> The Dark Origins of the Windigo
>  by Schattendrache
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue (re-worked)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was sitting in my office, finishing up my final reports for the day when my door exploded inward. A panting crystal pony was standing there with a desperate look in his eyes. He told me that while an exploratory team was climbing the Frozen Spires, the mountain range at the western edge of the Crystal Empire, they discovered a large cave along the Eastern face of Mountain Seven.

I informed the frantic pony, who I later learned was named Icy Horizons, that such a report was interesting, but not something I was qualified to make a comment on as my specialty is equipology, not geology. He shook his head and informed me it wasn’t the cave which had brought him, but what was inside of it. The team had found a single body encased in ice, as well as burned and destroyed supplies from what can only be assumed to be their equipment.

This immediately caught my interest. It had long been thought that the Frozen Spires were an insurmountable challenge to face. Until around fifty years ago, every expedition on the spires had been a failure. This was due to the magical influence the mountains had on their weather. The mountains sat on top of a leyline of mana, but due to their strange composition and shape, the mana did not flow properly. This resulted in erratic, and often unpredictable, weather patterns that just as often resulted in decade long blizzards stronger than anywhere else on Equis as they did clear skies. Dozens of stories existed of ponies returning without the remainder of their party, gibbering and broken, unable to properly function in society after that. But more often, the stories of the ponies that decided to take on the challenge of the mountain ended with the ponies involved never coming back.

I asked Icy Horizons if there were plans to retrieve the body and the equipment from the cave and bring them back for examination. He informed me that a party had been organized by Princess Cadence herself to retrieve the body and anything else in the cave so they might be identified so any living descendants could give them a proper funeral. Cadence had sent him here to request my assistance in the identification of the individual and determine when the expedition that had claimed the ponies life had taken place.

I could not have agreed faster.





It has been four days since I received the report of the frozen body from the mountains. The body, as well as everything that could be retrieved of their supplies, was brought down today. I was waiting at the castle with everypony else who had been requested to assist in identifying the frozen individual for the group of ponies to arrive with everything that had been recovered from the cave. When the group arrived, several of them were pulling a large cart with a tarp covering a large object, while other ponies were carrying rucksacks absolutely overflowing with items from their own expedition and the frozen pony’s. 

Everything was taken to a large room that had been cleared out for us to examine what had been brought back. When the tarp was removed from the frozen body, I finally had my first look at the frozen pony. Well, not actually a look. A thick coating of frost and ice was obscuring everything inside the ice, the only indication that there was even a pony inside was the fact that the vague, colorful shape in the middle of the ice was of a pony-like shape.

I reached out with a forehoof to try to clear away what I could so that I could take a better look, when out of nowhere, a hoof smacked mine down. I turned and saw that it was one of the ponies that had been sent to retrieve everything from the cave that had slapped me. Before I had a chance to ask why he had done this, he answered by telling me that the ice is unnaturally cold, anything that touches it for too long becomes stuck. To emphasize his point, he pointed towards a section of the ice that looked to have been chipped away and then towards a second member of the recovery team with their right forehoof wrapped.





After three days of examination, the body was found to have been frozen by a windigo. The ice had been subject to three days of continual, low humidity heat, but after 13:30 on the second day, no additional ice was melted. Before being subjected to the heat, we estimated that the body was encased in approximately forty-five centimeters of ice. We were left with an estimated ten centimeters after the three days of heating. After a magical examination of the ice, it was discovered that dark magic was making it so that no amount of heat would allow for further removal of the ice. When the temperature of the ice was taken, we received a reading of -50 C. We expect that the extreme cold of the magical ice caused a build-up of water vapor on its surface, and after centuries of freezing and thawing of snow and ice on the mountain, the pony slowly become progressively more encased. It was determined that the only possible method to dispel the ice would be the use of the Crystal Heart and the combined love effort of the Crystal Empire. But now that the ice surrounding what we now know to be a stallion has mostly melted, and had become as clear as glass, we could get a good look at him. He was a pale blue-green stallion with a white mane containing streaks of a pale, almost white, blue. He was completely wrapped in a blanket with the exception of his head. His face was heavily damaged, one of his eyes was highly bruised and had swollen shut. Looking closer, that part of his face seemed to be caved in, in all likelihood, the eye was beyond repair. I could also see that his nose had been broken and the bleeding from it had caked his muzzle, as well as one of his ears was missing, more accurately though, it looked to have been ripped off. Finally, the cheeks and eyes had sunken in, giving him a gaunt appearance. But something seemed off about the body. His face wasn't contorted in a look of hatred or anger, but of sorrow and emptiness. It looked as if the pony inside hadn’t been frozen by a windigo, but simply by giving up on life. 

The use of the Crystal Heart is scheduled for tomorrow at noon to try to melt the ice of the windigo. Hopefully, when he is thawed from his prison, we learn he was only frozen for a short while. I would hate for one of the ponies to tell him the world he knew is long gone and everyone he cared for has left this world. Unfortunately, on my end, it looks likely that the pony in question lived at least nine hundred years ago, based on the style of clothing and the way it looks to have been made. I am holding out hope though that the individual is simply a member of the naturalist movement that has arisen as of late and the clothes were simply hoof made to emulate those of back then. As I might have made apparent, I have not been able to determine when this pony explored the Frozen Spires. Most of his items are burned beyond all recognition and what little has survived shows signs of significant water damage. Based on the degradation of the clothing and rate of decomposition of wool, cotton, and hemp, I have determined that the items in the cave have experienced approximately three months of exposure to factors that would lead to their deterioration. Due to the deep freeze that can occur on the Spires, no accurate estimation can be made of when the expedition happened.





The Crystal Heart failed to melt the ice. Even with all the love of the Empire, the ice failed to thaw in the slightest. The hatred that froze this poor soul had to have been absolute and total, that is the only explanation anyone had as to why the heat of love couldn't even warm the ice. According to the experts of the Empire, there isn't a single thing we can do to release him from his prison. How could such an event occur? Even the worst of villains have the smallest light in them that would permit them to escape from a windigo’s freezing influence. What could have caused him to exile all emotion from his heart but hatred and anger?





After yesterday’s failure to free the stallion in ice, I redoubled my efforts to find anything about this stallion that I could. In the end, only a single, well-worn journal from the assorted items brought back from the cave was discovered to be of any relevance and in good enough condition to provide us with any information when examined. Hopefully, we can learn just what lead this stallion to have nothing but hatred in his heart. Unfortunately, it is written in old Ponish, so I need to consult with an expert on the topic to have it translated. 

I don’t know whether or not to feel sorry for the stallion now. While his condition is of the most regrettable sort, I can’t help but feel his permanent imprisonment to be a mercy. The journal has all but proven that this stallion came from well before the modern times, so I can't help but wonder just how terrible it would be for him to be brought back now. For all we know, this pony could have been frozen well before Sombra took control, meaning that his family, along with everything else he held dear would be long gone. It was hard enough for us crystal ponies to adjust to the culture shock of being gone for over a thousand years, I can't imagine adding the grief of losing everything onto that.
> Day I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I know not why my dear Morning Dew has given to me this small journal but at her insistence, I shall endeavor to record each day of my journey so as to have an accurate account of the everyday happenings on my journey to give to her upon my return. 

November 23, 08:00
I began the required organization of the supplies I will need to traverse the Frozen Spires. The reports from the northwesternmost outposts of the Crystal Empire have made suggestions of an unknown tribe of creatures past those infernal mountains of ice and despair. Had I not been of high acclaim for my skills at survival in the Frozen Wastes, I doubt that the crown would have seen fit to request my aid in the exploratory efforts to confirm the reports. As it stands, I am to accompany three other crystal ponies over and across the mountains to reach their other side. While I have faith in the competence of the individuals that have been selected, I must question my inclusion in the exploratory party. While I have proven my worth as a survivalist in the Wastes, I must humbly say that such experience is due to the lands and weather patterns of the Wastes being well understood and the occasions of my treks coinciding with the passing of the more severe storms, as that is when the Wastes are at their most forgiving. The Frozen Spires are not only unknown in their topography, but are wholly inconsistent in the behavior, length, and occurrence of their weather. While I might know well the actions that need be taken to assure my companions and my safety when traveling through the mountains, I can not say with any certainty that I would be able to properly assist should things go wrong. I hope dearly that upon our arrival to that unknown sierra, to the completion of our journey, that the clear skies that permitted the outpost to view the possible civilization maintain themselves. 

November 23, 13:00
I have just returned from the noon meeting with the empire’s queen where the final requirements in preparation for our expedition were laid out. The four pony team that has been organised consists of me leading the party, a linguist by the name of Orator for when we reach the other side of the mountain, a farmer by the name of Hard Soil to examine the foods they have over there and tell of our foods, and a guard by the name of Iron Hoof who had been stationed at the outpost and had volunteered to help with carrying supplies for us. It isn’t a secret that the primary reason that he volunteered was to be one of the first ponies to see a new civilization. While none of us fault his desire to learn more of the world, and the fact his inclusion will lighten our load makes his inclusion a boon for us, Hard Soil and I both agreed that we will be razzing him throughout the trip. I have already started work on my first batch of filly friend jabs I’m going to be using on him. 

November 23, 21:00
Our little expedition group decided to have a drink together before we head out to tomorrow. It wasn't anything too obscene, simply a few glasses of mead and a round of whiskey. (As you read this my dear I apologize for my lying to you that my night excursion was to check to see that everypony had properly prepared) I learned that Hard Soil and I are of the same age, with him being my junior by only four months and some change. I had figured we were of similar ages but had guessed him to be my senior by several years judging by the wear on his face. I told him as much and he responded in kind. Our other two companions were both astonished that we were only three years past our fortieth winter, apparently, farming and crossing the Frozen Wastes to trade with neighboring communities ages a pony beyond their natural years. When asked for their ages it was Hard Soil and I’s turn to be surprised. Neither of them had seen their twenty-fifth summer, Orator being twenty-two and Iron Hoof being twenty-three. Both of them were young enough to be Hard Soil and I’s sons. 

The remainder of the night was spent discussing our lives before this and what we would do after this. Orator desires to be one of the queens top advisors after the expedition and had spent a great deal of his life practicing to reach this goal. He is quite disappointed that he was sent on this expedition as he was planning to attend a lecture by the current advisor to the queen on how a pony is to properly assess a situation and maneuver one's self to take advantage of events that are to transpire. But he does admit, if there is indeed a civilization past the Frozen Spires then his presence with us would greatly help in his goals. Iron Hoof said that his hopes for this expedition are that the queen sees his potential and permits him to further explore the world and help establish relationships with foreign nations. I told him that such nations are fantasy, that there exists nothing beyond the Southern Barrens. I told him of my attempt to find such lands and how they were met with disaster. The only good that ever came from my voyage to those forsaken plains was meeting you my sweet. He simply laughed, he was not so easily dissuaded. He told us of his colthood, when he was nothing more than a malnourished stick of a foal living in one of the eastern provinces of the empire, and how, through will alone, he made it into the guard and was stationed along the western edge of the empire. Hard Soil asked him where he could also get some of that will because he was starting to feel a little peckish. This was probably one of the funnier jokes I had heard in some time.

As for Hard Soil and I, we were both content with our lives. He has a wife, two sons, and a daughter still among us. When pressed on my life, I simply told them I sought nothing more than to continue my life as a simple trader between the towns and villages of the empire. As we agreed, I kept our familial troubles out of the discussion. I know how it hurts you so to remember our misfortunes and for those not within our family to have said knowledge. 

The last half hour of our get together was spent in silence. For what reasons I can only guess. For the two younger members of our crew, judging by the satisfied smirks they wore, I figure they were imagining all of the benefits they would attain when they return, having not only been the first ponies to have successfully bested the seemingly unbeatable Frozen Spires, but also as the first ponies to have made contact with a new nation. As for Hard Soil and I, our outlook on this venture was anything but positive. I could see from his face he was not looking forward to this venture, as a pensive frown had worked itself onto his muzzle, the same frown I felt had worked itself onto my own muzzle. Our years on this earth have wisened us to the parts of life which truly matter, and finding a new creature to engage with was not one of them. Were it not for the queen's personal desire to see the two of us on this expedition, but rather the entirety of it be comprised of volunteers, I would bet that no pony who had seen their thirtieth Summer would have been on it

Tomorrow we travel the first leg of the fifty-four kilometer trip to the outpost where the lights had been sighted. We should be able to arrive in two days time should the Frozen Wastes decide to cooperate with our goals.
> An Unknown Beginning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have gotten together with an old friend, Lucky Charms, in the castle room that had been cleared for use in identifying the individual and examining the supplies so the two of us could go over the contents of what has been translated so far. We met in college and when I found out he was in the kingdom, I figured we might get together to go over what I’ve been doing. But one thing led to another and I couldn't resist telling him about what I was working on and invited him to join me in examining the journal. Hopefully, I won't end up wasting the time he has here with a simple story of a pony making a poor decision when attempting to best the Spires.

“You know what, Deep, I wasn’t aware that the Crystal Empire had its own line of Alicorns back then, nor that they were interested in exploring the Frozen Wastes. I mean, with all the habitable lands in the south, I would have assumed they would focus their resources on colonizing them.”

“Yeah, they had a few rulers before Sombra took over the kingdom. If this journal was written when I think it was, the area around the Empire was nothing more than a barren tundra at the farthest reaches of the north. They might as well have been living in an ice age seeing as the area around them would have been little more than a wasteland. In all likelihood, the rulers at the time would have been desperate to find any way to expand it and find better ways to survive.”

“Well, when you put it that way, sending out a small group of explorers makes much more sense. Though I still wonder why they speak about themselves as crystal ponies, you know? If they were the only ones around back there, I don’t see the point in it. They must have had knowledge of the other tribes already, didn’t they?”

“I know that we started to call ourselves crystal ponies after an earth pony explorer found our kingdom from the South. There aren’t any texts that give exact dates, but a generaly accepted time for when that happened was around fourteen thousand  ago, so at least we know he wasn't around before even the tribes began to form.”

“Mhh, sounds nearly as old as Princess Celestia might be. You know, nopony’s been able to find a book that’s proved how old she really is. The only reference point we have is from that prank princess Luna played on her when Celestia’s birthday cake ended up being more candles than cake. The whole castle looked like a heartwarming eve tree.”

“Haha, you're so funny. Really, this is serious, we have a pony frozen in windigo ice and your making cracks at Celestia's age? So far, all we have to go on is that he isn’t as old as Celestia and he was an explorer told by his queen at the time that he needed to help with an expedition over the Spires. I’m going to see if I can pull up any information on past explorations by the crown.”

With those words, Deep Analysis began walking out of the room and towards one of the many libraries scattered around the castle interior, leaving behind a headshaking Lucky Charms. 

“Always so serious…” Lucky Charms mumbled while he moved his stool in the middle of the table to examine the translated texts closer. It seemed to him that, while it was of course very important to free the poor stallion out of his misery, it wasn’t that time critical.

“Do that,” he shouted after his friend, “I will see if I get anything more useful out of this in the meantime.”

Though after several minutes of reading, he only got the i mpression that the strange stallion indeed had a skill for writing interesting diary entries, but he was none the wiser about what Deep expected to get from reading these records.

“I’m back. I didn’t find anything in any castle records about an expedition sent out to the Frozen Spires by any of the past princesses or queens. I even checked the old poetry section. THE POETRY SECTION LUCKY. You know how much I hate those things.” Deep Analysis came into the room, looking more disheveled than usual. Several parchments were hanging off of his flank and head, not even being noticed by the crystal pony in question.

“Your lack of interest in poetry is sadly known by me indeed. Wouldn’t hurt you to read a bit of Shakespony from time to time.” 

“I swear to Celestia, if you make me read another untranslated work by him, I will personally take you to the Frozen Spires myself to figure out what happened.”

“A romantic trip? Just us two? How thoughtful of you!” Lucky Charms batted his eyelashes. “I knew you had a romantic side.”

“Let’s just get back to the journal. What did you find out while I was gone?”

“Well, it seems to be that your new friend had a talent for writing adventure stories, that’s for sure…” He lifted a hoof to prevent Deep from responding to that. “But it also told me that he was not alone on his journey. With him were a guard, a farmer, and a linguist. I wonder where these guys are. They didn’t find anypony else, did they?”

“Unless all of them met their end to a windigo, while I’m fairly certain the bodies would be well preserved due to the effect ice has on decomposition, I’m fairly confident that we wouldn't be able to find them on such a large mountain.” Deep Analysis shook his head. “And even if we could find them, how would we be able to tell them apart from the dozens of other ponies that tried to conquer the Spires?”

Deep Analysis finally noticed the parchments that had decided to tag along with him back to the journal and began to remove and also place them on an empty desk.

“No, that is not how it works Deep.” Lucky raised a wing and spread out one feather after another to support his counting. 

“First, finding them doesn’t sound so unlikely, keeping in mind they all should be in or around the cave you mentioned. Second, even if you would find a lot of other ponies around them, you could clearly tell them apart by clothes and appearance. And third, by injuries. I haven’t forgotten what you said about the state of the stallion. If a windigo is to blame for him actually being frozen in ice, I really doubt they would rip off his ear, break his nose, or anything physical like that. That is not how they act. No, no, no, these wounds were caused by something far more physical, like a bugbear or some other hostile creature. I’m confident you’re going to find the same kind of injuries on his team for sure.” 

“That's assuming that the other members made it to the cave. You have to remember, until about fifty years ago, the Frozen Spires were thought to be impassable. I have no doubts that at least one of the members would have died on the way up. It's also possible that the other members of the expedition abandoned him after he was frozen. In that case, they could literally be anywhere on the mountain.”

“Now you disappoint me Deep, where did your sense of logic go? If the windigos froze him, the others surely wouldn’t have simply stood there and done nothing. More so, what you described are fight injuries, not frostbite or something caused by the weather. A cold wind doesn’t break your nose, Deep, a punch does.”

“As does a large block of ice or a rock that dislodged itself.” Deep had stood up and was almost shouting by the end, only to slump back into his seat a moment later. “I can’t accept that the last memory he has was of at least one of his companions trying to kill him. I want to see the good in ponies, not the evil. After I saw his injuries, I needed to figure out just what could have caused them. I’ve looked over just about every record we have on the Spires, but there isn’t a single recorded instance of anything living on them. I’m fairly sure I know exactly why he looks the way he does, I just don’t want to be right.”

Used to the sudden outbursts from his friend, Lucky Charms only gave him an indulgent little smile. “I don’t like that scenario either, but life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, Deep. Though, I said something did this, not a pony must have done this. Equis is full of creatures we know nearly nothing about, it’s quite possible that something lives on the Spires that got him before the Windigos did.” He thought for a second. “This would also explain why no one’s found the others by now.”

“I guess. I’ll look into any records of any amarok or akhlut in the area. I don't think anything less than one of them would have been able to survive on the Spires. I’ll also go back to the translator and see what else they’ve been able to get out of the journal.”

“Alright, I, however, prefer to read what we have to the end first. Typical of you, already demanding more when you haven’t read what's already been translated.”

“That's why I have you around. You read it and tell me what you found so I don’t have to.”

“Sounds just like our college years, I do the work while you earn the praise for it.”

With that, Deep Analysis began walking out of the room and back towards one of the libraries to find out what reports there were of animals living on the Spires while Lucky Charms went back to reading the translation. He was also thinking about heading over to the kitchen to grab something to eat, it was afternoon after all, and Deeps obsession with his work had caused him to miss out on lunch.
> Days 2 and 3 (re-worked)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing, absolutely Celestia damn nothing.” Deep Analysis burst through the doors for the hall with the force of an angry farmer. His usually messy hair was even more frazzled than usual. Behind his was a procession of dozens of books and papers magically floating behind him before being slammed down in a barely organized pile on a table that had yet to be fully covered. “There is absolutely nothing to prove that a single thing has ever lived on or near the Spires. For all intents and purposes, the only living things that have ever gone near them have been the fools that have tried to best the damn things.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Lucky Charms seemed partially distracted, “besides the windigos, Bighoof, and some other mythical creatures of course.” He placed the notebook with the translation on top of the table of books his friend has just dropped. “Your research was as inefficient as usual.” 

“My research is never inefficient, the ponies and griffins in charge of organizing and collecting the information just don't know how to do their jobs. I can't count how many hours I’ve had to spend trying to find reports on the changes to national borders that have happened in the last thousand years because some smart ass filed them in the legal section rather than the geographical section.” Deep Analysis released a growl of frustration before making his way over to his friend, but more importantly, what would hopefully be a translated entry... or twelve. “Let’s hope you made more progress than me.” 

“And yet you forgot about yak’s all on your own…” Lucky Charms mumbled. “Well, I did learn a few things about the Spires,” he said aloud again, “though, it is more or less just the beginning of their journey for now. You know, leaving the beloved wife, face the first few obstacles and such.” He paused for a second and scratched his chin. “With the usual mistakes and errors that lead to one’s own downfall of course.” 

“Like what? Going to the Spires in the first place? This stallion was supposed to be a professional, I doubt that there could have been much that would have been fatal.” 

“Too much Self-esteem is often named as a reason for deadly sport accidents you know? Anyway, our skilled little novel writer here,” Lucky Charms pointed at the translated notes, “missed his time-window by accident and then rushed everything. He thought he could handle the weather and also that his comrades would be slightly more resilient against the environment than they were. Obviously, even with the journal saying they made it to their desired location in time, given the outcome of him being frozen and the rest of the team missing, he was wrong.” 

“Let me see that.” Deep Analysis grabbed the translated portions of the journal with his magic and began to quickly skim over what had been written. After about two minutes of his eyes traveling over the papers and shuffling through them to get to the next page, he finally slammed them down in a huff. “I would hardly call that a mistake. He had to foalsit two of the ponies traveling with him, and I hardly consider him rushing everypony to be unwarranted. The storm freaking reversed course on them, what the actual Tartarus. Storms don't do that… ok, maybe they do occasionally, but I have never heard of a super-cell of that magnitude turning around, especially when it’s over land. And look at how he described it, this was a blizzard out of some cheesy disaster movie.” 

“And that is exactly the point.” Now his friend smiled in victory. “The weathers change surprised them, and every expert would have just canceled the whole thing and waited till the next window. But not so with our little adventurer here, he rushed towards his first resting point, he went anyway, and, it was all planned under his oversight.” Lucky shook his head in disapproval. “Going on this trip with a poorly chosen team, under time-pressure, and with a lack of equipment we have today.” Lucky gave another shake of his head. “This expedition was going to end in disaster from the outset.” 

Deep Analysis raised up a hoof and opened his mouth in preparation to yell back, but quickly lowered his hoof and just glared. “OK, I’ll give you that. But to be fair to the guy, he didn't exactly choose any of that. His queen ordered him to go, with a team he didn't organize, and in a time frame, he said he was not a fan of. In all fairness, he probably fared better than I would have given him credit for.” 

“Maybe, maybe not, point is, if you read this more carefully, I think he was kind of eager to go. Yes, he is grumpy and all that, but below the surface, it sounds like he wanted to go for his queen. He didn’t want to leave his wife and such, yeah, but it definitely feels like his adventurer side got the better of him. I mean, if his queen demanded his expertise in the first place, she surely would have listened if he told her they would need to wait just a little longer, or, if he would have insisted on better suited expedition members.” He shrugged. “But no, he didn’t, and when the storm came, he rushed everything.” 

“Thanks for that. I just had the time of my life trying to find any information on anything that could be considered living inhabiting the Spires, and then I get to hear how the pony we found probably doomed his party because he wanted to play Daring Do. That's what I needed today.” Deep Analysis cleared his throat before continuing in a poor imitation of Lucky’s voice. “Hey, I know you just popped every artery in your brain trying to find information to prove that ponies wouldn’t fall so far as to kill each other like a pack of rabid timberwolves, but did you know the leader of the party doomed them from the start because of his incompetence?” 

“Thanks, Lucky for reminding me I shouldn’t be so optimistic. Really helps.” Deep Analysis scowled before slamming his face against the top of the table. 

“Hey, what are friends there for?” His friend tapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “Besides, you may be in luck today! From what it seems, something got him, and probably the rest of his team, before his incompetence in the form of the weather, lack of equipment, and the team's lack of skill could get them! If that isn’t uplifting for you,” he sprung up, his wings in the air, “what is?” 

Deep Analysis turned his head to face his friend, giving him an unamused stare. “That's your idea of cheering me up? His team didn’t die the slow horrible death of freezing, they died the painful quick death of being torn limb from limb. You have a funny way of trying to cheer me up, you know that?” 

Lucky smiled innocently. “You know I'm always an optimist!” 

“Now all that’s left to do is find out what this stallion did to become so hated by the rest of his party that a windigo decided to use him as a meal.” 

“If, a Windigo took him that is! We not sure about that yet!” Lucky interrupted him. 

Deep Analysis raised his hoof into the air and began waving it around before continuing. “Yes, because obviously the pony frozen in magical ice so cold that no amount of heat can melt it came for something other than a windigo. If you have any alternatives now would be the time to voice them.” 

“I surely would name some, if my good friend dweeb, I mean Deep, had found some during his research, however, let me quote Sherlay Hays here: ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ Therefore, we haven’t removed everything impossible yet, so the answer is still up in the air.” 

“Well, unless you have faith that the spires are actually a part of the world that leads to Jötunheimr, and they met a frost giant or two, I don’t know of any alternatives.” 

“You read too many of these comic books, Deep.” Lucky face winged theatrically. “The next thing you're going to tell me is that the power ponies are to blame. You should take this more seriously, really!” 

“First off, the comic books borrowed from old crystal pony religious stories, second off, I don't see you going out of your way to dredge through, like, three libraries worth of books trying to make heads or tails of what we’re finding here.” Deep Analysis was about to continue before he noticed that Lucky was sticking his tongue out at him. “Really? Of all the times you chose now to make light of what's going on?” 

His pal just shrugged. “What should I say, it’s not like this frozen stallion is going anywhere, anytime soon. He waited for you a few thousand years more or less, this thing here isn’t exactly time critical you know.” He blinked, “And you tend to take things far too serious and get consumed by them to the point you start to get nothing done at all. Better to lighten up the situation now before you reach the point where you lock yourself up with your books for a few days straight and sleep a week in one row afterwards.” 

“Well, seeing as you are determined to irritate me as a means to stop me from doing what I usually do, and just about nothing that's been translated so far even gives us a clue as to when this stallion lived, I’m just going to wait for the next translation to show up. Hopefully, the stallion had the foresight to include important names or something so we can pinpoint a time period.” 

“Well, there is some kind of clue in the translation already, in the matter of the time period that is. As you read, there is an outpost mentioned, about…“ he took the notes and skimmed through them for a second, “nearly two days away from their starting point, near a location of ‘Ruck Ridge’. This means, if you find Ruck Ridge mentioned somewhere in the archives, or said outpost, you have at least a clue for the earliest time his expedition could have happened.” 

“One problem, I already know the outpost. Grey Spire. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. He said it was the westernmost outpost and right next to the Spires, only one outpost fits that description. It's actually the only outpost from before Sombra to have survived. So unless a three-thousand-year period of time is a good narrowing down of possibilities, we are still just as lost as we were when we started.” 

“Okay, so you have the latest and earliest point in time this expedition could have happened, a time-span of three thousand years. That's a start, if you crosscheck this information with the first discovery of yaks in pony history, compare their equipment with what they invented during the years, and, with a little luck that is, you get a good idea of when this would have occurred.” 

“That’s… actually a good idea. Let's see, the first contact with yaks was about a thousand years before Sombra, the clothes our frozen companion is wearing started being worn from around a millennium to a millennium and a half after Grey Spire was built. So that gives us about a thousand years to work with.” A smile worked itself onto Deep Analysis’s face. “And I said that a super-cell of that caliber should never reverse course. If I look into the records from that thousand year time, I can figure out what expeditions to the Spires occurred.” 

“And if you ask your pal Lucky Charms nicely and admit that he is the smartest pony around, I may tell you an even better indicator for the year,” now he gave Deep his best smile, “but only if you ask really nicely that is.” 

Deep Analysis gritted his teeth before sighing and hanging his head. “Fine. Oh, wise and genius birb of knowledge, what, pray tell, is this indicator of the year you know of?” 

“Hmm, I think you can do better than that, I think you say it better kneeling, don’t you think?” His mischievous smile got even brighter. 

“Charms, I’m tired, I had to deal with you being you, and I finally had a breakthrough as to when this might have happened thanks to you reminding me I tend to examine the forest and not the trees. I am REALLY not in the mood right now to deal with you being the stereotypical griffin and demanding more from me.” 

“You had a breakthrough, because I reminded you?” Charms snorted. “More like I pointed it out.” He hovered in the air and crossed his forelegs. “It's always me doing the work and the thinking while you take the credit.” Looking down on his friend, he noticed the exhausted face of Deep. “Fine, okay, one last time I let you get away with this!” Slowly he flew over to the pile of books, grabbed the translation along with the original text, and landed with both on Deeps back, sitting there like a storyteller. 

“If you take this text, the original one, and look… here,” he pointed at a certain spot, “you see the words our frozen friend uses. Of course, I can’t read the text in a whole, but some words are still the same as in the original of Shakespony! And that means…” 

“That this was around the time of Shakespony? Charms, I study equipolgy, not linguistics, I would have just as much luck at figuring out when old ponish became middle ponish as a child.” 

“No, stupid!” Charms gave his friend a light slap with the notes. “The word Tartarus, Tartarus is a place in Equestria! A place that had to be discovered first! That he not only knows it, but also it already had become a phrase means that the expedition happened after ponies discovered Tartarus!” 

“Your right! Tartarus was found around two thousand seven-hundred years before Luna's banishment. That narrows the time frame to about two hundred years.” Deep sprinted back out the door, forcing Charms to jump into the air to avoid falling off his back. “I’m going back to the library to see if there are any reports of a super-cell in the two hundred years after the discovery of Tartarus.” 

“Book-horse!” Charms yelled after him.
> Day 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

November 26, 11:00
The morning after our arrival at the outpost was marked by the continued onslaught of yesterday's storm. I know not, however, if the storm has crossed over or approached the capital. Whilst the mages of the capital help to protect it by lessening the power of a storm that crosses over, I can’t help but worry for your safety. Even within the hardened walls of the outpost, it is all but impossible to shut one’s senses to the howl of the storm as it rages against the stone walls in an attempt to tear through them. Were I not exhausted and beaten down from yesterday’s trek, I doubt I would have gotten a single moment of rest, for all the windows of the outpost rattle from the gale and resonate throughout the entirety of the structure. The cacophony is great enough that one might think it audible in the capital. 

I am however grateful for the hospitality of the ponies of the outpost as this morning's meal was a great relief, mostly due to our consumption of the questionably edible material within our rations. We were given the luxury of consuming foods only seen in the immediate area surrounding the outpost. A plethora of mostly fresh berries and roots constituted the majority of our meal with only a strange tea to accompany it. It was excessively bitter, containing some unfamiliar spice. The most peculiar aspect of the drink was its inability to cool. I left it untouched for the better portion of an hour and yet the libation refused to let up its expulsion of steam, rendering it even more unpleasant with time.

When questioned of the drink’s origins, the residents informed me that it was a beverage exclusive to the outpost, as the plant that bestowed the drink both its persistent warmth and hardy spice solely grew here. This uncanny plant they dub the ‘fireweed’, releases around itself a field of warmth that does not permit the formation of ice nor temperatures below a certain threshold. Even a storm such as this one has done nothing to cool the small patches where this plant is found. Even when used to produce the drink, the magical warmth of the plant remains. This fireweed is also the reason for the excessive warmth of the outpost as it is cultivated within these walls.

Upon the completion of our morning meal, our expedition group, sans Iron Hoof as he wished to converse with his fellow guards, met within the commander's quarters in the northern wing of the base to go over the information on the Spires. The Commander arrived shortly after our group had settled around the large table holding a detailed map of the immediate vicinity, explaining that his presence had been delayed due to a failure in the masonry along the northeastern wall. Since I had obtained what could charitably be considered adequate rest, and was not in the throes of advanced physical exhaustion, I was capable of recognizing that the captain was a Pegasus very much the senior of Orator and Iron Hoof, but decidedly the junior to myself and Hard Soil. 

As you know, my love, my memory for what I witness has remained unrivaled among the many ponies that engage in transporting supplies between towns within the empire, but for the life of me, the visage of the commander had not been fully impressed upon me the previous evening. On my return, I will endeavor to stay by your side for as long as possible. The stress of this expedition has placed a heavy toll on my mental wellbeing, and I hold no doubts that the Spires will be even less accommodating.

Writing this now, I can not help but to allow a smile to creep its way across my muzzle. Looking back, I regret that your regular and persistent pleads to see me reduce my work-load and to enjoy your company were for naught, and it was a single, ill-informed journey that finally saw me reflect upon what a poor husband I have been. I wished to provide for you a life you would enjoy, and only now do I see the error of this. The irony is not lost on me that in my efforts to play the part of a loving provider, I have become quite the opposite; a painful absence within your life.

The commander approached the table and stood at its head, at the western edge of the map, before he began to explain what he knew. According to him, the leyline has been of a particularly odd disposition this past week. According to what the mages have noted, upon a shift in the outpouring of mana, the storms that characterized the Spires began to subside. That had been only two days before the clearing of the weather and the sighting of the lights on the other side. According to him, the outpouring of mana was both the most stable to have been recorded from this outpost and was currently responsible for the measured power of the storm here.

When pressed, the commander clarified that should the Spires no longer disturb the leylines, the storm would be of such a brutal and dangerous potency to have been capable of killing us upon our arrival. Thus, the outpouring was protecting us and the outpost from the storm. 

Not wishing to look unfavorably at our luck, that the very mountains responsible for the ends of countless pony’s lives were currently the cause of our continued existence, we inquired as to when the storm might pass and the way made clear for us to ascend the Spires. Regretfully, were our party to have been here when the Spires first cleared, the way to the opposing side and the return would have been assured. As of now, from both their experience and understanding of how the Spires behaved, the outpouring should, from their guess, only permit passage for the next three days before its nature shifts. Beyond that, models and predictions, by even the most knowledgeable on the subject, diverge into wild and useless variance.

The problem lied in the fact that, at its current progression through the Wastes, the storm would abate to what the commander considered an acceptable level in two days' time. If the outpouring will indeed last for only three more days, and the storm’s power will not sufficiently remit until the second, our expedition risks the likelihood of losing our best chance at reaching the foreign civilization.

Orator, Hard soil, and I stood in silence for what felt like hours on hearing this information. We had been tasked with discovering the source of the anomaly and, should we find ourselves met with a new people, establishing contact with them. If we were to miss the opportunity, we held no illusion that the queen would order us stay ‘til such time as to again attempt a traversal of the Spires.

I could tell that such a fate was highly undesired, perhaps even feared, among the members of our party. To be relegated to the outpost for the length of time such that we, again, saw the manifestation of favorable conditions would in all odds consign us all to an extended existence within these walls and extirpate what lives and goals we had before this damned excursion.

The commander, seeing our reactions, calmly and empathetically expressed that this was the most pertinent information for us and that we were dismissed to do as we saw fit until such time as we could determine our most sensible course of action.

November 26, 20:00
The remainder of my day was consumed by silent contemplation. None of my compatriots seemed inclined to come together so as to articulate their grievances nor any ploys or methodologies we might implement to mitigate the severity of our plight. I remained within the quarters I have been assigned since the meeting with the commander, save for the briefest of stints to acquire a mid-day and evening meal. 

I have been racking my mind over my experiences within the Wastes and have found my knowledge falls short of a solution. I know not what to do. As you well know, I have done well to find myself safely surrounded by either earth or crystal and stone, should the weather turn foul. I know only the proper procedure to prevent my death at the hooves of a bitter storm such as this. With you in my thoughts, I could never deem my life of so little value as to risk it in a mere storm, be it a simple one that devours your very breath or a fury like the one that bombards this outpost. I was entrusted to see to the safety and success of this mission, but in all my years I have never learned what is desperately required of me. Mine own failures shall spell either our death or our self-imposed exile.

I






I am sorry my love. My time within both these howling walls and my own head have chipped away at the sanity I have tried to hold so desperately to. Every second leads me to darker thoughts; of my mortality, of my responsibilities.

Of you.

I fear not for my own safety, nor quite for the safety of my companions. I fear what weight my disappearance might place upon you. I fear the damage I might bring to you should I return having failed to protect those I had been charged with. The stress and displeasure I may cause to you by how distant I fear I may become.

I fear the heartache you would feel should I be unable to return to you.

Upon my completion of this entry, I will assemble the members of our party, as well as the commander, back to the commander’s office and propose an idea. We have an estimated window of three days to forge a path to the other side of the Spires. Should we leave before the first light of the morrow, my estimations place us on the peak at the first light of the second day. We will see if this civilization indeed exists. Should we find them, we must conduct our business with all haste, convincing one of their number to join us on our retreat. I know not if we would be consigning them to a life away from their people, but that shall be a concern for a later date.

I shall not see my life complete save for by your side.
> Dark Realisation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucky was hovering below the ceiling of the library with the translated diary in his hooves, re-reading the last entry. “Seems this frozen friend of yours really had an urge to make stupid decisions if you ask me,” he said loud enough that Deep would be able to clearly hear him. “I mean, he’s even more stupid then you when you are in full research mode.” He closed the diary and spun around in midair. “I am assuming you figured out something about that storm?”

Deep Analysis, however, didn't seem to be paying attention. His gaze was quickly going from page to page and hastily reading every section of the books and papers that were strewn across one of the desks. Occasionally, he would even run over to an adjacent desk and scrawl down borderline illegible words in is own journal, oblivious to everything else around him.

Lucky scrunched up his face in displeasure. “Full research mode it is then.” He angrily groaned before flying over to one of the bookshelves and pulling out a smaller book. “Good thing I know how to handle this.“ He then flew directly above his friend and carefully positioned the book over his head before shouting, “Incoming!” and letting go of the book.

The book collided with Deep Analisis’s head with a satisfying thwap. Unfortunately, Deep was too engaged to notice. Instead, he turned up to his friend with bloodshot eyes. “Translation, now!” The way the words were practically shouted made it sound like an angry demand.

“Oh, I’ll give it to you,” Lucky mumbled, “catch.” And with that, he let the translated diary fall towards his friend, adding a little bit of force to hopefully hit him. 

The falling journal was quickly caught in a magical grasp and practically slammed onto the table containing the papers and books before Deep began to pour over the pages. After about a minute of this, Deep slowly stepped back from the table and unceremoniously fell back on his haunches, mumbling something under his breath as he did so. 

Deep looked up to his friend, only to find that he had collected a stack of books and was ready to drop them on him.

“Lucky, you can be mad at me later, I think I figured out what happened. I also don't think the librarian would appreciate you damaging the books in here.” Deep's usual tone was gone, replaced by a far more distant and serious one.

“Urg… fine.” Lucky placed the books back on top of a bookshelf with a sigh. “So, what did you find out?`”

“The group, the entire expedition, the whole thing going wrong was Equestria's fault-” 

“You don’t say!” Lucky interrupted him as he flew down. “That's what I’ve been saying all along!”

“No, you don't understand.” Deep turned back to the table and began to frantically shift through the mess of papers before finally finding the one he was looking for. “The supercell, I knew it was too important to not be recorded. The thing is, it wasn’t recorded by crystal ponies, it was recorded by regular ponies. Two-thousand-seven-hundred-and-five-years before Luna’s banishment, pegasi recorded a storm so powerful coming towards what would be Equestria that they feared it could possibly kill most of the ponies that wound up in its path. Pegasus were mobilized-”

“Pegasi,” Lucky corrected.

“Whatever, all of them, young and old, were conscripted to beat their wings as hard as they could towards the clouds. Since they could manipulate the weather, they figured this might end the storm or slow it down. Fortunately for them, it kept the storm from actually crossing into pre-Equestria, it sent the storm back to the Crystal Empire.”

“Something every unihorn would not have been able to do, or was it spikehead? Well, anyway, saving a whole country at the cost of a few ponies seems logical to me. Yes yes, I know, morality and such, but this happened, what was it, over two thousand years ago? And doing it helped potentially thousands of ponies survive. I think they did well with this storm redirecting thing.”

“That isn’t why I’m upset. I’m upset because of the cascade of problems that doing that caused.” Deep looked down and practically whispered the next words. “I have a good idea about how they all died.”

“Frozen to death I would assume? Or starved while buried under a ton of snow and ice?”

“Most likely, but in a way far worse than you could ever imagine. Remember how I told you about how the Spires change the nature of the weather around them? Hell, even the journal says it.”

“Soooo…?”

“The Spires made the storm even more powerful.” Deep grabbed a hold of an ancient-looking tome and thrust it at Lucky. “Read this.”

“You know you could just as well tell me what you want me to know?” Lucky said while catching the book. “Would spare us the next ten minutes of me reading through it.”

“It's the translated report journal from the commander of Grey Spire at the time of the storm. It details the storm coming back and him receiving a group of four ponies coming in from the capital, obviously our group. He then says they left two days after arriving, and on the same day, the Sires shifted the nature of the storm.”

“Oh, that is something different. In that case, this is quite a bit most interesting.” He opened the tome carefully and started reading. “I am curious about what the captain of the outpost had to say about the group, see if his impression of them matches what your frozen friend wrote. Also, I wonder why they stayed there for two days?” Lucky scratched his nose before continuing. “I mean, if it was so urgent to keep going, why waste any more time there? I don’t deny that our friend here has a habit of making bad decisions, judging by what they’ve done so far, but come on, that's something else.”

“You misunderstand, they arrived, spent the next day there, and left the next morning, all in line with what’s in the journal. And unfortunately for us, the captain never described the ponies, just them arriving and leaving.” Deep’s next words had a slight tint of venom in them. “And why are you so adamant that they were making bad decisions? From what I’m seeing, they were fairly good ones. And even if they were bad, I doubt you wouldn’t do the same thing in their position.”

“Well, first, I doubt princess Celestia would order such nonsense for no good reason, I mean sending ponies to die just for a bit of knowledge that could have waited until after the next storm season passed,” he hesitated for a second, “that is if she wouldn’t just send princess Twilight and her friends of course. But a far more important question is who sends earth ponies on such a task?” He rose his free hoof in defense, “I know what you wanna say, harmony and equal tribes and such, but look at this logically, you don’t send ground-bound ponies on such a mission for Celestia's sake! Or if you don’t want to have pegasi just fly over when the weather's calm, especially since some of us have fluff to help us stay warm, send unicorns. Ones with the skills to protect themselves, heat the ice into water or simply cast a shield to protect themselves from snowstorms.” Obviously, his pegasus temper had gone a bit wild at that moment, though, the logic in his words was true to him nonetheless.

“Oh yes, what a brilliant idea, sent a bunch of pegasi to an area of the Empire known to have the most unpredictable, uncontrollable weather. Weather that can kick up gale force winds so strong that even a dragon would be thrown around like a kite. And on the point of clear skies, did you even read the journal or listen to me? The Spire’s weather was only modeled with any accuracy fifty years ago. It’s not exactly like they could have waited it out for a day or two. The pony writing this was concerned, and rightly so, that the same opportunity might never come around again. And finally, yes, let's send a unicorn to an area where the mana flow is so unstable that it is capable of controlling the weather. That is bound to work out swimmingly, especially since every attempt by them had failed to that point.” Deep’s anger made his voice just as fierce as Lucky’s. The longer he talked the louder he became, to the point of actually shouting the last few words. Deep lifted a hoof to his temple before closing his eyes and angrily continuing, but at a normal volume. “Just read the book, I don't want to get into another of our arguments just now.”

The orange pegasi flew straight into Deep’s face, hovering there for a moment and looking him in the eyes. His facial expression was tense, Mirroring Deep’s. He flew closer. Inch by inch… and stuck a donut on Deep's horn before flying off to the ceiling again. “Alright, I’ll read the book!” he yelled laughing, “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders again!” He rose and shook a hoof at his friend, “Haha! You can’t use magic to punish me since you said you want me to read this book and not continue our argument!” 

Deep just levitated the donut off of his horn and placed it on one of the chairs in the room, letting out a sigh.

Still reading the book, hovering belly up in the air, Lucky called down, “No food in the library, Deep, you really should know that. Tztztz!”

A small pop signaling a spell being cast resonated from beneath Lucky. Turning to look, Lucky saw that the donut he had placed on Deep’s horn had disappeared, likely teleported away.

“Much better, your self-control is increasing. Now, could you be quiet and let me read this?” In the following minutes, the pegasi hovered in the air and read the tome as he was told to, releasing just a little sound of surprise here and there.

“You know what?” Lucky asked, “I still have no clue about why this makes you so sad. So they rescued a country, and by doing so, maybe, just maybe, killed a few strangers in a distant land. I think I heard about such a scenario at University, it is called the butterfly effect.” He closed the book. “Such things happen, Deep.”

Deep just stared at Lucky in disbelief, with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. “Really? You really can't see why I would be upset about reading that the nature of the storm changed only a few hours after the group departed? How the storm went from an estimated one-hundred knots on the mountain to over one-hundred-fifty? You honestly are questioning why I would be a little bit emotional when I read that this group of ponies had to face a CONCENTRATED version of the storm? A storm that had already almost killed them when it was weaker?”

“Well, can we have it with the emotion already? Sheesh. You can call me cold-hearted, but this is not too different from all the heroes' stories you can find in this library, just the difference is the sacrifice here wasn’t intended. Still, their death was an accident, likely caused by some ponies saving a whole country.” He shrugged. “It is not like other ponies didn’t die during the centuries, Deep.”

“You aren't getting it. The last moments of their lives would have been pure agony. They were climbing up a mountain made of granite and ice, exposed to the winds, in the middle of a storm, with gear that barely served as protection due to how little they knew back then. What they went through in all likelihood puts Tartatus to shame when it comes to torture.”

“Urg, that's nasty. Though, you know my opinion about stupidity, it kills ponies.” Lucky flew down and sat on one of the free chairs around the desk. “In all seriousness, Deep, that’s why I was against the idea of sending earth ponies in the first place, not to mention their haste and lack of common sense.” He tapped his hoof on the desk. “Look, I know you have pitty for these ponies, but in the end, they are to blame for what happened. No one would blame a bugbear if it ate me  if I went into its territory unprepared. Stupidity kills, Deep… even these poor ponies.”

“What other options did they have? The mages at Grey Spires predicted that the Spires would shift in three days. They had a ridiculously small window to attempt to cross the Spires. How is it their stupidity that the weather shifted the next day? It’s the Spires, the window could have been five days for all they knew.”

“Now it is my turn to ask if you really read that diary? They were in a rush from the start, if they wanted to cross the spires, fine, make preparations months in advance. Form a team, train them, and get ready for when the times come. From what he wrote, this was an expedition that should have taken a long time to plan and enact, but everything was planned and executed in under a day. If they really wanted to cross the Spires, no one would have prevented them from training and preparing for months, if not years. Real explorers would have been ready and waiting at all times, till the times came, Deep.” He crossed his forelegs. “That’s the difference between explorers and madstallions. I mean, if there was a threat or something, like they needed to find a magic artifact to help their city survive or so, that would at least justified their haste, heck, that could have even ended with this being one of those hero stories. But this here’ -he lifted the diary up- “this is just the story of a bunch of bold stallions blindly trotting to their death for no good reason.”

“Look you dense bag of feathers, he was in a rush because of love! He was desperate to be with his wife, he said so in the journal. He didn’t want to be stranded at Grey Spire for Celesia knows how long just to find a species that he had little if any interest in finding in the first place. He was distraught. Are you still going to say that he was being stupid and insult the very thing that saved this capital and what it stands for?”

“Let me see…” Lucky said and stood up, walking over to Deep. “You’re telling me he just risked his life, the life of his teammates, and, the whole operation, just to be back as his wife's side? He says that he’s concerned about not coming back, but at the same time, he’s pushing everyone to continue on and not to turn back?” He shook his head. “You know that seems quite stupid and inconsistent with his goal of getting back to his wife alive.” 

Lucky then walked behind his friend. “Bag of feathers?” The moment Deep recognized the strange tone of the words, he was already being pulled up to the ceiling by his tail. “You are very lucky we are friends, Deep, not all pegasi would take this so well you know?”

“I would prefer it if you stop insulting the thing that my culture is based on. And if you are quite done, I would prefer it if you put me back down before you dislocate my tail you overgrown pidgeon.” Deep’s voice had some confidence behind it, but being suspended about a dozen meters off the ground was not somewhere he wanted to be, and it was coming through in his voice.

“So you’re telling me your culture is based on going back to your wife and having some good time under the sheets or in the clouds? I would never ever insult that!” A smile crawled onto his face, “And about letting you back down, sure, as you wish.” He forcefully flapped his wings twice before hanging his friend from the chandelier by his tail. “I think you know the way back down.”

Just then, the door to the library opened, and a crystal pegasus mare wearing thick glasses and carrying several sheets of paper under a wing walked in and began looking around the library for something.

“Hello, Deep Analisis? I heard that you were in here doing some research. I hope you don't mind, but I brought the next translation of the journal.”

“He’s over here,” Lucky loudly said, pointing at his friend hanging from the chandelier and futilely trying to bend far enough so that his front hooves could reach his tail.

“Oh, uh, does he need help? That doesn’t look very comfortable… or safe,” the mare said meekly, curling into herself slightly.

“Oh no, he is fine, he just called me,” Lucky’s voice lowered to a whisper, “a bag of feathers.” 

“I’ll do it again you, you, you…” he trailed off, unable to think of another insult for pegasi.

“Uhm, that was not very nice of him, but I still think you should help him down. I am sure you two could talk this out,” she rubbed her foreleg together nervously, “peacefully?”

Lucky looked back at his friend. “Maybe, but it doesn’t seem like he is in the mood for a civilized conversation right now. Besides, as soon as he manages to free his tail, he will recognize it was a bad idea anyway. Also, he could just use his magic for this,” Lucky whispered once more.

“Got it!” Deep had managed to reach the chandelier and dislodge his tail from between the metal. Unfortunately, this left him suspended about fifteen meters in the air and without any spells to help him down. Upon realizing this, Deep turned to Lucky and glared. “Now that that's sorted, GET ME DOWN!”

“Sure, if you apologize for calling me a bag of feathers.”

“Fine, I’m sorry you have no capacity to handle mean words and need to resort to putting ponies in danger.”

Lucky only raised an eyebrow before giving the chandelier a weak kick, letting it swing back and forth a bit, causing Deep to grab onto it for dear life.

“I’ll… just leave you two be.” The translator quickly made her way out of the library, leaving the pegasus and unicorn to sort this out themselves.
> Day 5, 6, and 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

November 27, Approximately Noon
Our fate is the grave, and our tomb, The Spires.

We set out shortly ere the break of dawn, or what can best be known to be such a time as the storm prevents all such light from breaching the cruel formations of swirling haze. While such pleasures as a soft mattress alleviate many an issue that manifest after a protracted venture through the Frozen Wastes, only so much can be done to assure a sedate stupor as achieved.

While my dreams remained unassailed by ill thoughts or sporadic natural rousings, my arousal this day seemed to have come far too oversoon. My eyes refused to remain unobstructed, as their lids seemed to take their parting as some form of offense, and endeavored to rectify such a slight at every possible moment. It was with great personal exertion that I managed even to extricate myself from the walls of the quarters I had been given.

Musing upon why I had been burdened with such a condition, my thoughts inexorably returned to the racket of the storm. The inescapable discord that was the outpost could not be described in any other way but all-consuming. A small blessing it had been that the night prior was naught but a pleasant venture through the realm of unconsciousness. 

I must think this, I must strive to wholeheartedly accept this to be the catalyst from which my condition had developed.

If I do not, I must face the stifling fear of my mortality, and the crushing lamentation that such would create in you.

I can not ponder such, as its mere flight through my mind results in my stomach knotting up and threatening to evacuate what little it contains upon the snow and frozen granite. 

Even now, imprisoned within what passes for a cave, I can not accept the reality that looms above us like an even more stygian storm. A storm not of cutting winds and life devouring cold, but of stillness, and a quiet so total that even the sound of one’s pulse is but a half-formed, hazy recollection.

I write this now, I write this in the harrowed disposition I find myself in as a consequence of witnessing the death of Iron Hoof.

The detestable state of the Spires is naught but the greatest means by which to dissuade any sane being from challenging them. A dark, looming threat of a long-forgotten god too vindictive, hateful, and merciless to allow even its death to cease the senseless extinguishment of life.

But we, we who embarked upon this ill devised farce of a mission are not sane. How could we be? We were but subjects of a stolid queen, and upon her brow rests a crystalline band that capacitates said neurosis to spread. 
I was but a single pace before him. The firmament that betrayed him was but the same rock I and the remaining party had tread but a moment prior. Following a sudden updraft, the granite behind me fragmentized, a significant length of what we had thought to be unmoving rock had simply collapsed, falling an unknowable distance down the face of the Spires. And with the rubble, Iron Hoof unwillingly followed.

A horrified cry, it was the last sound anypony would hear from the soldier. A scared, defeated, pleading noise that refuses to extricate itself from the forefront of my thoughts shall be the last memory of his voice. 

I know not if I could have helped, and the endless means by which today may have progressed invariably assail my every thought. If we were to have tied ourselves together, if I had turned around faster, if I would have pushed for us to move quicker. Each alternative does naught but dilate the breach in my soul. 

Even now, the contemptuous storm that assails the entrance to this cave mocks the three of us who remain. Its malevolent winds rush past the mouth and creates a discordant tone not too dissimilar from a wheezing, drawn-out laugh. 

I am sure now that the storm is in itself a living thing.

A creature of thought and emotion.



A creature of antediluvian evil. 

I can say with full confidence that this evaluation is correct after what I have experienced this day. 

Prior to the events that transpired which now consume my every thought and weigh heavily upon every survivor’s heart, our party had been contemplating a withdrawal from the Spires. Being as our state at that moment was unenviable, being buffeted by gelid winds which not even our gear seemed to offer protection from and blind to all but the sleet and granite nearest us, we had been in the middle of a trudging conversation as to ascertain whether we should return to the outpost for want of better coverings. 

Upon my utterance at the notion of us seeking more optimal gear, the storm broke upon us, as if it were a stalking predator, waiting for its prey’s guard to be at its lowest, positioned where its escape was but a flight of fancy. 

It broke just as we were exiting a section of the mountains ascension that could only be described as a fatal byway even should the storm be but a foreboding presence at the periphery of our concern. It was a wonder that we were able to scale it unmolested given the storm at the time. With the unrestrained wrath of the blizzard bearing down on us, retreat was but a quicker manner by which we could slough our mortal coil. 

It had been waiting, the storm had been lying in wait for us to reach a point after which it could determine whether or not escape would be viable. It had bided its time in order to draw us in before bearing down on us like a leaden blanket.

We were trapped, with but one way to proceed should we not be inclined to hold position and simply give in and allow ourselves to be consumed by the chill. It took but a moment for our decision to be made, for what little claim we had on our minds not being that of doltish half-wits pushed us to continue our ascent in hopes of finding a means by which we could escape our current situation.

We traversed for I can only guess to be several hours, for the ceaseless grey and oppressive storm have robbed me of my sense of time. Even now, I futilely grasp at what wisps of chronology remain to me. But I digress.

It was during this time that my opinion of Orator soured. The time spent battered by this storm was also spent in prodding the linguist to follow my directions and maintain an elevated pace. Perhaps it was during these damnable exchanges that I lost track of the position the sun should be in. Either way, the tenderhoofed stallion made no small impact on the journey's progression. 

I had initially been heading our troop, but the incessant complaints and unsolicited ‘advice’ on ways by which we could proceed drove me to pull back to behind him to assure that he would not hinder our progression. While my patience is not an enviable aspect of my personality, I was able to restrain myself from lashing out at his input, instead reminding him that I had been brought on due to my knowledge of the wastes and my skills in surviving less than hospitable conditions. He quieted somewhat after that, but his constitution was severely lacking. 

Now, naught but the condescending wind and our miserable thoughts reach our ears. None wish to speak. And what reason have we? Not one of us wish to discuss that horrible even, for what purpose would it serve? Perhaps a discussion as to what we are to do now, our means of progression? Lest we desire a death no different than that suffered by Iron Hoof, or to know what it feels like to have even the warmth of your breast violently ripped from you, our position within this cavern shall remain.

We have managed to construct a fire from what disposable supplies we possess, but we all know the futility of such a performance. 

Our lives now are but a farce, a delusion brought on by our refusal to admit defeat. 

I write this now as more of a means by which to chronicle my demise. I have resigned myself to this fate, as my future now wholly rests upon the progression of this hostile tempest. 






I hope that should I pass from this world, anyone else who is to pass through these cliffs stumbles upon my and my companions corpses and reads this.

I implore unto you, whatever reasons you might have had prior to finding this journal, abandon them, and flee back from whence you came with all due haste!

You gamble your life here, and be you ignorant or unconcerned of the perils that exist here, I must impress upon you your foolishness. You have no hope of ‘conquering’ these hungering fangs, nor of escaping there wrath, should their mercurial temperament find you to be a satisfactory meal.

Turn back, do what I was too proud and too cowardly to do.



Live.












November 28, after breakfast

The morning of the second day on the spires was as grave as the first. Again, silence and wind resounded through the cave for hours on end. The grayness of the sky informs us merely of the sun’s presence behind them. None among our remaining party even wished to hazard a guess, simply that day had come and still we were trapped.

Orator, to my chagrin, decided that his input was needed in this manner, beginning by stating that we should discuss Iron Hoof. A firm no, accompanied by a glare in his direction made it clear that his idea was not appreciated. Again, he attempted to press the subject, stating something about not addressing trauma, but I was having none of it. 

The welp quieted after that. Good. I tolerate him for now, but only just. 

My dreams were filled with the events of the prior day, and through them I experienced that horrid instance and all that preceded it innumerable times. In each instance, I came to recognize what had caused the tragedy.

Orator.

The constant complaints and his dreadful pace had slowed our accent, and with it, brought us closer to our doom. Where he to have simply closed his mouth and kept pace like the rest of us, the entire party would have made it past the section that collapsed, and we would have been spared our current predicament.

Without Iron Hoof, the majority of our supplies have been lost. A fire is an untenable proposition. We had started one the previous day for a time to warm ourselves, but to maintain one would be to invite a sooner death. We have only so many items upon us, and with each that gets sacrificed, one option of survival is forever lost to us.

I discussed a plan with Hard Soil to barricade the front of the cave using the snow around the area and create a wall of it that would extend three-quarters of the way to the top of the cave’s entrance to allow some flow of air, but permit the buildup of heat. The principle was similar to structures I would build in the Wastes if I found myself in the open when a storm hit.

After listening to my explanation, Hard Soil, while concerned about the risks barricading us in a cave would pose, relented and assisted me in the creation of the structure. Orator rose to aid us, and while I initially voiced my displeasure, demanding to know why he thought I wanted his help when I hadn’t requested it, his statement that given our present situation, he could either help or do nothing, and doing nothing would just make things worse, I saw his logic.




However, I know what he is playing at. His honeyed words, his skill at warping the crystal tongue to best benefit him requires I trust him naught. On top of that, he was sent by our repugnant regent to serve as a ‘diplomat’. 

No, every action he takes will be a calculated farce. A carefully crafted illusion to get those too thick or those too trusting to drop their guard. 

I am neither.

Throughout the hours it took to properly fabricate our means of survival, I could see from the corner of my eyes his gaze fall and remain on me for prolonged periods time and time again. He was trying to read me, concoct the perfect mask by which to ingratiate himself to me again.

No.

I want nothing more to do with this ijiraq. While I haven’t the stomach nor the moral defalcation to see to his body never leaving the Spires, the aid I shall give to him will be no more than that which is necessary. 







For now, I will examine what supplies we have and determine what we may burn to protract our lives as much as is possible. 

I hope though that as time progresses that the wind dies down. The hole left at the top of our barricade seems to be just wide enough to allow a deep resonance to develop in the cave. Not enough to shake the walls, but a quiet, unfaltering drone that causes my ears to flick. 
November 29

I awoke sometime in the night to a buzzing of my ears. I had retired early, or perhaps on time, after it became obvious that further actions yesterday were unnecessary. At first, I had thought Orator to be the cause of my ear’s condition, as what I was hearing sounded like the discordant whisper of somepony young speaking in their sleep.

I rose from my position, fully intending to end the source of noise through the application of a thrown stone, when in my half-conscious condition I realized that the noise was emanating from behind me, towards the cave entrance, and not from the two remaining stallions. 

I turned towards the source of the noise, seeing the same wall of snow as had been there yesterday, save for the slightly closed hole at the top. I meant to retire back to sleep then, accept the noise as just another oddity of this storm and distract myself with the cruel pleasantries of unconsciousness when from the deepest pits of my mind, a horrific thought threatened to travel down my spine and purged my body of what little warmth remained.

The noise, while heavily that of an unrelenting storm, was indisputably mixed with a sound that could not be described as anything other than whispering. 

Drawn in by such a curiosity, I felt as my hooves pushed me off of the ground and propelled me towards the source of the din. Upon my reaching of the wall’s base, I sat down and looked towards the hole with perked ears, hoping that my proximity and undivided attention would serve to decipher what I was hearing.

However, to my chagrin, the words bound to the winds refused to allow themselves to relay to me their meaning. I closed my eyes, tilted my, head, even stood up and propped my front hooves upon the snowy slope, but regardless of my actions, the sound coming from the hole became neither louder nor more distinct.

I was brought from my examination though by the placing of a hoof upon my shoulder. And with this action, what little progress I had had with understanding the voices in the wind was lost, and not only lost, but utterly undone, as the disruption of my attention seemed to also dispel the whispers.

With a scowl, I turned to face the cause of this, only to come muzzle to muzzle with Orator, who looked more than a little concerned. 

I will admit that at first I was taken aback by this sight, but my irritation at being disturbed quickly reasserted itself. With a growl, I pushed forward, causing Orator to fall back on his haunches. When I demanded that he explain why he chose to bother me, after stammering for quite some time, he managed to get out that upon both his and Hard Soil’s waking, they found me sitting and staring up at the ventilation hole. They had left me be for some time, but after what they thought to be several hours of me not even moving, they had decided to check on me and see if I had not expired and frozen in place. 

The looks upon both their faces were that of deep concern, but I could not bring myself to forgive them, nor excuse their actions. I had been so close. 



I will try again to discern what secrets the voices hold. I simply must wait for them to return after their unceremonious dismissal.