment of stallions.
None of them suited me. Either they cared only for my appearance, or wanted a part in my business, or some other ridiculous thing. All of them, Unicorns, Earth pony (as you call them) merchants, Pegasus emissaries: all of them, meat-headed, greedy barbarians, thinking only with their coin purses and their little heads. I had all but given up on finding somepony to spend my life with. And then you came along. I could see in your eyes, just as you saw in mine, a desire to learn and take in all that you saw on a much deeper level. And you, in stark contrast to so many that had stayed at my inn, showed no interest in me, sexually at least. I was fascinated by you. More than that, I was enthralled. I am no believer in love at first sight, but what I felt for you was certainly close. However, as much as I wanted to act on my sudden emotions, I had no idea how to. I had never felt them before, and had no clue how to begin going about showing you how I felt. And you, a stranger, would likely rebuff me anyway. So when I saw that you were hungry and thirsty, well. . . I took advantage of the situation. It truly was one of the best nights of my life. An incredibly awkward night, as it was my first time doing. . . well, you know. But still, an amazing night. However, even the smallest of actions can have tremendous consequences. And these consequences are what I wished to inform you of. And knowing that you have feelings for me as I do for you, I can only hope that you will not reject me once I do.
I am pregnant, Starswirl. And the foal is yours. There is no doubting it. And my only wish is that when he or she is born, you stay on with us, as my husband and its father. I do not expect an answer right away. Nor do I expect you to accept.This was by no choice of yours. It was I that took advantage of you, after all. But please, let me know; do not leave me in the dark about your feelings.
A father. I am to be a father. I am absolutely floored by this knowledge. And while there is a certain joy in me, knowing that I have had some part in creating life, a life that shares my bloodline, there is far more fear in me. What if I am not fit to be a father. Yes, I'm more than an apt foal-sitter, but Platinum has a separate set of caretakers from me altogether. What if I drop the child? Or, and I shudder thinking of it, . . . what if the child doesn't make it to term? What if, by some tragedy, Rain miscarries? I don't think I could bare the sadness. Perhaps I should just run from this place, leave them behind. But no. . . I cannot abandon my duties to the king thusly. Nor would I be able to live with myself, knowing that Rain would be branded a whore and my child a bastard. Perhaps there is another way to alleviate myself of responsibility towards her. Perhaps if I were able to, say, travel back in time and-
A note to myself: NO. DO NOT. EVEN THINK. ABOUT TIME TRAVEL. Nothing but bad comes of tampering with the space-time continuum. But you'll find out more about that later. Emphasis on later. As in NOT NOW. And no matter what, do not even think about abandoning Rain. Trust me. Trust yourself. Trust your heart. Trust her. You won't come to regret it.
I. . . I don't. . . what even just happened?
In any case, I think I'll be tearing this page out. Rain doesn't have to know my every thought after all. And I'd rather forget whatever it is that just happened with my journal.
A note to myself: You won't.
I don't know why I'm bothering to write in this journal right now. After all, you're sitting right next to me as I write this. But it's what you want and so it's what I'll do. You'll get your answer and you'll see how I feel. Right here, right now.
I love you. I want you to stay. I want to raise this child with you, have a family, the opinions of others be damned. Stay and I promise I'll provide for you as best I can.
Rain's notes: You're sweet. Truly, you are. But as I said, all I wanted was an answer and to know how you feel. When the child is born I ask that you act as father, but no more. Until That time, please, feel free to do as you have been doing. I look forward to any magic you might develop in the near future. . . my love.
. . . . .Why do emotions have to be so confusing.
Life seems to have grown tired of throwing me curves in the road, at least for now. Everything's in a relative calm, though Commander Stormchaser of the Pegasi is still pitching fits over one thing or another. The king seems capable of handling the situation on his own though, so I won't deem it my place to intervene. Rain isn't exactly avoiding me, but she has her own set of duties to worry about, so we haven't had the opportunity to speak again. Though I feel that everything that we have to say to one another can be communicated in a stare: our intense flurries of emotion, translated through a gaze. Truly magical.
Speaking of magic, I've begun work on my teleportation spell. And based on information in the various books I've read, I'm not the first to try. Not surprisingly, every attempt prior to mine has ended in agonizing failure. By agonizing, I mean deadly. As in death. Because every wizard who has attempted a spell of this sort has wound up dead, one way or another. Not encouraging statistics, but hey, if I can accidently create a spell that makes it so that I don't have to sleep, I'm sure I can teleport. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?
Rain's notes: Death.
To begin to understand how a spell of teleportation would work, I must first understand what we as ponies are made of. And I don't just mean the meat and bones that we can see with our eyes. There are plenty of wizards who have tried to do little more than move flesh and bone and wound up a repulsive smear on the ground. Surely there must be something more, something we can't see with our own eyes. But if we can't see it with our eyes, how would I go about finding. A perplexing puzzle indeed. . .
For me, Rain's beauty was in her intelligence and blunt manner of doing things. And when she grew plumper, I paid no heed to it, as her physical appearance was of no concern to me. But now, now that I'm aware that her increase in weight is caused by the growth of a child. . . the growth of my child. . . her beauty is presented to me in a completely different light. She is to be the mother of my child, and that makes her more attractive to me than any amount of facial paints or glosses could. My child. Nearly a fortnight has passed, and still when I think these words, I am at a loss with myself. I still highly doubt whatever abilities I might possess as a father and--
Notes to myself: Don't. Don't doubt. When you doubt you make mistakes. And at this time especially, you cannot afford to make mistakes. Well, maybe one or two mistakes, but those will be completely necessary. You'll know what they are when they happen.
I don't even know how to respond to what just happened. But that's the second time now that its has, and it's really starting to bother me. Whoever is doing this, please stop.
Notes to myself: Make me.
Rain's notes: My love, are. . . are you okay? Should I call for a physician? It really isn't healthy to argue with yourself. Please, try to calm down.
It baffles me, what a complete oaf I once was. Honestly, I shudder to think how I would have fared in my younger years, if Rain had not been there to help guide me along. Likely, I would still be performing parlor tricks for the amusement of the various nobles of the Unicorn Kingdom.
. . .Unicorn Kingdom. How strange it is, to say those words now. How strange it is to think that only a year ago, the three kingdoms were at one another's throats, and now here we stand, under a united front, under one flag. We are one nation, one pony. No longer do we hate simply because we are different. It still confounds me that it happened so quickly. And I must say, that as a guardian and father, I could not be prouder of Platinum and my--
Oh my. It would appear I'm writing in the incorrect journal. Please disregard everything you just read.
I don't know who you are or why you're doing this, but rest assured that when I find you, I'll. . . I'll. . . do something drastic! Let that act as a warning. You will get no more.
Rain's notes: I'm calling you a physician.
The physician spent an unnecessary amount of time observing me, and touching me in places I would rather not be touched. By which I mean my eyes and inner ear. Get your mind out of the gutter. Anyway, he has determined there is nothing at fault with my sanity, though I should try to relax myself a bit, as placing any more stress upon myself might well have an adverse effect on my sanity. Stress. That physician has no idea what he's talking. I'm no more stressed than any other pony in employ of his majesty. It's a occupational hazard, after all. To be closely related with the king is to be put on the block as a potential target, whether as to act as a warning or to harm the king emotionally. But I digress.
Rain has apparently been pondering how I could discover what we are made of as furiously as I have. She hasn't thought of anything too profound, but she did provide me with a magnification glass. She says it might be of use, though for what, she isn't sure. Hmm. . . I just had an idea. But it will involve further study into the workings of the eye. Such a painstaking process, this research.
My research has been moving along at supersonic speeds thanks in no small part to Rain convincing the other chamber-maidens to take part in my various experiments. Well, I shouldn't really say experiments. I was basically just looking at there eyes. But I was looking very closely.And what I found was quite interesting. It seems that just as the lens of a magnifying glass can be convex or concave, so too can the lenses of the eye. Oh and eyes have lenses. Probably should have mentioned that first. Oh goodness, there's so much information being uncovered so quickly, I'm not really sure what to do with it all. Perhaps I'll try writing more about this when I can relay it more coherently.
The eyes. Why are our eyes so naturally weak? Why are we not allowed to see that which forms the basis for our very construction? Yes, Rain you're reading this correctly. By amplifying the strength of my vision, just as a spyglass would (though I have done it on a much grander scale) I have managed to peer at, what I believe to be, the very base of what forms all things. To put it simply: circles. The world and all things in it are made of circles. Circles circling around other circles in large, repetitive circular motions of varying intensity, all in unison coming together to form all things! I know it sounds crazy, but I have seen it with my own eyes. I will try to explain in greater detail at some other time, when I myself have gained knowledge in greater detail on the matter.
Addendum: How time flies. Rain is due to give birth sometime this month. I'm equal parts elated and terrified. I can't wait to be a father.
I forgot to remove the spell from my eyes before resuming my normal duties about the castle. I have yet to know a more terrifying sensation than seeing so much that you can see nothing at all. Perhaps if I had some sort of device that could perform the actions allowed by my ocular spell. . . maybe. I'll have Rain help me draw something up.
Addendum: Tensions are high between the kingdoms. The King is stressed beyond recognition. I don't think I approve of the actions he's been taking. An alchemist arrived at the castle today, from Negra Beliza. An old stallion and his son, Ebo and Bubo Plagius respectively. Something about them both just rubs me the wrong way. I'm just not sure what yet.
The alchemists have been granted a workspace in what was previously the eastern astronomy tower. Much to the chagrin of the astronomers, I might add. But the king has confided in me that the task he has set Ebo and his son is far more important than star tracking. Whatever he has planned for those two, I likely won't approve. Then again, it's not my place to question the king's intentions. Everything he does, he does with the kingdom's best interest at heart. But still...
Addendum: Rain, in addition to a collection of other maids, Orich, and some glass smith I'm unacquainted with, helped me draw up schematics for and build a properly functioning prototype of the device I wrote about yesterday. Of course, nopony but Rain and I knew what it was for, but everypony was eager to help regardless. I'm not sure how it happened, but somewhere along the way I managed to make... friends.
Ponies are getting sick. Very sick. It frightens me. What frightens me more is how the king seems to be reacting. Or rather how he's not reacting. When questioned, he only told me that all was as it should be. He then lectured on the necessity of sacrifice and some such other concepts, which I could not fully grasp. I am deeply concerned. The king has not been as himself and I am deeply concerned. And what of the alchemists? Are they doing nothing to stop this? In all fairness, they've only been here two days, and the sickness started only just yesterday, but I have heard nothing of their efforts.
. . . I'll never be able to focus on my research, with all this madness going on.
Rain. Please stay inside the castle. I don't want you to risk anything happening to you. . . or the child. Please.
She's so beautiful. . . she's so fragile and small. It baffles me, how small she is. How could something so absolutely tiny survive in this harsh world. . . . Me. That's how. I'll make this world safer. I'll protect her from anything that might even have a fraction of a chance of bringing her harm. Lord, she's so small. . . . What will we name her? All this time and never once have I thought of a name.
. . .The king. I have to talk to him. Whatever he's planning, I won't let him go through with it. I will make good on my promise. I will make this world safer. For Rain and for my daughter. For Doughnut. . . no, that's a stupid name.
My brilliant lover, despite what I know to be his unparalleled intelligence, has somehow managed to earn himself an extended stay in the dungeons. I know this because the king came to see me himself, informing me that despite the immense respect he holds for my dearest Starswirl and his family as a whole, he has quite the lesson to learn in regards to loyalty. I'm sure he'll learn it quickly enough.
The king was also kind enough to provide me with Starswirl's journal, which he claims he dropped while being escorted to the dungeon. Quite a few pages seem to have been torn out, all of which relate to Starswirl's concerns over the alchemists. Apparently the king is unaware that I like to keep myself up to date on my dearest's findings. Unfortunately, while I'm now certain that the king is attempting to hide something, I can't say for certain what. And while Starswirl may have the personal freedom to get locked up whenever he pleases, I as the mother to our newborn, have no such freedom.
. . .I hope he isn't detained too long. I can't name our daughter without him. Or, at least, I'd prefer him to have a say in it. Hopefully he hasn't decided on something pastry related.
The more I look at her, the more I see she's a spitting image of myself. Save for one detail. The stripe of pink down her mane. That she most definitely received from her father.
I went to visit Starswirl today. It's been about three days now, since he was imprisoned. Aside from a few outbursts when he fell asleep on the first day and lost all track of time, he says he's been fine. I tried to give him his journal but he said they'd just take it from him and likely destroy it completely. So I'll be holding onto it until he's released, which he says should be soon. I doubt it.
I brought our daughter to visit. She put a smile on Starswirl's face like I've never seen. It was such a warm smile. Filled with a mixture of beautiful emotions. I'm not quite sure it's something capable of being replecated, which saddens me. It was such a wonderful smile.
We began discussing names, when he blurted out the most idiotic thing I've ever heard. He wants to name her Cookie. Cookie. I mean really, you'd think such an intelligent stallion would put more thought into the name his daughter would bare for the rest of her life. But still, he seems to like the name quite a bit. Perhaps I'll be able to bite my tongue, but I'd prefer Starswirl to change his mind on the matter.
As we discussed further, Starswirl created an addendum to our daughter's potential name: Smart. Smart Cookie. He says he derived it from an idiom quite common among the Earth ponies. I still don't like it.
Date: ???
I wonder sometimes. What if I had held my tongue? What if I'd been there to prevent her from leaving? What if, what if, what if. Would she have been raised differently? Would she have become the mare she is now? Would I have been better able to fulfill my role if she were still here? I drive myself mad with these questions some nights. But then I look at her. I look and I feel a pride like no other and I know that she would be proud too. Proud of all she's accomplished and all that she's become. But by the crown of the king, may he rest peacefully, do I miss her with all my heart.
. . .Not even my research soothes me tonight. In fact it only made things worse. For I now know that throughout all timelines and dimensions, regardless of circumstance or situation, the one consistency was her. I grow weary. . . I think tonight. . . I will sleep. . . yes, that's what I need.
. . .I miss her so much.
A strange entry made its way into my beloved's journal sometime last night. I'm not sure who wrote it or how it got there in the first place, but whomever it was was obviously in some deep distress. Or delusional considering they spoke of the king being dead. Of course, they could have been talking about King Aurum's Father, King Aurus. Whatever the case, it matters not anymore. The entry vanished just as mysteriously as it made its way in.
I've decided that I actually rather like the name Smart Cookie. It's rather quaint, I must say. At least I think it's quaint. . . I've just been looking for a reason to use that word; I'm not really sure what it means. But I digress. . . I think. My point is I've come around to the name.
According to Orich, who's held guard duty over my love for two of his three weeks of imprisonment, Starswirl is to be released tomorrow. A relief I must say, as Cookie has gone long enough without any true father-daughter time. And how they would get along. Hardly a month old and I can already tell, she's going to be a great deal more like her father than she will be like me at least personality wise.
I've changed my mind. I refuse to name my daughter after a pastry. Such practices might be common among Earth ponies but an Earth pony I am not. Given, it is a good name. Just not what I wish to call our daughter.
Six weeks now. The only thing keeping my dearest from wasting away is the constant company of Orich. And even that may not last much longer. According to Orich, they've stopped providing him with all but water, and too close an eye is being kept on him to sneak him anything. I'm truly beginning to worry now. The king, little over a month ago, held Starswirl in such high esteem. What change could have befallen him to make him treat Starswirl in such a way. . .other than the obvious that is.
She's started walking. And I hate it. I hate that he couldn't be here to see it. I have half a mind to march up to the king's throne room myself and demand he be released. In fact, that's exactly what I'll do. Worst that happens, I'll just end up in the dungeon with my beloved.
The king is dead. I am hungry. The king is dead and I'm hungry and I have no idea which should take precedence. On the one hoof the king is dead and, from what Rain told me, it was quite the horrific scene. His skin had become sunken and sallow, his eyes little more pockets of festering pus. Truly horrific. But on the other hoof I'M HUNGRY.
Well, that's one problem solved. By which I mean I've eaten. And while I was eating I noticed what Rain has written in my journal. I must say my dear, I'm a little disappointed. But that's a discussion for another time.
The king is dead, and nopony knows how it happened. I have my theories, but I'd rather keep them to myself for now. And if the news we've been receiving from Pegasus messengers and various Earth pony merchants is to be believed, similar cases to the kings have been popping up all over the region, generally in townships close to riverbanks. Likely, there's a connection.
Addendum: General Stormchaser of the pegasi and Chancellor Joshua Puddinghead of the Earth ponies have both somehow managed to avoid whatever this epidemic is and have called a meeting of the races to decide what to do about it. Since our king is dead, and I stand as his most trusted guard, and considering he has no living relatives old enough to take the throne, I will stand as incumbent king at the meeting. Joy.
I've grown sick of this land. Maybe someday it can be the utopia of peace and love she wanted it to be, but I'll have nothing to do with it when it happens. At least not the real me. But I've already gone over that plan enough. I'm tired of writing about it. I'm tired of writing. . . .I'm tired. So very tired. But I refuse to allow my self rest, want as I might to let the warm, dark embrace of sleep take me. For I know every dream I have will be a nightmare, a retelling of all that's transpired. . . . Why am I rambling? I have preparations to complete.
Damn that spirit. Damn him, and damn his chaos. Damn those blasted acolytes of his, those children of Ragnarok as they were called.
Damn that alchemist, who as I heard, died working on yet another one of his families patented plagues. Serves him and his bloodline right.
Damn that damned "Lord of Nothing." Why couldn't he just listen? Why couldn't he have waited for the Elements of Harmony? Why did he start this war? Why did he destroy everything I held dear. . . ?
I'm taking the dracony child with me. It's funny really. Before this all happened, he wanted nothing to do with me. Now Celestia wants him dead, I hate Equestria, and we've only got each other for company on this long journey ahead of us.
Draco's notes: This isn't funny at all. And I still want nothing to do with you. So far as I'm concerned, this whole situation is half your fault. Just get us out of here already, you old fool.
One of those strange entries Rain mentioned appeared in my journal. And as with the one she saw, it disappeared promptly. Strange, but not at the top of my priorities at the moment.
I have to say just how very thankful I am to Orich. At about the end of my second week of imprisonment, he managed to smuggle in my...um...kind-of-a-telescope-but-not-really-weird-magnifying-glass-contraption. Combining the microscopic viewing capabilities (Microscope!) of the device with my vision enhancement spell, I've been spending the past four weeks trying to figure out just how it is the world is put together. So far I've managed to surmise that those little circles I discovered previously do in fact form the basis for life. But they also seem to form the building blocks of much more. The walls of my cell, the iron bars, the water I drank, the bread I ate, even Orich's armor; all of these were, at their basest forms, comprised of these (as-of-yet) unnamed circles, though moving along at vastly different speeds, frequencies and movement patterns. Hmmm... I have a theory. I think I'll go test it.
Addendum: Theory proven. By focusing levitation magic on individual groups of circle thingies, I was able to completely separate fragments of an object from one another and move them individually of one another. I've come up with quite a few more theories revolving around this finding, but most of them are going to take some time to test. But I think I've finally managed to succeed where so many others have failed. Theoretically at least.
The concept of instantaneous teleportation, I have come to realize, is completely impossible. in order for you to disappear in one place and appear at the exact same moment you disappeared in another location would require that there be an extra copy of you at the desired location. Because otherwise it's just not possible. And therein lies the mistake made by so many of the sorcerers preceding me; they tried to make it instantaneous and ended up as stains on the floor. Or wall. Or in the mouth of an unsuspecting and permanently scarred Earth pony foal. But what if rather than an instant process, we try to make it only nearly instant. The difference in speed of transport would be negligible at worst and work just as well without severing the extremities of the caster.
I believe I've managed to lay the whole process out on paper, but of course it's all still theoretical. And honestly, I don't know if I'll be able to put whatever object I'm teleporting back together, as the process involves being torn apart circle by circle, moved across a measured distance at speeds exceeding the fastest Pegasi couriers, and being reconstructed at the desired location. I'm also completely unaware of whether or not that whole ordeal is capable of being survived, but that's what testing is for, isn't it?
I never knew it was possible to love something as much as I love my daughter. She's so perfect. So absolutely perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I can't think of a single name befitting her perfection. She looks almost exactly like her mother. It feels like the only thing she got from me was that stripe of pink in her mane. That and her damnable sense of curiosity. Feels like not a moment goes by that she isn't getting into one thing or another. Just a few moments ago I was pulling her away from the various herbs and spices of the head chefs personal garden. From what Rain's been telling me, she's awfully fond of all those little plants especially the clover.
I particularly like that word. Clover. Short, soft, and simple. I think Rain and I have been over thinking this naming thing. She doesn't need some great, complicated name. Nor does she need to be named after a pastry. I think Clover would suit her just fine.
Rain's Notes: For a stallion of your intelligence, you can be impossibly stupid sometimes. But fine; I give up. Clover it is.
I've decided that in order to cement myself as a capable and educated leader amongst my people, and to let the other attendees of the meeting in one week know that I'm more than just some half-bit throne-filler, I will regale and impress them all with my feats of magical splendor. By which I mean I'm going to teleport in there and show them just how great I am. Testing will commence this afternoon. Rain's out collecting rocks for me to perform the tests as I write. Against my better wishes I might add. Ponies are still dying, and despite the best efforts of the guard, those damned alchemists have yet to be found. I swear, when I get my hooves on them... I'll question them thoroughly because I don't know whether or not to blame this on them yet .
Addendum: Well they found one of the alchemists. Dead. Still in the tower. And apparently killed by the disease he created. I believe it was Ebo, the older of the two. They found a journal by his undecaying corpse with explicit details regarding... well, I believe it would be best if I just make that into a separate entry. I'll just cut and paste the page into my journal.
I'm glad the king has finally accepted Lord del Toro's plan as the most sensible. Peace isn't possible among the tribes. There will always be some degree of strife so long as they all exist together. So why not just do away with the other tribes altogether? The plan is simple: poison all mud-dweller and air-barian water supplies and watch as they slowly dwindle away. Well, perhaps not too slowly. I'm as eager to commit genocide as the next unicorn but I do not pretend to relish the act of murder. My son on the other hand... oh, what to do with that stallion. Such great skill as an alchemist, such great potential; but always with his head in those damned books. He has yet to transmute a single substance, instead focusing on the production of artificial disease (of which he has created none.) Given our current employ, I suppose that's rather convenient, but st. . . . .
That blowhard of a king is no longer standing over my shoulder watching me write. Thank mana. It's truly annoying being unable to discuss you're true thoughts.
As per Lord del Toro's orders, Bubo and I are to pretend to manufacture a liquid based poison, while the Pox of Purpose is given time to spread. That fool of a monarch has no idea that he has masterminded his own demise. First he will fall; then, his city will be laid to ruin by the Pox, it's residents helpless to stop the disease. It will spread across the countryside and into cities like wildfire and in the end, only Lord del Toro and his loyal followers will stand immune, for the only cure lies in Negra Beliza. I just hope that stallion in the ridiculous cloak and hat doesn't catch on. He seemed to be the only one incapable of trusting us. And for good reason, I should say. But in all seriousness, I should probably warn "His Majesty" of his suspicious right hoof. It would not do to have our plans unravel so close to fruition.
The king's most loyal servant now sits in the castle dungeon. I convinced the king that he must be placed there for the greater good of Lord del Toro's plan. Even better still, the Pox of Purpose already seem to be taking effect. The king has quarantined himself, disallowing anyone an audience with him, and reports of "strange" deaths are pouring in from all over the city. Hmph. Strange indeed. Though, I am confused by one aspect of these reports. And I quote: "While it was witnesses claim that the deceased's death was agonizingly painful, there is little evidence to suggest that there was ever a sickness of any kind, not even excessive mucus or bloodshot eyes."
The Pox are most certainly supposed to leave the victims body viciously mangled. Somepony has been tampering with my work, and I know exactly who. Unfortunately, while I would love to call him out on it, Bubo's tampering does not seem to have affected the Pox's potency. So I suppose I'll just have to reprimand him twice as much for his next transgression. Dear Gaia, that colt is frustrating.
Starswirl's notes: Many pages from the journal seem to be missing, torn out by the looks of it. From scraps of paper I'm finding here and there it seems like those pages might have contained a possible cure for whatever this Pox of Purpose is.
And so it would seem the student, has in the grand tradition of our trade, become the master. I can't help but feel a strange mixture of pride and betrayal. It hurts to breath... ashen drake root. You sneaky bastard. How you managed to smuggle ashen drake root out of Negra Beliza, let alone grind it into my tea. I suppose I made my first mistake in developing a predictable schedule. My second was in believing that I could trust my own son. I of all ponies should know just how untrustworthy my bloodline is. My only consolations in death, as the drake root petrifies my innards, are that the fool of a king is dead, and that you'll be a greater alchemist than I ever was. And with my dying words, I pray only that you too will someday know this strange mixture of emotions I have known. Good luck Bubo. May you find favor with Lo
Starswirl's notes: He never finished that sentence. And honestly, I don't feel he deserved too. There are strange happenings in Negra Beliza. Conspiracies and murder plots and talks of genocide. When I attend the meeting of the tribes, I will have to bring all this to the attention of the Chancellor and Commander.
I'm having a few of the royal physicians keep an eye on Rain. Based on information from the notes I read, there's no way of telling when a pony has the Pox of Purpose until it's reached it's fatal, incurable stages. Unfortunately, because of this, there's also no telling when the disease infected it's host, nor is there any way to track it's gestation period. Truly troubling. For all I know, I could have the Pox. But until a time such as I know for sure, I'll just have to carry on as normal... I hope she's okay. I hope Clover is okay. They've only just so recently become parts of my life, but I can scarcely imagine it without them now. I just don't know what I'd do if....
Addendum: I received a notice from the Chancellor. Apparently he and the Commander are already waiting for me at the appointed location, and are only so early because they don't trust the... well, the anything. They don't want to risk infection and traveled in secret far ahead of time. They claim to have enough food to last for at least a fortnight and have told me to depart sometime within that timeframe. I'm only to inform those around me of my departure only as I am about to leave. At least that's what the letter said. There's more than a strong possibility that it's a total fabrication, the handiwork of Duke Sombra. But still, there's really only one way to find out for sure: perfect my teleportation spell, pop in and run away at the first sign of danger. Not the most courageous plan, but in all honesty, I'd rather be a living coward than a dead idiot.
If I'm to ensure my safety, I have to perfect this whole teleportation deal. I know it's possible. But I just need to make sure it's not lethal. I like my head just where it is, thank you very much. Look at me, talking as though accidental decapitation would be the fault of anypony but myself.
Rocks. Rocks are simple. Rocks are lifeless. Rocks are also incredibly deadly. I killed a stallion today. An Earth pony, sitting just outside the castle. I don't know why he was here. I didn't even know his name. But he's dead now. Life's funny sometimes isn't it? One minute, you're trying to to break apart an object at it's most basic level to see if it's possible to reassemble that object at a separate location in its original form, the next you're accidentally killing a pony by replacing his brain with that self-same rock. On the bright side, his brain looked relatively unharmed... that is until it hit the floor. I should probably clean that up.
Well, I cleaned up the brain bits, and Orich promised to keep mum about the whole dead Earth pony incident. Turns out he was a drifter anyhow, so I won't have to feel too guilty. Now, if he had a family, I'd be wracked with guilt, but that's all beside the point. The point is, the spell works. Teleportation is very possible. I just have no idea how to determine where the spell will teleport me to. And that's a major issue.
Rain's Preemptive Notes: You're thinking about it too hard. Just focus on your work.
It pains me to have to do it, but I can't let Clover spend any more time around her mother until I'm absolutely sure she doesn't have the Pox. Rain understands completely, but I could feel the sadness in her eyes as I took Clover with me to my quarters. Or maybe that was my sadness, and I was just projecting because I'm a big baby and can't handle emotions well. Likely the latter, as Rain is one of the most rational ponies I know and would understand better than anypony why I would have to keep her away from Clover. Still, as a mother, I'm sure she felt something. ...I just noticed her note at the top of the page. She knows me all too well. I dearly hope that I get to spend the rest of my life with this mare. For if she knows me this well now, I can only imagine how our later years together will be.
I'd always heard tales of the incredible stores of magical energy in the bodies of unicorn foals. But witnessing that sort of magic first hand is, well... magical. Clover saw me performing my transportation spell and started copying all the faces I made while concentrating. I didn't realize how ridiculous I looked. And admittedly, seeing my daughter try to emulate me, even if just through some silly faces. Only it wasn't just silly faces. I've been spending the better part of an afternoon chasing after a teleporting unicorn filly, which is equal parts frustrating and delightful. Frustrating because she managed to perform in minutes what took me weeks of contemplation and days of preparation, and also because she keeps ending up in the most inconvenient places. Delightful, because who else can say they have a teleporting baby? I see bright things in Clover's future. But right now, I have a great many issues to deal with. So I'm suppressing her magic until I can devote my attention to her.
Addendum: She broke the suppression spell. Outrageous. Truly, truly, truly outrageous.
Clover finally fell asleep, so I might be able to make some progress on this spell. Sleep. I've forgotten what it's like to sleep. And to be honest, I don't know whether that's a god or bad thing. Yes, on the one hoof I have more time than I've ever had to do whatever I damn well please. But on the other... I look at Clover and I see her, so at peace in the land of dreams. That's a peace I'll never be able to know again. But I digress.
I'm getting the hang of teleporting things where I want them to go. At least, partially. By which I mean, only parts of the objects are going where I want them to. Of course, this could have something to do with the fact that I've been trying to move nothing but rocks. And rocks and ponies are two very different things. For one, ponies are alive. Rocks are not. If I'm to find any success, perhaps I should try experimenting on more... lively specimens. Like a snail. Or a rutabaga. Or anything that isn't a rock.
I've come to a realization. Where an object ends up when you teleport it is determined not only by where you want them to go, but by where they want to go, with there thoughts and desires superceding those of the caster. I figured this out while trying to teleport a rutabaga from one side of my room to another. But imagine my surprise when it disappeared from my room completely. Blaming its disappearance on myself, I simply left to get another one. But little did I know that I was getting the same one. I had my suspicions, so I cut a hole through the center of the disgusting root vegetable and performed the spell once more. When I went to retrieve it, there it was buried in the exact same spot in the castle vegetable garden that I had originally plucked it from. The vegetable, despite not being sentient, still had a subconscious desire to rest in the ground. An interesting discovery to say the least. And to say the most, well... it looks like it's time for me to start the self-experimentation. Because if my thoughts are my own, than nopony else can supercede them and keep me from accomplishing the spell. I hope.
What jolly good fun it is, to zip in and out of existence on a whim, from one place to another in less than an instant. Clover seems to be enjoying it too. I'm glad that I can bring her happiness in some way.
So the application has been mastered. Now I need to work on distance. I have no idea whether or not this spell is capable of taking me any farther than my line of sight, and if it turns out that it can't, then I've been wasting my time with a mildly entertaining parlor trick. I assume that if I can visualize my desired location in my mind, than I should be able to take myself there. The main issue with this theory is that I have to know just where it is I'm going. Meaning I'd have to have seen the place before. And I have no idea what the meeting grounds looks like, let alone where it stands. Maybe if I can find a picture of some sort, or even just the coordinates, I'm sure I could make this work... oh to be so close yet so far.
Clover just lifted my spirits higher than the clouds. If somepony had told me when I was younger that the only thing I'd ever need to keep me happy was the smile of a filly, I'd have called them asinine, or something to that affect. Now, and I don't know how many times I've said this, but I can't imagine life without them.
My little sweetie and I have made quite the discovery, though entirely by accident. I was taking a break from the experimenting to spend a few quality moments with Clover (of which there have been many these past few days) when all of a sudden I began to feel her tensing up on my back. Now, as she is a filly, I assumed she was doing one of the few things which fillies are capable of, namely pooping, peeing, and letting me know she's hungry. But on the contrary, she was once again performing the teleportation spell, which isn't exactly strange for her at this point. What was strange was that, when she went, I went with her. It's as though there's some kind of bubble, an area of effect if you will, that surrounds the user as the spell is cast. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but as I've taken to saying, that's what research is for.
Addendum: So much has been happening this past week alone. Rain must feel so left out. I think I'll have one of the guards run my journal to her, just to catch her up on the various adventures Clover and I have been having.
So apparently Rain doesn't want me to talk to her until I've accomplished all that I must as incumbent king. Understandable, but I would at least think that she'd want to see my journal. Not a day went by before I quarantined her that she didn't take the opportunity to read it. Odd, yes, but I suppose hardly anything to worry about.
Addendum: Rain wrote a letter to me, in the event I should come to see her.
To my dearest Starswirl,
As I write this, and for every moment prior to, I have been unable to think about anything but you and our beautiful daughter. I'm sure to some extent, the same has been happening to you. Try not to let it. My current situation allows me to whittle the days away, thinking of all the ways we could spend our days together. But you don't have that luxury. Care about me, yes. Worry about me if you must. But do not allow your life to revolve around me. There are far more important things in this world to worry about, especially given your current position. I understand that I might be asking a bit much of you, as you're emotions are my own, and I know that I would go insane if I were told not to think about you. Which is why in addition to the one you're reading now, I've written a multitude of letters for you to read, should you ever come to miss my company. Simply request them from my guards, and they'll provide you with them. I hope to see you soon, my love.
Forever yours,
Rain
Honestly, sometimes I feel like that mare knows what I'm going to do before I do.
Dearest Starswirl,
I'm not sure what I should be writing down in these letters, and quite frankly I wonder even as I write whether or not I should bother with them. But only time will tell how long I stay in this room, sequestered from the disease you so desperately wish to keep me from. And there are things I'd like to tell you that otherwise we might not have the time for. Things about myself; who I am, who I was, and who I intend to be. My life's story if you will. Now, I've ordered the guards to give you all the letters at once, but do me the favor of reading no more than one a day. As much as I want you to know what I'm writing, I don't want to distract you from your work. Anyway... here I go.
I was born on November twenty-fifth, in the year twenty-one seventy-three, to a pair of rather wealthy aristocrats of high social and political standing in the city of Negra Beliza. I'll tell you their names later. But anyhow, my birth was one greatly celebrated, by both my parents and quite a few other well-to-do denizens of the city. After all, what reason would there be to not celebrate the entrance of another member of the master race into the world? That was their line of thought. Negra Beliza is a city of elitists, racists and bigots, but it's where I was raised. And for the vast majority of my fillyhood, that racism and bigotry was all I knew. The Pegasi were little more than barbaric neanderthals and the Mud-Dwellers little more than a reliable source of food, according to all that I was taught. They were to be treated with only as much respect as you would provide a rock in the middle of the road. Best case scenario, you simply ignore it and move on with your day, as though it weren't there. Worst case scenario... well, I'm sure you've heard the tales of all the merchants that go missing up near Negra Beliza. It was one such merchant that showed me just how skewed and twisted the view of the world I was being given was.
The December of my fifth year, I began to get curious about all that lay beyond the walls of my fair city, though I call it fair in the most shallow of terms. Of course, I'd picked the worst time of year to develop this curiosity, as winters in Negra Beliza are especially harsh. I remember wandering around, just beyond the line that divides the city from the pure, unforgiving wilderness of the north, when all of a sudden a snowstorm hit. I couldn't see beyond my own nose, but I knew that if I just turned around out would make it home safely. Unfortunately a strong gust of wind knocked me over and I lost my bearings. And though I was scarcely old enough to write my own name, I still understood that such a storm would take my life if I remained in it for two long. So I began shouting and feeling, calling for my parents and searching for the wall. Neither ever appeared. But what did appear was a covered wagon. A wagon driven by an earth pony. I was both disgusted by his appearance and fearful. I had been told rather horrifying and incredibly lewd stories of the atrocities that such ponies with wagons such as he had committed to fillies just like me. I know now that most of those aren't true, but at the time... well, to be frank, I relieved myself out of fear. And then I blacked out.
It would appear I've run out of room on this page. Hopefully you can wait another day to read about the rest of this ordeal. I love you, Starswirl. Now re-focus yourself. Get back to work.
I'm still reeling back a little from what I read in the letter Rain wrote. It would appear that there's still much about her I have yet to learn. Though I suppose the air of mystery now surrounding her sort of adds to the spice of our marriage. I can't wait to read the next letter.
Further research has yielded an expected result. It would appear that prior to the moment of teleportation, a bubble forms around the caster. This bubble seems to override the Rule of Sentience, as I have dubbed the principle by which the desire of the object being teleported determines where the object itself ends up. By override, I mean that all objects physically in contact with the caster, regardless of whether or not they are sentient, are transported, along with the caster, to wherever it is the caster wishes to go. The desires of those along for the ride play no part.
On a less successful note, all attempts to extend the distance of my spell have ended poorly. I still have trouble teleporting myself beyond that which I can see. Incredibly frustrating considering that I wasn't able to see the castle garden and still somehow managed to put that rutabaga back in its place. Of course, looking back at my notes, that was likely due to the rutabaga's unconscious desire to be firmly planted in the ground.
Oh my goodness, I'm an idiot. Desire. I've been writing about it this whole time and still couldn't figure it out. No amount of concentration will extend the range of my spell. In fact, it is my concentration that inhibits me. By envisioning that which lies beyond my vision, I limit myself. I cannot desire what I do not know, and I do not know what lies beyond what I see! It's all about desire! Just a moment ago, I desired, for the first time since conducting all these time-consuming experiments, a doughnut. This thought distracted me as I performed my spell, and where else should I end up but the kitchen? It's all so simple!
I awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, sitting in the middle of the wagon, nestled in a cocoon of blankets, terrified at the prospect of what the Earth pony might do to me. And also slightly confused at why he had not yet done it, whatever it was that he was going to do. Perhaps he was waiting for me to get up, I thought to myself, so that he could make sure I was awake, to ensure I was aware of every single moment of suffering he was sure to put me through. So I played dead, keeping as still as is possible for a five-year old. But despite all the blankets, and likely due in part to the fact that my clothes were still soaked with urine, I was still incredibly cold and couldn't help but shiver. Never has there been a more horrific moment in my life than when I felt that stallion's hoof touch my forehead. I couldn't help but let out a scream. I leaped out of my blankets and started flailing at him... and he just stood there patiently. Given, as five-year old unicorn filly, there wasn't really much I could do to him, but still.
Eventually, I did tire out. And when I did, the stallion asked me a single question: "Are you okay?" And while I wanted with all my heart to say that I was not okay, one thing I can say for my parents is that they raised me to be honest. And as no bodily harm had come to me, I was obliged to reply with an affirmative. He seemed pleased by that. His pleasure disturbed me. He asked me who I was and what in the world I was doing outside in such a frightful storm. And I told him both those things. (I suppose now would be a good time to mention my name isn't technically Rain. It's more a nickname. But I'll touch on that once I get to the part about my parents.) He was alarmed by the fact that I'd never seen anything beyond the walls of my city, and began to regale me with tales of all the things he'd seen wandering the land, selling his wares to whomever might be in need of them. This last part confused me, as surely and Earth pony merchant would only be willing to sell to others of his kind. But he said he didn't believe in the way the tribes treated each other. He said it was bound to come to an end one day and he might as well speed it up by treating everypony as he would treat a member of his family. He told me that he dreamed of a place where one day we might all be able to live alongside one another in peace and harmony, as a unified race, with no regard to whether one pony had wings, or could use magic or what have you. I don't know how long I sat there, listening to this dream of his, but for every moment I did, I couldn't help but imagine this world along with him. It was a world I very much wanted to see.
When he finished his story, all of my prior fear dissipated, I asked him what he was doing at Negra Beliza this time of year. Apparently he'd come searching for his brother, who had come here roughly two months ago searching for something called ashen drakeroot and never come home. His brother's name was Sham Flim-Flam, and he was Scam Flim-Flam and he assured me that despite their names, they were well respected, highly reputable business ponies. I remember laughing at that comment. I told him that I hadn't seen his brother, but that I knew somepony who definitely might have. And so, after the storm let up, I took him to see my father. He was publicly executed the next day. I'd never felt so terrible.
I still have so much to learn about Rain. I'm beginning to wonder if I really know her at all. But I do know that I love her. I guess that's all I really need. Still, she seems to have a lot that she's been hiding from me.
Execution? Mastered. Application? Adequate. The only thing left to do is figure out just where it is the meeting hall is and prepare for my stay there. I should also say my goodbyes before heading out. It wouldn't do just to vanish into thin air without a word to anypony.
I tried to go see Rain today, if only to say farewell. But she still refuses to see me. The guards gave me another letter from her. They say it's the last she intends to write. And she apparently made it very clear that she doesn't want me reading this letter until I've finished with all her other letters first. No big issue, I suppose. I'm beginning to miss the sound of her voice though. I can't wait to have this whole business done with.
Orich has provided me with all the information I need to get to where I need to go. I'll be heading out first thing tomorrow morning with food and my precious Clover in tow. I don't trust anypony else to take care of her while I'm away, and while Orich's intentions are good... he's not the most patient stallion. Besides, I wouldn't want him distracted from his smithing.
I learned soon after the merchants execution that his brother had been imprisoned and was to be released within the week, so long as he promised never to return. You may be wondering just what it was that he did that warranted a public execution, when his brother was spared the humiliation (though not the suffering.) The answer is simple though not at all satisfying. He had the gall, as a filthy mud-dweller, to interact with me, a child of the master race. My father wasn't too happy with that. And you may be wondering just who my father was, that he could bring about the execution of another pony with his desire alone. As I mentioned, my parents were incredibly influential, wealthy aristocrats. But truthfully, they were a bit more than that. I haven't been exactly forthcoming about my family, because I'm ashamed of my bloodline. You know me as Rain, a simple unicorn mare with a quick wit. But I was born Reina Isabella del Toro, first-born daughter and eldest child to Lord Sombra del Toro the first. I am first in line to the duchy of Negra Beliza , or was at least, and am ashamed to bare the name del Toro.
As I grew older, the world Scam had fantasized became my fantasy. I began to see the cruelty and folly in every action my father took. Here we were, a pinnacle of medical advancement, and we were devoting our strengths to finding ways to eliminate the opposing tribes. I couldn't understand it, at least not anymore. But there wasn't much I could do. I was but a unicorn foal, who had yet to discover her talent. What could I possibly do to change the world? As it turns out, I could do quite a bit.
In my tenth year, I, as all the other mares in Negra Beliza, was given the Trials of Divination. The history of the Trials is a rich and storied one, likely the only redeeming quality my former home has to offer. Unfortunately, I don't have time to go over it, so to make a long story short, I passed them discovered my talent, and became the Oracle of Mind. Just what that means is a topic for the next letter.
Oh how the hall stands, in such radiant magnificence. A lone pillar of strength in an otherwise empty landscape. A testament to the greatness the tribes can accomplish when working together. The hall was designed by Earth ponies, built by pegasi and has been maintained since it's conception through the coffers of the unicorn heirarchy, who have also provided materials in the event of any necessary repairs. I can't help but look at it and dream of the world my beloved so desperately desires.
Apparently the commander and chancellor could not find suitable caretakers for their children either, and as a result, what was supposed to be a serious meeting as to the fate of our nations has turned into a playdate. An incredibly adorable playdate. The chancellor didn't seem to mind to awfully but the commander got upset about something or other and stormed off in a huff. I'm sure he'll be back, as there's basically nowhere to go, but still his tantrum has set us back.
The chancellor is a rather agreeable stallion. Not nearly so dim-witted as stories I'd heard would have me believe. In fact, he's quite clever. And, in his words, he appreciates the whimsy of my outfit. I'd have been offended, but given the circumstances under which it was given to me... I couldn't help but chuckle. He's also deeply appreciative of my referring to his kin as Earth ponies rather than mud-dwellers. And I in turn expressed my deepest appreciation for the doughnut, what I feel to be the crowning achievement of Earth pony cuisine. He seemed amused by that comment.
Addendum: I popped by the castle to get Platinum. It just doesn't feel right leaving her by her lonesome when there are so many new little ponies for her to play with. And I mean many. The commander hasn't returned as of yet, but Lieutenant Cloudhopper, his right hoof has arrived, as did the Chancellor's right hoof, the incorrigible Butter Biscuit. And they both brought their children. That makes six fillies, all roughly the same age. And they all seem to be having a grand time. A shame they can't stay that way.
Addenum #2: It's been several hours now and the commander has yet to return. His Lieutanant said not to worry too much. He often gets heated like this and has been known to go for flights exceeding a full day. So chances are we're going to be here for quite some time. I think I'll read another one of Rain's letters to pass the time.
The Oracle of Mind. What did it mean to be the Oracle of Mind? That was my only question to my father the day I discovered my talent. His only answer was that it meant I and my bloodline were destined for greater things than he could have hoped. To everypony else, as I would learn soon enough, it meant I was the most feared mare in all Negra Beliza. After passing my trial and being awarded my title, I was put under rigorous training by the mare who had previously held the position. Through her, I learned what Oracles were and what their place in our society was. There were many different types of Oracles, such as the Celestial Oracle, capable of predicting certain events using the positioning of the stars in the sky, and whose disciples were named astronomers, after the first Oracle of this type, Astrora. Then there was the Oracle of Seasons, capable of predicting weather patterns and climate changes even the pegasi could not forsee. There were many others besides the fact such as the Oracles of Ages, Power, Courage, Wisdom and the like, but I don't have the time to list what they did, and honestly I never took the time to learn what they all did anyway. What's important here is what I did.
With my magic, I could hear things, Starswirl. Things a pony isn't supposed to hear. Sacred things, that none but their owner should have access to. Thoughts, Starswirl. I could hear thoughts. The ability was altogether frightening at first, and sometimes still is. For there are very few things more scary than the truth, my dearest. And when you can peer into thoughts of others, you here seldom anything else. As an Oracle, I had the ability to take these thoughts, however disjointed they may have been, and pool the emotions and beliefs pooled within them to foresee events as they would occur, should these emotions continue to fester. And as I traveled through my city, listening to the thoughts of those around me, I saw nothing but a future of bitterness and hatred, filled with fire and flame and battlefields turned into mass graveyards. These images disturbed me, but something else caught my attention as I beheld them. A faint emotion lingering on the edge of everyponies minds. That emotion was fear. They feared me. And I knew exactly why (I could see their thoughts after all.) I was daughter to a ruthless lord, who without a word could have every one of them executed, though perhaps not en masse. They were afraid of the things I might tell my father, and deep in their hearts, I could feel just how much they loathed me. But I did not mind. For it meant that my father's rule was one based in fear, not respect. And I'm sure you know how the old saying goes: "He who builds up a throne of blades cannot sit upon it."
Many years passed and I was made to use my powers to sniff out any who might oppose my father. I always pretended not to find anything, as it would have meant condemning the whole city. And my father was satisfied. Many assumed I could not find anything because my powers as an Oracle were in fact fraudulent. But there were a select few who knew what I was doing. And they appreciated me for it. One of these few was my teacher, the Oracle before me. As she was also an Oracle of Mind, she could also see the dream I held deep in my heart. The world I yearned to see. She knew Negra Beliza was no city for me. And so she and I devised a plan of escape.
Earth pony customs are queer indeed. Apparently, Earth pony foals can go for years without being given a name, as they feel that all names should mean something. To give a name that means nothing is equivalent to slapping a child in the face to them. And to make matters even more complicated, the parents themselves aren't allowed to name the foal, nor are anypony related to them allowed to take part in the process. The Earth ponies allow complete strangers to name their children! Outrageous!
Butter Biscuit assures me that the tradition of strangers naming their foals has never had any unsavory results. And when the process is done, more often than not the parents will have forged a relationship with somepony they otherwise would not have ever known. It creates a strong sense of community and unity among the Earth ponies and many of them would not choose to have it any other way. In fact, he says that he himself has been searching for someone to name his daughter for a little over a year now. What a fascinating bunch these Earth ponies are.
Addendum: Still no sign of the Commander. And I promised Rain I wouldn't read more than one of her letters in a day, and, honestly, with all the information she packs into one letter I don't think I'd be able to handle it. So I've taken to watching the girls play about. They all seem to be having a grand time, and Clover seems to be getting along especially well with Butter Biscuit's daughter. In fact, out of the whole bunch of them, that plucky little Earth filly seems to be the only one capable of keeping up with my little one. When I mentioned what a smart cookie she must be to Butter Biscuit, he got a funny look on his face.
Addendum #2: Biscuit's daughter's name is now Smart Cookie. I 'm more than a little honored.
The Commander is out and his Lieutenant is starting to worry. He claims that the Commander's tantrums never last longer than twenty-four hours. We are verging on the twenty-seventh hour of his absence. His daughter doesn't seem to miss him much, but there are matters of great import that require discussing. And while the Chancellor and I would love to begin the meeting without him, it would cause no end of problems if he were to return and find us delegating without him. I wonder if all pegasi are this disagreeable.
I'm beginning to notice little quirks in the personalities of each foal. The Chancellor's daughter, Diane, might as well be a ball of pure energy, with how much bouncing around she does. Biscuit's daughter on the other hand seems calm and collected; but boy does she love to play in the dirt. It makes me wonder how she and Platinum are getting along so well, considering Platinum's extreme aversion for filth. But the real confusion lies in the daughters of the Commander and Lieutenant. Never a more opposite pair of fillies have I ever seen. Cloudhopper's daughter is as timid as a bunny rabbit and, while she gets along just fine with the rest of the girls, seems to avoid them ever so slightly; Stormchaser's daughter, in stark contrast, outgoing to a fault and has tried no fewer than seven times to make a flying leap from banister to banister on the second floor. And at the center of it all is my Clover, silently observing and noisily participating as the situation sees fit. I can only imagine how these six would get along as fully grown mares.
Addendum: The Chancellor asked how often I shave, and when I said never he replied that he wasn't surprised. Apparently I've been growing quite the goatee in the last few months, and as I ran my hoof across my face, I could feel other pieces of the figurative facial hair puzzle falling into place. Perhaps I should let it grow out. The Chancellor agrees that a beard might be a good look for me.
As it turned out, a great many of the Oracles were willing to help me escape. Since the conception of our convent, leading up to the very moment I had joined, the vast majority of them had manged to foresee one way or another, that Negra Beliza and it's ruling house was doomed to fall. None knew how, why or when, but all figured my escape would put into motion whatever those events might be. And so we began to plot.
My father is a great many things, but a fool is not one of them. I knew and my fellow Oracles knew that if I was to have any chance of escape, it would have to be through some order of my father's. Fortunately, through my telepathic skills, I learned a great many things about my father that he likely thought me ignorant to. For instance, the fact that I was little more than a tool to him, something with which he might achieve greater strength. With this knowledge, I was able to devise a plan incredibly simple, yet also incredibly difficult, as failure would result in the swift execution of the entire order of Oracles, save for those who had chosen not to aid me. On the eve of my sixteenth birthday, I had my teacher attack me, as though after my life. It was an incredibly convincing display, and I still have a few scars, testaments to her dedication to free me. As you might imagine my father was quite frightened, and had her imprisoned pending execution. When he asked me what might have compelled her to assault me so, I told him I had sensed an unknown presence in her mind, controlling her actions from afar. I hadn't been able to attach an identity to the thoughts, but I could sense an intent. A unrelenting desire to have me murdered, a goal at which the unknown assailant would stop at nothing to have achieved. I remember the look of utter terror on my father's face fondly.
He had me shipped of the next day, and told me not to return until he had made absolutely sure it was safe. He said he would have eyes everywhere, keeping an lookout for me, so to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. I promised him and made haste to the only place my father was sure not to venture: Gilded Lily, though it wasn't called that at the time. Unfortunately, but also fortunately, my father never contacted me. What makes that so unfortunate, you might ask? The answer to that is simple. My brother contacted me.
I don't believe I ever mentioned my brother. Well I have one. And he's just as nasty and power-hungry as my father. I'd say more so, considering he murdered both of our parents to acquire the throne. His first course of action after doing so, naturally, was to send a contingent of soldiers after me to ensure I wouldn't return to take what he had worked so hard to gain. I remember the king told you that the unicorns who had killed his sister claimed to have been hired by Commander Stormchaser. That's a lie. They were hired by my brother, Sombra del Toro the second. And they were sent to kill me.
The Commander finally managed to make his way back to to the hall. As it turns out, he wasn't intentionally trying to keep us waiting. He just got lost. Of course, given that we're in a remote location miles from any other notable landmarks, and that from the sky everything must just look like a vast expanse of white, I can't really say I blame him.
Now that we're finally able to sit down as a group and actually discuss matters, I must say that as a diplomat, Stormchaser is much more pleasant. He's willing to listen to reason, though every other inquiry he's made has had something to do with increasing the military might of the pegasi. It's more than a little bothersome, but not nearly so much as his usual boisterous, hyper-aggressive attitude. Anyway, his intentions are good, as he only wants to increase the might of his armies so that he might more thoroughly crush the duchy of Negra Beliza. But Joshua and I both agree that that's no way to go about it. What the right way is... well, to be perfectly honest, we have no idea what the right way to go about this is. The Chancellor's vote is for diplomacy, whereas I'm looking to perform some sort of assassination mission. And of course, there's still the Commander, opting to go in blades drawn and at the ready. Somehow though, none of it seems right. What to do...
Rain would probably know what to do. But I can't just go and ask Rain for advice on how I should go about killing her brother. Or can I? No, that's probably not a good idea.
We're on a fast track to absolutely nowhere in regards to how to deal with Lord del Toro and his army of alchemists. Our first issue: the army of alchemists. If just two of them can create a fatal disease that's basically undetectable until it's done it's job, I can only imagine what an entire city of them can do. The prospect is certainly unsettling. Then there's the issue of what to should actually do with Sombra, should we manage to capture him. Stormchaser wants execution, while Joshua wants exile. Personally, I don't think either of those are good ideas. I prefer the concept of exile, and I'm sure I could come up with some sort of banishment spell, but I don't have the time. It looks like I really will have to go to Rain on this.
There are no words that can express the fear I felt when I knew that my brother was actively seeking my life. There are even fewer to describe the guilt and anguish I felt when I knew it was my brother's desire to kill me that resulted in the death of Gilded Lily, who, even in Negra Beliza, a city that despises the crown, was considered a mare without equal among the three tribes, in kindness, generosity and beauty. My guilt was so great in fact, that I went to the king himself to give my condolences and turn myself in. I told him my tale, Just as I now tell you, and by the end of it all, he could only smile at me. He found my empathy for him and my compassion for my fellow pony to be endearing. He laid no blame on me, as I was not responsible for my brother's actions. But he said that, unfortunately, he could not provide me with a safe haven, at least not in the sense that I would be lodging at the castle. He said that he would do his best to prevent any further attacks on the capital, and provide me with as good a start to a normal life as he could muster. And, well. . . after a year or so, that's when we stumbled upon each other.
When I first saw you, and saw the way you looked at me, I took you only for another stallion after my body. But you gaze must have been unintentional, for when I peered into your mind, I could find nothing concerning me, save maybe a fleeting thought about how you couldn't afford to think about things like love in your position. You had a promising occupation ahead of you, and when I peered into your future, through those thoughts, I could see that you were right. I fell in love, quite immediately, with the stallion you would become, the things you would do. And when I popped back into reality, all I could see was what you would be. But you weren't there just yet. Now, don't take this the wrong way, as I still loved you dearly, even then, but. . . perhaps I'm not explaining this very well. Honestly I can't even be sure I'm remembering that night properly. I might have overdone it on the drink, as did you. But, I think it's safe to say, especially now that we have Clover, that neither of us would have wanted it to turn out any other way.
You're destined for great things, my dearest Starswirl. Don't let anything knock you off your current path. And know that whatever you may do in the future, I'll do what I can now to make sure it's possible. I love you Starswirl and I love Clover too. Give her a kiss, from me.
I had to leave Clover and Platinum in the care of Butter Biscuit while I step out. He seems responsible, and I won't be gone long, but still, I'm going to try and make this trip as quick as possible. I don't feel right leaving my daughter and the filly who might as well be my daughter in the care of somepony not trained specifically to care for them.
Things seem to functioning normally around the castle, and Gilded Lily itself seems to have returned to a state of relative normalcy. Though this may be due in part to the fact that everypony has gotten so used to the constant stream of diseased ponies dropping dead. I noticed a mass grave in the center of the city. It saddened me to see foals having to bury their parents. I'll have to think of something for all of them. I can't bring their parents back, but surely there is something I can do to ease their pain.
Rain is gone. Just disappeared, vanished into thin air. Those useless guards I appointed to stand watch at her cell claim that there's no way she could have sneaked past them. But obviously, she did, because she isn't where she's supposed to be and they're none the wiser as to why. I'm having Orich strip them of their rank and expunge them from the Royal Guard. I swear. . . how do you lose an entire pony?
So apparently I overreacted, but only slightly. Orich was confused by my orders, considering that, apparently, I was the one that allowed Rain's release. He had a letter and everything, in my hoof-writing, bearing orders for Rain's release from quarantine. It's dated for three days ago. Meaning Rain, as I can only assume it was her that wrote this letter, managed to walk out right under my nose, without my knowledge, and, for some reason, without the knowledge of her appointed guards. Unless they're hiding something from me. . . .Yes, they're definitely hiding something.
Rain's guards didn't require much persuasion to tell me what I needed to know. I just had to promise I wouldn't expunge them from the Royal Guard. Simple enough, I suppose. But anyway, they claim that Rain had her escape planned from the day I placed her in quarantine. They don't know any of the greater details, but they know she spent the majority of the first day writing the letters that I've been reading. Over the next few hours after she finished her letters, she worked on forging my hoof-writing, creating a written order that somehow managed to make it to Orich's desk. She was released the day I tried to see her. By the time they had given me her last letter, she was already gone, though when she was let go, and where she went, they don't know. It's as if she just phased out of existence. Unbelievable.
Rain wouldn't have just disappeared without leaving me some way to find her. Maybe the answer lies in her last letter. At least, I hope it does.
My dearest Starswirl,
By the time you've read this letter, chances are you'll have figured out my little charade and I'll be long gone. Where did I go, you might ask, and why did I leave? Well, these questions are easily answered, but, unfortunately. . . the answer isn't easy to give. But allow me to start by saying, that in your current state, there's no way you could possibly defeat my brother. I state this not as a sign of affection for my brother, but as a simple statement of fact. You could have the entirety of both the Pegasus and Earth pony armies standing behind you, but with the combined might of the Oracles' divination and the alchemists biological, disease-based warfare, you would all be reduced to nothing before you even launched an attack. I feel that, with my help, you all might have a chance, but I knew you wouldn't approve, especially once I explained the. . .circumstances, which my plan relies upon. I don't think that, even now, you would approve. And, to be frank, it would pain me too much to write those particular circumstances down.
I suppose I've said all I need to say. You know my story, how I came to love you, and how strong my love for you has grown. Anything else would be superfluous. So, I guess the only thing I can say is good luck, Starswirl. And stay strong. Don't let your will falter. Continue on the path you walk, which I mean literally this time, and you will see me again. But please, brace yourself. You may not be happy with what you find.
I can't say I like the way the implications of this letter. But if I'm interpreting it correctly, then Rain ran off to Negra Beliza, to do what I don't know. I'm going to get her back though, even if I have to tear her from the deepest, dankest dungeon that Sombra has to offer. And then, I'll banish Sombra to. . . to. . . the sun! Or the Moon, or some crevice, deep within the Earth! I don't know where I'll put him, but it won't be comfortable, I can guarantee that.
It's been so long. . . so long since I've been home. Why did I leave? Where did I go? Did I even have a home? Was this all just a dream? Some sick joke? I don't know anymore. And even more frightening than that. . . I don't know if I care any more. Or, was it that I had nothing to care about? Again, I just don't know. The boy and I have begun to detest each other, if only because we have grown so tired of each others company. Spending eons with somepony. . . eons. What is time? What is it really. . .
What a joke I am. So much that I've discovered and still I know nothing. Was it all worth it then? Did I live a life worth living? Do I deserve to live, even now? I have my doubts. But. . . I suppose I've stuck it out this far. No reason to call it quits yet. Who knows. Perhaps I'll find something that can justify my existence.
I doubt it though.
It may just be the seething fury making my decisions for me, but I've opted to go with Stormchaser's plan of full frontal assault. I want Negra Beliza to burn. I want Sombra to know the consequences for his actions, and know my retribution for whatever it is he's done to my wife. We leave for Negra Beliza at days end, which should give the Commander's troops ample time to arrive and prepare for battle. The Adviser and the Lieutenant will be staying with our daughters to ensure their safety.
Another one of those strange entries made it's way into my journal yesterday. Unlike the others though, this one does not appear to be in my hoofwriting. An unsettling occurrence, to be sure, but I've got more pressing matters to attend to.
We arrived to find Stormchaser's army lazing about and Negra Beliza in shambles. All of his soldiers claim that this was the state of the city when they arrived, which begs the question: just what did Rain do?
Stormchaser's upset that he wasn't given the opportunity to sack the city, so he's taken to pouting and ranting at Joshua outside the wall. While they're busy, I'll be searching for Rain. I don't know where she might have gone, and I'm not familiar with this cities layout to begin with, so this search might take quite some time.
As it turns out, this search won't take very long at all. I came across three of the Oracles Rain mentioned in her letters, tending to the dead and the basically dead in the central square. They claimed that they've been expecting me and asked me to join them in a moment of prayer for the deceased and the abandoned. I don't know any of their prayers so I just sat in silence and listened to them recite incantations of some sort. And then before I could ask about what happened or where Rain was, they told me that the Prodigal Daughter sits upon the diseased throne, weary from the work she has done. She awaits me and hopes that my will is wrought from iron. I don't know exactly what that means but I do understand that she's held up somewhere in the Castle del Toro. I can't wait to see her again.
How is it that death can be so beautiful? Perhaps it is morbid to say so, but I cannot help but look upon her and smile, just as she smiles. She sits upon her throne, a crown upon her head, and I can only imagine what a wonderful queen she might have been. Surely there must be something wrong with me. Others would gaze upon the corpse of their beloved and burst into tears. But all I feel is nothing. No emotion whatsoever. I've never felt an emptiness like this before and I fear it might swallow me. What scares me is that I'm not sure I care.
How can she smile? How, in death, could she possibly smile? Didn't she understand everything she left behind? . . .What am I saying? Of course she knew. She knew exactly what she was doing. The issue is, that I don't. I can't handle the confusion and my lack of emotion right now is more overwhelming to me than any breakdown I could possibly have. I need answers. But the only mare capable of giving them to me. . . why, Rain?
She left a letter. She left me a letter. It had fallen beside the throne, and I failed to notice it right away. She really knows. . . knew me all too well. Whatever lies within this letter though, it will be bittersweet at best. I don't know if I actually want to read it. But regardless of what I want, I suppose I'll have to sooner or later.
If you are reading this, my final letter, then it means I have perished upon the Black Throne and all has proceeded as it should. I was never meant to see the world I so desperately dreamed of, Starswirl. I did not say this in my letters, as I was frightened by how you might react, but in my visions of a wartorn world, filled with fire and hatred, the one who stood at the forefront of it all, the harbinger of this senseless violence: it was me. In the future I had seen, I had slain my brother, and in an attempt to unite the three tribes, started the war that would end all wars. And I succeeded. It was a possibility that frightened me, Starswirl. There is a darkness in my bloodline, a physical, permeable presence that has morphed all that sit upon the Black Throne into tyrants and monsters. I hope that by dying here, I will end the chain, but my brother lives yet, so I fear he may still carry it within him.
Before I carry on about my brother, you might, no, I daresay you are wondering how this all came to be. To make a long story short, I contracted the Pox of Purpose the day I discovered the king. This has nothing to do with my discovering his body, I just coincidentally contracted it. But regardless of where it came from, I knew the exact moment I became infected what my fate was. I knew when the disease would take effect, how long it would take to gestate, and, most importantly, the period of contagiousness. I had devised my plan long before you quarantined me. And the application itself was no problem. After escaping, I enlisted the aid of another doomed pony, who shall remain nameless, as his name doesn't matter. He brought me to Negra Beliza, where I requested an audience with my brother, who was all too eager to see me. However, I first requested that I be taken to see my Oracle sisters. He said that I could have whatever I wanted, as in the end none of it would matter. How wrong he was.
It was at the Temple of Divination that the disease began to take effect. I began to vomit profusely into the temple fountain, which acts as the water distribution and filtration system for the entire city. My sisters understood what I was doing, thankfully, and forbade my brother from seeing me, on the claim that I had contracted a horrible, contagious disease (which wasn't untrue.) But my brother was not so easily dissuaded. He gave me three days. If I was not better within that time frame, I was to be presented to him, regardless of my condition. On the first day, the Pox took full hold and I lost my talent. I could no longer see the future, but I was no longer concerned with that. I had seen all I needed to. On the second day, all able-bodied citizens were suddenly collapsing in the streets. The citizens of Negra Beliza, after all, have never had to deal with a single disease in their collective lives, so the Pox were especially quick and harsh on them. On the third day, I blacked out for an indeterminate amount of time. When I awoke, I discovered my sisters had brought me to Castle del Toro and placed me upon the Black Throne. My brother, apparently, had made a coward's retreat. This amused me, but something inside me still worried. And so I began to write this letter, with the last of my strength.
Be wary, me beloved, as my brother is a crafty stallion. His words are as poisonous and beguiling as chimera's milk. Likely by the time you read this, he'll already have amassed a small army. You must defeat him at all costs. Please. . .you must. . .
My strength begins to wane. . . my final hour is at hand, my dearest Starswirl. . . . Do not mourn me, my beloved. And when she grows older, do not allow Clover to mourn me. Tears are wasted on the dead. Save them instead, for the living who walk the earth, shrouded in a miasma of hatred. Save your tears for those who themselves can not shed them. But do not cry for me. I've already done enough for all three of us.
I love you, Starswirl.
Forever yours and always, till death do us part and far, far beyond,
Rain.
The letter is stained with tears. Her tears. And now with mine. Even if she wanted me not to, I have to cry, if only for a moment. I'll never meet another pony like her.
I carried Rains body to the outer wall of the city and explained the situation to Joshua and Stormchaser. They both offered their deepest condolences to me, but that's not what I want to hear. All I want to hear right now are the death throes of one Sombra del Toro. The General is more than eager to lend his troops to my cause, and is ready to supply more should Sombra's army prove to be greater than we believe it will be. I told him to send more even if he has fewer than we believe. I want to see del Toro burn.
But first I must return home. . . to bury my wife.
Yet another letter, yet another request. This one tucked away in one of her cloak pockets. It's not long enough to warrant placing it in the journal, and honestly, I think there are quite enough reminders of what I've lost in here already. Basically, Rain said she doesn't want me to bury her just yet. She wishes to be placed in a coffin and hidden from sight until the world she dreamed of has come to fruition. Then, and only then, should I bury her. A simple enough request, especially since the Pox of Purpose seem to have the peculiar effect of preserving a ponies body for an abnormally extended amount of time after death.
Orich helped me craft a coffin for Rain and then offered his condolences. Somehow, they mean more coming from him then they did coming from the other tribe leaders. Apparently he had an experience similar to mine when his wife died of Hoofblight some thirty years ago. Orich is much older than his appearance would let on. Perhaps that's the unicorn in him. . . anyway, he has a son who lives up in Proudspire, the Earth pony capital, Orich Alcum the third. He's training to be a master blacksmith, just like his father. I hope Clover and I can have a relationship like that someday. Her learning at my side as we unlock the secrets of the universe. . . yeah. Sounds great.
The old has passed and the new has arrived. An eventful year laid to rest, and with it, so many other things. But a landscape of new possibilities awaits. Still, I can't help but let my thoughts wander. Whatever may happen this year. . . what would change about these events yet to transpire if she were still alive?
Things have been. . . hectic, to say the least. The army Rain foresaw has made itself known, containing not only unicorn warriors and alchemist, but also many Earth pony slaves, which are illegal might I add, and quite a few renegade pegasus knights. The battles being waged haven't been nearly as decisively won as the Commander would like, but he and the Chancellor have things under control, for the most part. enough control, anyway, to allow me to focus on other things. Things more relevant to my interest.
I have quite a few self-constructed theoretical spells laid out across my table, which I'd like to begin testing on immediately. Unfortunately, as is usually the case, theory is much simpler than practice and application. But you've got to start somewhere. And I'm starting with the basics of temporal shifting and extra-dimensional travel. Or, I would be, if some part of me wasn't crying out for vengeance against Sombra, though in all actuality, he had no real involvement in Rain's death. Still, it will bring me joy to see him banished. So I suppose for now I'll be working on some kind of banishment spell.
Banishing is hard. I honestly didn't expect a banishment spell to be this difficult to create. Of course, there isn't exactly a precedent for this kind of thing. I'm beginning to think that perhaps I'm thinking a bit to much on the grand scale of things. Perhaps I should banish him through some sort of mental manipulation. Make it so that he truly believes he could never return to his homeland. Although, altering the thought processes of any given creature is far more difficult in practice than it is in theory. And, as usual, the consequences in the result of any kind of mistake on my end would lead to something unsavory. Take, for example, the infamous Tenderhorn the many-minded, who accidentally melded the minds and personalities of three other ponies into his own. Not a pleasant prospect.
The war goes on. Things are starting to turn in our favor, what with the recent freeing of all the Earth pony slaves. Among those freed slaves was a little filly, who claimed to know me. Though she didn't use my name directly. She said, and I quote, "I wanna see the Starry-guy. You know, the unicorn that really likes my daddy's doughnuts. Can I see him? Pretty please?" According to the letter I received (oh how I grow tired of letters), she should be arriving sometime tomorrow. And if this little filly is who I think she is, then I'm going to have quite a few questions for her.
It's exactly who I thought it would be. And I'm not sure whether that validation relieves me or worries me further. That Sombra's agents would manage to capture Earth ponies from a settlement so close to the Unicorn capital is a bit disconcerting. Fortunately, he didn't put much stock in their intelligence and clearly didn't think they'd ever be escaping. Meaning we now have more or less the location of each and every one of his slave encampments. Which means we should have him up against a wall pretty soon. I should probably hurry up with this mind control spell.
Honeydew was very excited to see me, though I can't imagine why. We only met the one time, and from what I remember, I wasn't very kind. But nonetheless she was happy. I refrained from asking her the obvious question, that being where her parents were. But for such a young filly, she certainly has a mare's intuition. She doesn't know where they are. they were separated shortly after being kidnapped. But she's not too worried; she knows that they're safe somewhere out there, waiting to be rescued from one of the camps so they can be one big happy family again. I want to tell her the truth, that her parents may very well be dead by this point, but I look at that innocent smile of hers and my cynicism just melts away. She'll be staying with me until better arrangements are made.
Honeydew doesn't know how to write. Or read. I intend to rectify this immediately. I'm of the firm belief that everypony should possess at least these two skills. And while I might not be able to personally teach all the illiterates out there, so long as Honeydew is in my care, learn she shall.
War efforts are going remarkably smooth. A little too smooth if you ask me. But perhaps that's just my newly inflated sense of paranoia speaking. In any case, Commander Stormchaser and his soldiers are quickly approaching Sombra's place of sanctuary, the Turnabout Caverns. This puts me in a bit of a bind, as while I feel I have a grasp on the spell I've been working on, nopony seems to want to help me test it out. And I doubt vegetables would suffice for my experimentation this time. I'll work it out. Until then, I might as well find Honeydew and begin her lessons.
Mr. Starswirl has been teaching me how to write for the last few days. He's a very good teacher. At least I think so. He seems very hard on himself. I feel bad for Mr. Starswirl.
Mr. Starswirl said that I could get my very own special section for writing stuff down in his journal, as long as I promised that I wouldn't read any of the stuff that he wrote. If I followed that rule, he said he would do the same and give me my privacy. But I already broke my promise. I read everything. Mr. Starswirl has had a very rough year.
I really think it's nice that Mr. Starswirl is letting me stay with him. I'll probably be staying for a while. Mr. Starswirl wrote that he didn't want to hurt me by saying that my parents might be dead. But there isn't any reason to worry. I already know they're dead. They were, um. . . made an example of, I think is what that mean Lord guy said. My daddy wasn't very happy about being kidnapped. He tried to escape. And he almost did. It was the almost that scared the Lord meanie. He said that he couldn't have others follow my daddy's example. So he made an example out of both my parents. . .
Mr. Starswirl is a very kind stallion.
Mr. Starswirl still doesn't know that I read his journal. I'm starting to feel really guilty. I want to tell him, but I don't want to distract him from his work. He's working really hard to find a way to get rid of that meanie Sombrero Lord guy. It would be really nice if that poopy-head was just gone. I'm gonna wait to tell him.
Clover and Platinum are really fun, for babies and all. It's like I'm a big sister or something. I like being a big sister. I hope I don't have to leave Mr. Starswirl's. It's so nice here. Everyponies so nice to me.
. . .I really hope I don't have to go.
Mr. Starswirl is getting very worried about something. He doesn't want to talk about it. I'm sure he'll tell me later. Or maybe he won't. It's not any of my business.
. . .I'm hungry
Mr. Starswirl really liked my daddy's cooking. He liked it so much that he makes the unicorn chefs cook Earth pony foods. It's kinda amazing. Most of them only know how to make pastries though. There was one who knew how to make daisy chain salad, but that's as far as his knowledge on Earth pony food went. So I had some daisy chain salad and a poppy seed muffin. I don't like daisies much. But momma always said that if I wanna grow up strong, I gotta eat everything on my plate and in my bowl. I never listened to momma much. . . Platinum and Clover don't seem to like daisies either. Maybe that chef was just bad at making salad.
Very bad things are happening and Mr. Starswirl is really determined not to tell me about any of them. On the bright side though, he's finished whatever that brain spell was supposed to be. So whenever they catch the Somber guy, they'll have a way to get rid of him for good.
I can't sleep very well. Daddy used to have a song he would sing me, whenever I had trouble sleeping. It was a very nice song. But I can't remember what it was. . . I don't want to forget that song. I don't want to forget my daddy.
I need to ask Mr. Starswirl a very important question. I really hope he's not too busy.
Hush now, quiet now, it's time to lay your head to rest
Hush now, quiet now, it's time to try your best
Drifting off to sleep the days excitement behind you.
Drifting off to sleep let the joy of dreamland find you.
Hush now, quiet now, it's time to lay your sleepy head
Hush now, quiet now, it's time to go to bed
As you drift into your dreams, know that I'm always with you
My faith in you will never wane, my love always be true
What a sweet child Honeydew is. I'll never be her father. . . but I can damn sure try to be.
So many worries, so many aggravations. So many things to look after and fawn over and knock my head against. What an idiot he was, what an absolute fool to think that he could do what he tried to do. Or perhaps he was the greatest genius of them all. For if he had not given himself up, then all of the Commander's army would lay either crushed beneath stone or trapped within the Turnabout Caverns. And perhaps his sacrifice will show the other tribes just how valiant Earth ponies are capable of being. Whatever the reasoning and whatever the outcome, I bless your soul, Joshua Puddinghead. Rest in peace, you magnificent bastard.
T'would appear that the army Sombra had the courtesy of showing us was simply the tip to his figurative iceberg of evil. In truth, his followers number into the tens of thousands, just as large as any standard army. The most frightening part of this whole ordeal is that many of them seem to be following him of their own accord. I feel that if we wish to topple this insurgency, we will have to strike at the foundation. One way or another, Sombra del Toro has to go.
Honeydew doesn't know this, but when I reached into her memories to find the lullaby, I. . . saw some things. Things that only fuel the flames of my fury. Now I wage this war for four: My sweetie Clover, dearest Platinum, darling Honeydew, and my beloved Rain. If only they could all know just how brightly the anger in my heart burns at the thought of their pain. I hope Clover and Platinum never have to know what Honeydew has known.
Rough month. Not a very good start to my year. Not a very good start to anyponies, I must say. Sombra's gone, stripped of his magic and made to wander far away from here. I don't care where he goes, I just hope I never see his ugly muzzle again. What a toxic creature. Ponies like him have no place in this world.
I found out quite some time ago, but I acted today as though I'd just discovered Honeydew's parents were dead. She wasn't convinced, but I suppose that's why my special talent isn't acting, isn't it? In any case, I can't just let her fend for herself, and I have no intention of placing her with an adoptive family. So she'll just have to stay with me. She's been a wonderful sister to both Clover and Platinum, and I've taken quite a liking to her myself. At the risk of repeating myself, I'll never be her father, but I can sure try to be.
There's quite a bit of confusion as to what is to be done with all of Sombra's former followers. Many have turned to our side, claiming hypnotism or blackmail of some sort. However, a significant number still cling, in futility, to the ideals of their now defunct leader. They aren't nearly the issue they once were, but if possible, we'd like to avoid a mass execution after we've defeated them. Of course, if worse comes to worse, we may not have a choice. And besides, it'll be their funerals.
I have a lot of thinking to do. Within the span of a year, events have transpired which have managed to completely and utterly change my views on the world and on life as a whole. I fell in love, was married, had a daughter, and then the love of my life died. I've gotten to know and made friends with ponies that I otherwise would have scoffed at. I named a near-complete stranger's daughter and for some reason was brought to tears when I learned of this stallion's death, at the hooves of my beloved's estranged brother no-less. I, with the aid of the other tribe leaders, halted the attempted conquering of the three tribes by the self-same stallion who killed the near-complete stranger. And I banished him to a life of eternal wandering with no hope for respite. And now I have three fillies to raise. What a strange year this has been.
I think I'll be taking a break from this journal. It seems all I ever put into it are dreary thoughts. I can seldom hold it anymore without feeling as though I have lifted a tremendous weight which would be better left where I retrieved it from. Namely, the top drawer of my work desk on the west side of my bedroom. When I have happier thoughts, or maybe when I simply have too much on my mind to contain within my skull, I will write again. But until that time. . .
DATED FOR POSTERITY
FEBRUARY THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF THE YEAR TWENTY-ONE NINETY-ONE
I'm not the stallion I was over a year ago. This journal is no longer representative of who I am. The words written within are the words of one unwise to the ways of the world. That's not who I am anymore. I'm keeping the journal of course, but strictly for the sake of posterity. There is much that lay in front of me: fillies to raise, a kingdom to keep track of, Tribes to keep out of war. Such events would be unfit to write within this, the journal of a naive and unlearned colt. With this final entry, I say farewell to the Starswirl I was, and open the door to a new phase of my life. What exactly lay behind this door, I cannot be sure. But I will face it head on, with vigor and valiance, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (a quaint Earth pony saying which Joshua taught me.) With this, I close my journal for the last time.
With this, I say farewell to the self, and truly begin my walk on the path of life.