A Fated Ventureby Nihil SavantChaptersForeword by Starswirl the BeardedTuesday, 4th Week of SummerFriday, 4th Week of SummerSaturday, 4th Week of SummerApprox. Thursday, 5th Week of SummerVenture's 5th LetterVenture's 6th LetterVenture's 7th LetterVenture's 8th LetterStarswirl's EpilogueForeword by Starswirl the BeardedForeword by Starswirl the Bearded: Since its implementation, young, bright-eyed stallions and mares full of hope for a thriving Equestria and a hunger for knowledge have often questioned my enforcement of what has become the first law of Starswirl's University for Magical Studies. My decision to ignore these questions has made me subject to considerable critique, with some Ponies going so far as to accuse me of merely creating new rules to assert my authority over the University I founded. Apparently some of the students now look upon me as tyrannical dean, grown power-hungry out of some desperate attempt to command control over the life that time continually threatens to snatch away. No longer being youthful myself, and perhaps lacking the degree of self-reflection that the young at least believe they have, perhaps those accusations have some founding in truth. However, regardless of that, I still stand by the first law: Never use magic to explore the unknown. As a scholar, I must emphasize that this rule is not purely of my own invention. I first encountered it while visiting a nomadic Zebra tribe, who stopped near Canterlot shortly after I began my studies. I made audience with their chief, and I asked him to explain to me source of the Zebras' mysterious powers. Translated to Equestrian, though roughly, in order to keep the rhyme, he said; “In pursuit of growth; mind, body, and soul, To know the way, you must first know the goal.” I dismissed this statement for many years, viewing it merely as an attempt to ignore my question. Zebra chieftains have always had a cryptic way of communicating, and perhaps, on reflection, he was telling me that he could not answer me directly, since I did not really know what I wanted. Perhaps Zebra's powers have no clear source, at least not in the sense of a Unicorn's magic. But that is a subject for another time, my old mind seems to wander, and I should return to the topic. My law is not meant to imply that ponies should not seek knowledge. Indeed, if I thought that, it would have been amazingly foolhardy of me to create this temple of study I hold so dear. I encourage Ponies to explore the unknown- through the arts, through medicine, through navigation, through philosophy, and even through this “natural science” field so many students seem interested in researching these days. But never through magic. Even when researching a new spell, a Unicorn must have an end goal in mind; they must know what they seek before they seek it. Wandering through the realms of wizardry blind may very well result in finding things one does not want to find. I caution the reader, the story behind my creation of the first law contains events that many will find unbelievable, and those who do believe it may find it horrifying. While it is my attempt to keep this forward civil, I vowed that I would tell the truth as well as I know it, and as such, I have not made any attempt to omit details from my tale or censor the events of the story to follow. Those of weak constitution may desire to stop reading here, as do those few of my students who wish only to learn what they need to know. My application of the Zebra's rhyme to my rules for magic came about after a package manifested itself, through teleportation, in my bedroom one evening. While I am no stranger to being sent magical messages, often, rather obnoxiously, when I am attempting to sleep, this package instantly distinguished itself from all the others I have received in my career. The wrapping was of a material at first unknown to me, brown and soft to the touch. I later identified it as, rather shockingly, the dried and tanned skin of an animal, likely an ungulate. The package became even more enigmatic when I opened it and found it to contain a collection of letters from an old student and colleague of mine, Venture. Curiosity is not a trait as widespread among Ponies as it is in, say, felines, which my faithful friend Aloysius just demonstrated by knocking my ink off the table, possibly to see how I would react. The rarity of curiosity may explain why many aspects of things such as dragons and the Everfree Forest remain a mystery, though Ponies have lived with them for centuries. However, perhaps as a cosmic balance to Ponies' general complacency, the few that do portray curiosity show an often alarming excess of it, as I'm sure most students are aware. Venture was a curious pony. She began attending my lectures after a friend dared her to walk up in the middle of a presentation and pull my beard. I was initially furious, as anypony would be to a stranger who had apparently decided interrupting and causing physical discomfort was a suitable substitute for a hoofshake and a “hello.” But before I could start ranting about etiquette, I saw her eyes. To this day I've never seen pupils dilated that wide, a deep black abyss seeking to take in every bit of light and information around it, contrasted by the small shimmer at the center of the abyss. On the surface, a thin layer of light pink separated the black from the white remainder. These weren't the eyes of a disruptive sociopath, they were the eyes of a small foal, waiting for its mother's approval. I asked Venture if she wanted to hear about my theories on the source of magic. The statement barely left my lips before she said yes. I motioned to the nearest chair, and she calmly took a seat. Venture was orange Unicorn, with light blue mane of frequently changing style, a bit too young to be my peer and a bit too old to be my daughter. An amazing student, but a terrible scholar, she had no patience for diligence or rigor. It did not surprise me in the least when she told me she had grown bored of studies, and wished instead to go “experience.” She had invented a spell specifically for finding magical things that nopony had ever seen, but had become frustrated that the spell only ever pointed toward the Everfree Forest. She found the forest boring, saying that she didn't want to only find things “Ponies should have found a long time ago.” She believed that, in leaving the nation of Equestria, the spell would find a new target, and promised to send me letters of her findings. To my deep regret, I encouraged her leaving; I taught her spells I thought would assist her survival and gave her a large bag of equipment. She had always been much too fidgety in the classroom, for though she almost always liked the subject of the lecture, she found whatever particle of dust floated by to be equally as fascinating. She would be much happier out in the world. I also thought it would help her fulfill her destiny, which I interpreted as pertaining to navigation. Her Cutie Mark was of a compass, as it is with many natural explorers, though the needle of her compass curiously pointed toward the little “w.” That was the direction in which she chose to begin her journey, the vague, arbitrary designation of “west.” We both knew she would find her fate that way. Looking at it now, perhaps she instilled my newfound interest in changing Ponies' destinies. For the sake of being concise, I will quickly summarize the letters she sent prior to the final package. She spent many years roaming the sea, then the jungle, then the desert, then the jungle again. On her first jungle expedition she adopted a companion, a small, brown-black, short-eared, long-tailed, pawed, squirrel-like creature, whose species is still unknown to me, since Venture is the only pony I've known to encounter one. She merely called it “Frederick,” and failed to explain the origin of his name. She encountered Zebras, dragons, Griffons, and many less sophisticated creatures. She, through a very circuitous route, soon journeyed to Clawthens, the Griffonian capital. She stayed there for over three years, studying the Griffon’s culture while educating them about magic. Though I admit I may be speaking mainly from my fondness for the pony in question, I personally think Equestrians should credit Venture, at least partially, for the friendly relations we've recently developed with the Griffons. Younger students may be surprised to learn that, at that time, many Ponies still believed that Griffons actually ate Ponies! Walking unarmed into their capital was unthinkable. While far from a professional diplomat, her friendly talks and trades of cultural understanding paved the way for future ambassadors. Her letters grew increasingly infrequent during her stay in Clawthens, finally concluding with an small note indicating she was ready to move on. Letters stopped coming altogether for over a year. The hiatus was finally broken by the arrival of that disgusting brown package. I will not delay any longer. What follows is the package's contents, reproduced by me to the best of my ability. I present it to you, dear reader, not only to prove a point about my laws, but also to provide you with knowledge, even if that knowledge extends beyond the comfort of our peaceful Equestria. It's what Venture would have wanted. Author's Note Hope you all enjoy. And don't worry, just because it has a prologue doesn't mean it's ridiculously long. If the italics are annoying to read, please inform me. I want to separate Starswirl's writing from Venture's, in the original doc they used different fonts, but I can't find a way to do that here. Tuesday, 4th Week of SummerSorry for the long gap between letters, friend. There hasn't been much time for me to write these last couple of months, nor has there been much to talk about. My horn, silly piece of bone that it is, really wanted Frederick and I to cross this mountain range. You know how mountains are, nothing but snow, rocks, and potential enormous plummets to your death. Same as they ever were. Some quick advice, before you ever teach my finding spell to any of the brats you bring in to fill the enormous hole I've left in the sentimental workings of your school and your heart - I kid - make sure you add a way for the spell to account for altitude. My version still only points in a straight, horizontal line towards whatever it's seeking. We were almost all the way to the top of the mountain before I realized the spell just wanted us to get to the other side, and it would have been much easier to go around the base. Frederick, amazing little friend he's been through our travels, stuck with me throughout all the harsh, vertical climbing and cold that kept making his little paws quiver. Although, ever since he realized there was nothing at the top and we started heading back down the other side, he's been quite angry at me. And rightly so. Some good did come of our otherwise pointless mountain-climbing expedition, in that I found our destination. Do you remember the Circular Forest? If not, I may have forgotten to tell you. There’s an old griffon legend that, buried in a valley between the mountains to the north-west of Griffonica, there lies a dense forest, shaped in a perfect circle. Supposedly, if one can brave the forest, their greatest desire can be found in the center. Many claim to have seen the forest, though few griffons actually fly over the mountains, likely for the simple reason that there are no known villages on the other side for them to visit or trade with. Even fewer griffons have actually entered the forest, and supposedly, no griffon who has entered has ever returned. Much of the legend is, of course, silly and baseless. Ponies often said similar things about the Everfree Forest, but I remember you practically took us on field trips there. But, the legend can't all be false, for from the top of the mountain we could see a large, green circle at the center of the valley. When I activated my spell, my horn pointed right at that circle. Now, some days later, Frederick and I have made camp just outside a thick row of massive trees. We plan on circling around and observing the outside for a while before jumping in, just to make sure my horn is pointing at something in the forest and not something on the other side. Next time I write you, we'll have stepped into the place where griffons dare not tread. The thought of that has me absolutely giddy. I still have my taste for adventure, and I know something tremendously exciting is bound to be found here. You’ll be getting this letter late. Normally I try to send these letters as soon as a write them, but I'm frankly exhausted from all this walking and climbing, and I just don't have the energy to teleport something even this small over such a great distance. I'll try to remember to send it first thing in the morning. Goodbye for now, friend. Friday, 4th Week of SummerFriday, 4th Week of Summer I forgot to send the last letter first thing in the morning! I'd actually forgotten that I'd written it until I sat down to write this one. And it looks like you'll have to wait even longer, friend, I'm having trouble with my teleportation spell. Though, as a consolation, I think I may have found evidence for one of your theories. I'll try to explain. You once said that any excess magic from a spell is discharged into the atmosphere, creating heavier air and unusual events in places with a high unicorn population. I still contend that that “ambient magic” is not why you'd find students sleeping in the chandeliers, we just threw parties whenever we knew you weren't there to stop them. However, I think the overall theory is correct. Why? Because the air in the Circular Forest is so thick with ambient magic I'm practically swimming in it. And it's creating a little bubble around the forest, one that seems to stop me from teleporting anything out. Honestly, it's much more “magic humidity” than ambient magic at this point. There’s magic condensing into heavy little beads in my coat, then running off and disappearing back into the air. I can't see it, but I can feel it. It tickles. And nauseates. And is very, very chilling. Not in the way the mountain was, with the air itself being cold. Chilling as in a sudden cold rain on an otherwise warm spring day, the little droplets suddenly hitting you and flowing down in a tiny icy river from your head to your hoof. The air isn't hindering my breathing, but I find myself sucking in air slowly, and holding it in for longer than normal. I'm not sure why. Likewise, I'm not sure why the magic condenses on me at all. The actual water-based humidity doesn't. The forest is fairly cold, probably because of water, fog, and the thick foliage that is blocking all the sunlight. Strangely, the forest always has the same lighting, no matter the time of day. It’s dimly lit, with a sort of blue tint, like the night sky right before it turns black. Fortunately, there’s still enough light for me to distinguish objects and colours, but only at close distance. It continues to remind me of our dear Everfree, the trees all have the same giant dark trunks, the same broad leaves, the same patterns of apparent malformed faces in their knots. Quite a few smaller ones have died, and are probably the homes of the many animals I hear buzzing, cawing, and whispering all around me. Occasionally, I catch sight of one, but never long enough to describe what it actually looks like. Boring though the forest may so-far be, the creepy familiarity makes me feel a little homesick. Hopefully the animals will at least be different than in the Everfree forest, maybe we can find Frederick a new playmate! Speaking of Frederick, either through time or through fear, he has apparently forgiven me, judging from how close he's been clinging to my back. Poor little guy keeps looking around, with big, dramatic head swings every time he hears a noise. I'm not sure he's blinked since we entered. I suggested he stay outside, but he kept insisting to come along. After the first time he jumped I even offered to turn around, and we'd find somewhere else to explore. He then bucked up, puffed up his chest, and started walking deeper into the forest. I think he knows how much it means to me. Oh, you know that thing about no griffon ever setting claw here? Absolute rubbish. Well, probably. They most likely did it. What I’m getting at is that some sentient lifeform has carved a clear path in the forest. Another flaw of my spell is that it only finds things ponies have never seen before, it very well could bring me to something another race sees daily. I doubt that griffons encounter the forest daily, though. There was a mossy, crumbled, stone sign outside the path’s entrance. The characters were far too worn to read, but it didn’t look like a modern griffon’s writing. But it may have been an ancient griffon’s work, so whatever’s here probably hasn’t been seen in centuries. The path itself is odd. From what I can tell, it’s a perfect spiral, starting from the sign and moving to the forest’s center. There’s a slight downhill inclination as well. Every step I take into the forest is one I’m taking deeper into the ground. The spiral pattern appears in some of the tree’s knots and in rows of vines, as well. Between the life and the ground, I’ve decided that “Spiral Forest” is a more fitting name that “Circular Forest.” And since I’m discovering it for ponykind, I get to call it that. It’s never been in my nature to just play it safe, but I’ve decided, if only for Frederick’s sake, to stick to the path. I’m sure knowing that someone else has been here, even if it wasn’t a pony and was very long ago, is of some comfort to him. Plus, there’s a chance that this downward motion could turn very steep, very quickly. The path at least allows me to see a sudden dropoff coming. We’ve made camp for what I assume is night. I’m not sure how many loops there are in this spiral, so the journey to the center could take anywhere from another day to a full week. Unless something odd happens, I doubt I’ll write again until I reach the center. I know you won’t get this until I return, but just the same I hope you’ll wish me luck. Send me congrats when you finally do get these, friend. Saturday, 4th Week of SummerSaturday, 4th Week of Summer Please excuse my penmanship, Starswirl. It’s hard to even magically work a pen when you’re shaking with excitement. I’ve found the center. And I can honestly say I’ve never been more surprised. I expected to find some relic, some statue, some idol or scroll buried in a ruined temple. Or maybe an ancient tree from an elder age, kept alive with the magic it now spreads throughout the forest. Or maybe a deep chasm that descends all the way to the center of the world. I never expected to find this. Equines! An actual, functioning civilization of equines! Can you believe it? For all this time we’ve thought that equines only lived in Equestria or surrounding lands, how could I have possibly imaged to find a village on an entirely different continent? Let alone in this creepy, dank Spiral Forest. I haven’t seen equines since I left that tribe of buffalo. What was that, five years ago? It’s been too long. You may note my use of “equines.” I’m not entirely sure what they are, though I know they are hooved, sapient, and friendly. Well, “friendly” may be too strong of a word. “Hospitable” is a tad bit more accurate. Their appearance is… well, frankly, unusual. Honestly, while I’m picking apart diction, I might as well say “unsettling,” though that is harsh to say about my gracious hosts. They most resemble a pony race, but have buffalo-esque hooves. Their body type resembles ponies, though they seem a bit taller and thinner. They lack horns or wings, possibly indicating a closer relationship to Earth ponies. There’s a slight luminescence in their eyes which I assume helps them see in the dark. Funny enough, that glow is the only thing distinguishing their irises from their scleras, both are white with a slight yellow tint. They do have cutie marks. Sort of. The marks more resemble that of a zebra, with abstract patterns instead of pictures. The few, and I mean very few, like two or three, foals I have seen all have the marks, and it may be possible they’re present from birth. All the marks are spirals, though the size of the spiral and decorative dots around it vary. Those aren’t the really unsettling parts, though. Their movements are wrong. Or maybe just off-kilter, somehow. (That sounds so mean to say, but I have to describe it how I see it.) They’re too forceful. No, that’s not quite it. I’m having trouble putting it to words. It’s like they constantly struggle to move, like every little twitch pains them. They have very thin fur. Thin enough to see their skin, pale and wrinkled. Dark blue veins, almost black, spiderweb across them. I think the skin’s really thin, too. I swear, sometimes I can see their muscles slithering under the surface. Ugh, look how rude I’m being. And to these perfectly hospitable equines! This horrible description will be the first thing ever written about them. Promise me you won’t let anypony else read this letter. I’m hoping we can actually send Equestrian ambassadors here, establish communication and trade with them. Introduce these ponies (yes, “ponies” now) to the wide outside world! And here I’m talking about them as though they’re monsters. They’re not monsters. I don’t know exactly what they are, but I’m determined to be friendly with them. I haven’t yet figured out what they call themselves. But for now, they are the residents of the Spiral Forest. The Spiral ponies. It’s hard to say how friendly the Spiral ponies are, they’ve been fairly hard to communicate with. They have a very unchanging, blank facial expression. I’ve never seen one smile or frown or look angry, they just always look rather sour. It’s possible they reflect emotion in their language, but even the manner of their speech seems different to ours. They emit a continuous sound for the entire length of their conversations, making it impossible for me to pick out individual words. The sound is generally very high-pitched, though the exact tone fluctuates. My guess is that the subtle tonal changes indicate the words, inflections, and emotions. They converse among one another very rarely for a species that doesn’t seem to have any form of nonverbal communication. I’ve yet to see any writing, or even notable hoof gestures. They only seem to speak when they find it absolutely necessary. Its like they all just know what the other is thinking. Personally, I find their lack of speech irritating. How am I supposed to learn a language nopony uses? Frederick, on the other hoof, probably appreciates their silence. Their pitch probably doesn’t resonate well with his sensitive ears. He always covers them with his paws and ducks into my pack whenever they talk. The first time, I tried to tell him he’s being rude, but he looked so terrified, curled up in a ball and shaking. He’s not going to do well during our stay here. I’m still trying to think of a way to help him out. Having read my description of their appearance, I’m sure you can imagine my shock when I awoke to find one of these ponies standing over me. He was looking down on me, unblinking, while I slept. I locked eyes with him for what felt like forever. I kept waiting for him to attack. Fortunately, he simply turned and started walking down the path, in the same direction we were. Reflecting on that incident, its very, very likely I’m the first unicorn he’s ever seen. I’m sure I looked just as unusual to him as he did to me. Poor thing must have been terrified. He walked until he was almost out of sight before suddenly stopping. He looked back at us. I assumed he wanted us to follow. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this whole situation, so I thought it best to do what he says and remain quiet, to avoid upsetting him. I woke up Frederick, who, upon seeing our host, looked far more shocked than I think I did. I gathered our things, and we went. That walk must have taken us all day. A full day of nothing but walking through a creepy forest, lead by a stallion that apparently wanted to stay in sight, but not be anywhere near us. I swear he paced himself so that we could only catch glimpses of him as we rounded the increasingly tighter curves. I called out a few times and asked him to wait. He didn’t. My hoofs are still sore from the trip. We finally made it to the village, sweating, tired, and thirsty. There was no gate or entranceway, just, suddenly, the forest ended and the village began. I say “ended” but there are quite a few, very tall trees lying around, their branches still blocking the sky. Distinguishing day from night is still impossible. Walking in, I could see various Spiral ponies working on building a tiny cabin. All their homes look the same, all rectangular and made of a grey wood with a slightly blue tint. They lack doors, instead being covered with several giant leaves, which also make up the roofs. The village is circular, and the houses all face the center. The Spiral ponies who weren’t building the new home were working on their farms. So far, I’ve only noticed one crop, a bright red fruit somewhat similar in shape and size to an eggplant, though significantly flatter at the tops and bottoms. Rows of farms were dotted between the houses. As soon as we entered the village, all the Spiral ponies stopped working and looked at me. As intense as it was, all those glowing eyes staring at me, I was surprised by their very small number. Assuming they don’t have any villages elsewhere in the world, the entire race probably has fewer than two hundred members. I stopped as soon as the ponies turned to me, but our guide kept walking. Another stallion, the only Spiral pony to have a horn, stepped forward. Our guide spoke to him, got behind him, and they both turned to face us. The horned one looked us over, before turning to the other Spiral ponies. Apparently this one is the village leader. His cutie mark is much larger than the others, with the spiral covering almost his entire flank. He gave orders to the others, evidently telling them to get back to work. The rest of the village, including our guide, resumed farming and constructing while the leader stepped forward to us. Not quite sure of the proper response to meeting, I slowly lowered my head, still maintaining contact with his glowing eyes. He didn’t respond. Eventually, I gently raised back up. Frederick, who had disappeared into my bag as soon as our guide had opened his mouth, peeked his fuzzy little head out, focused on watching the village leader. The leader spoke to us, and Frederick ducked back in. I then felt it necessary to establish that we spoke different tongues, while maintaining formality. “Hello, sir. My name is Venture.” I pointed to myself with my hoof as I said my name. “I am a unicorn from the far-off land of Equestria. We’ve come in a peaceful mission of exploration.” Upon hearing my voice, he looked us over again, staying completely motionless except for his eyes. He spoke again, possibly giving us his name, though I have no way of writing down what he said. He turned and started walking away. I’ve said they all walk like they’re hurt, but the leader has a very pronounced limp. His forelegs almost drag his hind legs along the ground, like they’re too heavy to lift up. When he noticed I hadn’t taken the hint to follow him, he turned around and waited for us. The second we started after him, he began walking again. As he guided us across the village, various ponies stopped their work to stare at us and talk to each other. It’s very disquieting, knowing somepony is staring at you and talking about you, but neither their face or voice gives you any clue what they’re saying. As soon as we moved past these ponies, they resumed working. Even the foals seemed to help on the farms, carrying bags of seed for their parents. During this little trip across town, I saw the center. The focal point of the town, the Spiral’s conclusion, the very dead center of the forest. There’s a pond. Or a pool of some liquid, purple and thick. Of course, it’s perfectly circular, varying in about twenty to twenty-five meters in diameter. The whole pool swells and recedes rhythmically, like a miniature tide. It spreads out from the center then gets sucked back in, leaving traces of the fluid on the shore. The constant motion is quite mesmerizing. I stared at it for a few moments. Maybe longer. The view was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the leader’s head. He stood, crouched down, his face mere inches from mine. His breath was quiet and gentle, but feeling it flow across my face made me shiver. It smelled like rot. My stomach churned. We locked eyes again, and for the first time, I looked away. I couldn’t even think about diplomacy or politeness, I just shut my eyes and backed away. After a moment, I opened my eyes again. The leader was still focused on me, but he nudged his head, clearly motioning for me to follow him. However offput I was by our last little interaction, I was proud to finally have, if only to a small degree, communicated with him. He led us to an empty cabin, where we now sit. Frederick’s sleeping on our little grass bed. I’m not sure what the Spiral ponies are doing while we wait here. I suppose the leader wants to keep us here while they discuss what to do with us. Though, maybe, he realized we were tired and just wanted us to get some rest. I can’t sleep now. As frankly surreal and unpleasant as this situation has been, this is by far the most fascinating thing I could have hoped to discover. I’m too nervous, and too excited, to sleep. I hope to interact with them more, maybe discover an actual communication method. My internal clock is failing me, but I’ll try to write everything I discover about their society tomorrow. Friend, we have, pun intended, spiraled into the unknown. And I’m going to experience every bit of it I can. Goodbye for now, friend. Approx. Thursday, 5th Week of SummerApprox. Thursday, 5th Week of Summer I’ve lost track of time. No surprise there, I suppose. I’ve only been living among these ponies for a little bit, less than a week I think, but I can already tell they have little concept of time. There’s no night or day. I’d bet there’s no winter, summer, spring, or fall. I wonder what it’s like, living with no notion of things changing. And dying the same way. Forgive me, Starswirl, not only for waxing philosophical, but also doing a terrible job of it. I’m a bit shaken right now. The details will come later. I like to keep my experiences in some kind of chronological order, though I often fail at it. Let’s just say that the timing of our arrival was a bit unfortunate. Despite my saying, in the last letter, that I was too excited to sleep, eventually exhaustion and the boredom of laying around in this cabin for a few hours caught up to me. I awoke when two Spiral ponies entered, carrying a basket of the red fruit. While one stared directly at my still-sleepy eyes, the other set the basket down, picked up a fruit, and rolled it over to me. The other then grabbed a different fruit and ate it. I smiled. They’re willing to shelter me, provide me with food, and give effort into communicating. Introducing them to the rest of the world, and vice-versa, might be easier than I thought. They left after their little performance, not waiting to see if I understood. I only took the tiniest bite of the fruit. Whether or not it’s safe for them, it’s still strange to me. I’ve come way too far to be taken out by fruit. Since then, though, I’ve been eating them pretty regularly. The bright red skin is very tough, but the pale white interior is mushy, sort of like a slightly grittier banana. The fruit’s fairly sour as well, though it becomes sweeter after the initial bite. They, unfortunately, aren’t very filling, despite their size. It usually takes two or three to feel satisfied. I feel sorry for the Spiral ponies, since this mildly unappetizing crop seems to be their only source of food. Frederick’s been having a much worse time than I have. He’s been cooped up in the cabin ever since we got here. The little guy’s recently started eating again. I don’t think the fruits agreed with him, and he refused to eat any for long time. He’s lost quite a bit of weight. Fortunately, I think he can handle them in small pieces, and he’s looked a lot better ever since I started feeding them to him in tiny chunks. Still, he’s not been well. If he gets any worse, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this visit short. Shortly after eating, my boredom grew to frustration and I decided to risk seeing if leaving the cabin would anger my hosts. I threw open the grass curtain, but not a single Spiral pony looked at me. They were all too focused on farming. I soon spotted the village leader. Even he was busy, digging small holes and planting seeds. I walked over to him and stood outside the field. Eventually, I crept in, grabbed some seeds, and mimicked the leader’s motions. He looked over at me, but quickly went back to farming. I continued copying what he was doing, and soon we planted the whole field. Looking over our work, I could see sprouts already starting to grow. One of the other Spiral ponies working on our field suddenly took her bag of seeds, dropped them off outside the field, and walked to a hut. I was the only one who seemed to notice. As we moved on to the next little garden, another Spiral pony came out to join us. She picked up the same bag and started planting them. The whole time I was out there I saw Spiral ponies leaving and entering their huts. I’m assuming they lack a true sleep cycle, just as they lack a day/night cycle. Instead, they rest only when they’re too tired to work. They’re almost always working. And all of them work. Adults plow, plant seeds, and harvest fruit. The youngest foals carry seeds and fetch tools. As do the elderly. One of the ponies who worked alongside me recently was very visibly pregnant. Everyone works. I’ve started working, too. It’s been almost too exhausting to write. You’d think that a plant that grows so quickly would more than feed this tiny village. But, sadly, they die just as quick and they sprout up. It couldn’t have been two days after I helped plant that first field that I was digging up all the dead crops. The fruit decays quickly, too. I swear a basket I harvested started rotting before I filled it. It’s such a cyclical plant; they’re planted, they grow a single fruit, the stalk dies, the ripe fruits are eaten and the rotten ones are used as fertilizer. The whole process takes less than a three days. I guess that’s why the Spiral ponies are always working. They have to keep these plants alive to keep themselves alive. So they spend their whole lives struggling to live. It doesn’t seem like a happy existence. I’ve been stuck on this sentence for a while now. I guess I’ll just have to say it. I saw somepony die today. It was one of the elderly ponies. He looked old, and frail. Far skinnier than the others, but just as pale. His eyes didn’t glow as bright. I’d seen him working on a field across from me. I thought “that pony looks too old and too sick to be working as hard as he is, it’s a shame this culture seems to expect that of him.” I wish I’d said something. They wouldn’t understand me. But I wish I’d said it. I’d been harvesting fruit when the scream came. High-pitched, like their speech, but without any semblance of musicality. The fruit fell out of my mouth as I turned around, looking for a source. The old Spiral pony was lying in the dirt, with his hooves digging into the ground and his head raised high. His cries kept getting cut short by his heavy gasps for air. His front hooves dragged him along, moving him closer and closer the the pool at the center. His heart was giving out. I think. I rushed to save him. “But what would? A healing spell? Do I know any? How do I do them again? He needs water, sleep, air, rest, me. He needs me. I need to do some thing. What?” These thoughts rushed into and out of my brain just as fast as the wind and little beads of ambient magic flew into and out of my face. I wasn’t fast enough, though. I arrived just in time to see him collapse. His eyes completely stopped glowing. I panicked. Can’t remember what I thought. I looked away from the body. A sudden realization hit me. I was the only one who tried to help. There, in the center of town, I could see all around me. And all I saw were Spiral ponies, packing up their farming equipment and heading to their homes. Going inside! That was their response! Didn’t do anything to help, just packed up their equipment and headed home. Like this poor stallion’s death was nothing more than a whistle, blown to signal the end of their prolonged work day. “Hey!” I couldn’t stop myself. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to do something? Aren’t you going to help him?” A few Spiral ponies passed me on their way home. They wouldn’t look me in the eye. They were just going to leave this old pony to rot. It wasn’t long until I spotted the leader. His head was hung low, but I stuck my face underneath it, locking eyes with him. “This pony just died. Don’t you have a responsibility? Don’t you care about him? Don’t you care about anything?” I shoved him. Didn’t mean to, it just happened. I shuffled back. “Sorry.” He centered himself, brushed me aside, and walked to his hut. Nowhere to go, I returned to the body. I bent down and got real close to his head, and poked his chest with the tip of my hoof. No response. Of course not. When I stood back up, a Spiral pony was staring at me. It was an old mare. I’d seen her working on the same field as the old stallion. She was the only one who stopped. Behind her, others walked right on by. She never looked at the body, only at me. It felt like an eternity, standing there. Her blank expression directed at me. My many futile attempts at reading it. Eventually, she too carried on home. Soon, they all left. Reason soon came flooding back to me. I’d made a complete ass of myself. This is a small town, with a culture completely separate from ours. They must have a procedure, a ritual, or something. Some sign of respect for this old stallion’s life of work. But I don’t know, maybe they don’t value respect, maybe they don’t value compassion. Maybe they don’t value basic fundamental levels of sympathy for other living creatures. No, that’s harsh. And rude. They stopped working. Work is the only thing I know they value. Maybe their brief respite is their funeral rites. I shouldn’t have done anything. I should have stood there and watched, but if I just wanted to distance myself then I wouldn’t be here, living this event. But I’ve never really prepared myself for things like this. I did a terrible job of handling this whole thing. I’m not sorry for trying to help, for asking for some acknowledgement from them that they valued this pony’s life. My values are just as important as theirs. But this should have been a more private event. My actions may have undone any good I’d accomplished toward diplomacy. I’m a rash pony by nature, unapologetically so. But I may have made things a lot harder for myself. Stranded out there, alone with the old stallion’s body, I still struggled to find the right course of action. I considered calling for help again, bursting into the other ponies’ home and forcing them to do something, or just trying to bury the pony myself. Finally, I did nothing. It hurt, physically and mentally, to leave. I couldn’t look away, no matter how hard I tried, as I forced myself back into my cabin. But my leaving was proper, in this society. I think. I hope. Can’t let this discovery be for nothing. That whole thing happened only moments ago. I thought writing would calm me down, but I’m still shaking. There’s been rumblings outside, various Spiral ponies leaving their homes, headed to the center of town. I’m going to stay here a bit longer, trying not to make the situation worse. When I set out from Equestria, I said I wanted to go experience. Today, experience found me. I’d never seen anypony die before. It’s horrifying and tragic and gut churning and awful and I never ever want it to happen again. I wish I’d never seen it. I’m going to try to sleep. I’ll fail. Author's Note I was getting sick of publishing it in parts, so here's the rest. Venture's 5th LetterStarswirl’s note: The remaining letters lack dates, or any sort of heading. I’ve taken the liberty of adding titles to separate the letters. However, at times it is difficult to tell whether Venture intended to start a new letter, or simply was continuing the same letter on a separate page. Therefore, it’s possible that my numbering is inaccurate. Venture’s 5th Letter Starswirl, I hope this makes it to you. Frederick and I have fled deep within the Spiral Forest. We can’t find the path, but that’s okay. It’s a spiral, all we have to do is go straight from the center and we’ll be out of this horrible place forever. Go straight out of the spiral. That’s a good plan. Forget diplomacy. Forget cultural understanding. Forget the Spiral ponies. Those things. Monsters. Evil, vile creatures. I walked out the hut. They were all out there, gathered around the body like flies. I could barely see through the crowd. I wish I hadn’t. They ate him. Each and every one, trotted up and chewed, ripping away chunks of the body. Chunks of their brother, or father or friend or whatever. They ate him. You could see chewed mass of pony flesh sliding down their throats. Then, one by one, they slowly walked away, the corpse’s blood dripping from their mouths, staining their coats. The ones who left went back to farming. I watched the whole scene in shock. The leader went last. He clamped down on the poor pony’s muzzle, tore off half its face. Something had already eaten its eyes. He finished chewing, swallowed, then picked up the bloody skeleton by the neck, using his teeth. The leader jerked his head, hard, sending the remains flying into the pool at the center of town. The body sank in, completely consumed by the liquid. I finally moved, just a twitch of my back hoof. The entire village snapped their heads toward me. Hundreds of glowing eyes and bloody mouths, focused on me. I screamed. They ran at me. I managed to jump back into the hut, grab Frederick, and rush away before they could get there. No other option, we had to run into the forest. I never looked back, never saw anypony pursuing us, but I could hear rustling in the branches behind us for a long time. I stopped running long after the rustling stopped. They might still be looking for us, though. I stopped to write this letter and give my hooves a rest. I didn’t have time to grab our supplies. Frederick’s terrified and sick, but otherwise alright. We’re okay right now. But we may start running low on food soon. I’m so scared. We could be ambushed at any moment. They could kill us. Then eat us. They could drag us back there. I can’t go back. So we’ve got to keep going forward. We’ll run into the path eventually. No, no path. Straight out of the spiral. That’s the plan. I’ll write again when we’re out of here. I wish I could send this to you, friend. I wish you could come help us. But that’s out of your power, just like this whole thing seems out of ours. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe soon. “Don’t worry,” I wrote. Why on earth would you be worried? If you got these, then everything turned out alright. You never have any reason to worry. I’m the one who’s supposed to be worried. And I am. But I shouldn’t be. I’m not sure I’m truly addressing these to you anymore, friend. Something’s moving in the forest. I don’t know what it is, but we have got get going. I’ll write again when we’re safe. Venture's 6th LetterVenture’s 6th Letter I can't find the path. We've gone straight for days. Or weeks, or months or hours or I don't know. I don't know! But we've never hit the road. It's gone. Gone, or must be. I didn't want to use it, but it's not like we were getting anywhere wandering through the forest. It couldn't have been an hour after we left the village that we circled right back to it. I poked my head out of the foliage, but nopony saw me. Us. It was us at the time. Frederick's missing. We'd been sleeping, lightly, in shifts. He was supposed to wake me up if there was trouble. He must have abandoned me. No, he wouldn't, would he? Leave me alone out here. Hunted and haunted. He left me. Or he was captured. That's even worse! My friend in the mouths of those monsters. He ran away. Rightly so. It's my fault we're stuck here. It's my fault he's so sick and in such danger. I'm sorry, Frederick. I'll forgive you for leaving. Please come ba- Sorry, friend. Starswirl. With Frederick gone, I've had to keep watch by myself. I can't sleep, the rustling in the forest keeps getting louder and louder. It used to be so gentle, a branch blowing or and animal howling. Now it's constant clawing and gnashing and scratching and hissing and it's wet and it's everywhere and it's terrifying but I haven't seen anything. It hasn't attacked me. Yet. Maybe it's as scared of me as I am of it. It's so hard to keep my wits about me. I've been practicing magic to keep myself grounded, thinking rationally. Just little teleportations, far too tiny to do any good, or moving objects around with my horn. I feel much more calm after writing, as well. This letter itself has been very therapeutic. Most of what I've been writing is nonsense poems bordering on children's rhymes; free-verse of course, knowing my inability to master meter. I'll duplicate one here: Sunny Spoon stepped on a sliver When the wooden raft washed down the river Named her daughter River Silver (I apologize for this line not rhyming) Because Sunny Spoon should never spell But River Silver said "Oh well" A unicorn of awesome power Though with disposition, often dower She liked not being named for wood And spelled better than her mother could.* * Starswirl's note: Several pieces of paper were included with the journal, seemingly containing Venture's poems. The pages have characters placed in a similar structure to this poem, however, most of the characters are either written in a language unknown to me, or are simply completely illegible. The few poems written in Equestrian have had their contents harshly scribbled out with a very dark ink, though some basic words such as "the" and "a," as well as any mentions of "Equestria," are still visible. Suffice to say, possibly because it was reproduced separate to the others, this is the only surviving poem. I came to a realization while bastardizing both words and magic, I had seen the village! So, were I to cast my finding spell, surely it would guide me to some new adventure outside of this nightmare. Not that I want a new adventure. I want to go home. But all would have to do is have magic guide me out of here. Trust the spell. Fat lot of good that did me. It still pointed to the village. Brought me back there again. Again! I'm so sick of this place. I started running away, opposite the direction my horn pointed. But somehow I still circled back here. There has to be magic at work. The forest. It has some kind of force, or will, or something. It's evil. I think. But I'm not thinking. Not clearly. I'm so tired. Maybe it's not the forest. Maybe its that puddle in the center. Swelling, in and out. In and out. Like my breath. Getting slower. I need to sleep, now. I'm not safe but I need to sleep now. I need Venture's 7th LetterVenture's 7th letter In and out. It’s such a smooth motion. Vile smooth moonless tide. Adjective adjective adjective noun. I’m doing it wrong again. This whole writing thing. Noun verb seems so simple. Thinking in fragments. It’s better the more I look away from the in and out and in and out. Again! Please forgive me, teacher. Friend. Friend who I trust to be somewhere outside this infinity. Friend whose image I can only grasp through the significance of the word. It’s so nice to have a friend. My apologies friend. I slipped. They’d seen me. Of course they did. I was right outside their little town, waiting and watching. They’d do something sometime so I could escape. Had to be patient. But they saw me. But they didn’t do anything. But I still wasn’t going back in, not after all the struggling I’d done out here. But maybe in there it was quiet and the scratching wet would die away. But I couldn’t risk it. They left me out there, minding my own business. My business of waiting for them to slip up. I’d peek through the bushes just watching the workers going in and out with the tide. Waiting for… whatever it is. I waited so long. Then it happened. It. again. That same musicless scream and whinny while clawing into the dirt. The mare this time. The one who stared. I did what I should have done the first time, I watched. And waited. She dragged herself on her front hooves, soon collapsing directly in line with me and the pool. They all left her. No attempt to help. No respect. No surprise. I saw the leader glance in my direction as they all entered the huts. A warning. That body. Lying there with the in and out. I returned the eternal blank stare she gave me. All those eons ago. My stare broke. The earth itself rumbled. Then. Then. The pool arose. Swelling growing. Giant crashing wave of vile cancer goo piling and mounting and rising and under it was was. just was. White. Oh, dear princess it existed. so much white. Pure white bones teeth claws all wrong. All wrong Ribs fused to femurs fused to many skulls and infinite teeth and jaws opened and closed with the in and out. Making screams words incomprehensible and chewing it writhed and dripped purple poison along the ground and roared. Silent. The spiral silenced. The Unseen vision rose from the spiral’s conclusion. Couldn’t scream or run or exist. I wasn’t while it was. Being cascaded upon the corpse. Tear sound echoed as ripped out her eyes. Then, like a gentle wave, slid back into its origin. Sound returned to the spiral as the in and out resumed. Then I slipped. I had to. Had to. Go deeper. Back in. Village, I mean. I broke in tumbling sprint to the pool. Had to see, confirm. I stared again. Another eternity lost watching the in and out. Had to run had to escape had to go now. I was back in and I had to leave I still need to leave why can’t I leave? I tripped over the body on the way out. Scrambled up to my hooves, and wound up eye to eye with the symmetrical fresh deep black voids in her skull. And I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop me. The urge. no not urge not compulsion not desire oh no not desire. Had to. True need. The need abyss instilled. You know it’s funny. Not so, not at all, but then why can’t I stop laughing? It’s just pony teeth aren’t meant for that sort of ripping tearing chewing. Fighting nature to grind shreds too tough but no thought of this only blank but oppressing need. Wet slimy slither metal taste. Need forcing chunks down while stomach constricts and shoves and tries to force fights against and fails. Still heaves at memory. The need subsided. I looked at the body’s fresh wounds and realized and stumbled away to vomit. Turning back towards my crime, the others had emerged and were doing likewise. They finished eating and threw it into the poison. The leader came to me, tilted his head. Toward the cabin. I’m there now. Staying at a place I swore I’d never be again, No change except the tiny bloodstain on the wall. I’ve slipped downwards. Please help me get out. Venture's 8th LetterVenture’s 8th Letter Help me get out. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. That’s fun. Scribble help. help from friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. Out there. Somewhere. Do you care? Lifes not fair. I can taste the air. Salty. The ocean! A massive mass of water. Like my cancer pool, but bigger. Less perfect in form. What a strange dream. But I seem strange. I write None of the others do. I wish I could sing with them though, when they feel like it. Its lonely. Lonely I can smell. Putrid but faint. Moss maybe. Dirty. Dirt itself sounds like sobbing. I sob sometimes, in my hut or in the fields. I don’t know why. IIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiii 1111111111111 lllllllllllllLLLLLLLines lines and scratches. pointless. I is funny one, feels wrong. Im not I, I have a name but I can’t feel it anymore. Faded like time. I’m writing to tell you about the things I’ve tasted. Despair’s the main one. Ash. The flavor pours out from the other’s constantly. Ash flowing in the spiral humid swamp forest. But not from me. I taste hope. Then I taste anger, sweet metallic, whenever the I that’s not I is thrashing biting screaming crying at the others and they ignore and flavor with ash. I taste metallic alot. Purple! The cancer, taste it from a turn away. Horrid, stingy burning with a syrup that holds forever in the mouth never coming out I’m never coming out no matter how much I hack from the back of my throat. But oh. Oh that hint of sweetness. Under the in and out. It’s origin the spiral’s origin the source of the cancer and spiraling out forest. Under there is A A The word. I’ve lost the word. my name my friends and now the word. the word is gone just like you and soon I and everything with the time that’s faded and Ambrosia! Sweet but not a sweet that tickles but the kind that fills fills the mouth the skull the stomach the sinus the soul overwhelming overpowering leaving in burning peaceful submission. I’ve tasted the ambrosia. Not the food of the princesses not the food of the sisters sun and moon but the flavour of the Gods. older. refined. All it took was staring at the in and out for days, growing weak hungry starving but my little spell kept pointing showing me the way the taste beyond tastes beyond the known flavours beyond becoming experience. I magic lifted the cancer the in and out goo and parted it and the light and ambrosia washed over me pressed me back and burned. it burned but I pressed on My hoof pushed through to it burned my leg to the bone but the something the otherside source of it all tasted so good. hurt now. I came back only to write this. I’m going to the source. goodbye for now. friend. Starswirl's EpilogueStarswirl’s Epilogue: I do not know how much time passed between these events and my receiving of the package. Nor do I know who sent them, or how they sent them to me using the teleportation channel I had set up for Venture. I do not even know why they sent them, why the package is wrapped as it is, or why most of her poems were ruined. But I have every reason to believe the story is true. Immediately after reading the letters, I found transportation to Griffonica. At the time the journey took well over six months. When I asked about the Circular Forest, the Griffons told me of a large fire, a few years prior, coming from the valley in the mountains to the northwest, which was seen all over the country. A group of Clawthenian soldiers escorted me to the forest’s remains. The whole thing was reduced to a perfect black circle. None of the former wildlife, nor the evidence of the Spiral Ponies remains. However, the spiral pattern where the path was can still be seen. It culminates at another perfect circle, this one being a pit 20 meters in diameter and 50 meters deep. There is no longer anything inside the pit, though the black substance the pit has still not been identified. From what I hear, even now, almost thirty years later, the scorched earth where the Spiral Forest once was still remains. Not a single blade of grass has grown there. I have spent many nights lying awake, horrified about Venture’s tale and saddened by her loss. I’ll admit that I’ve even had considerable difficulty making and keeping friends ever since. I can’t help but wonder what she found where she is. If she hadn’t made that spell, if she hadn’t wanted to leave the school, if her cutie mark didn’t point west, would any of this had happened. Sometimes I even catch myself thinking that maybe this tragedy was what her cutie mark signaled, that this whole event might have been her destiny all along. More than that, I’m scared. But that’s why I have my rules. The rules are there to protect the students, and the rules are there to protect me. Even as a magic user and seeker of knowledge, I’m well aware now that there are things out there we certainly don’t want to find. The rules exists to keep me from finding them. Because Venture certainly has made me curious. And I’m scared we’ll start to look.
Foreword by Starswirl the BeardedForeword by Starswirl the Bearded: Since its implementation, young, bright-eyed stallions and mares full of hope for a thriving Equestria and a hunger for knowledge have often questioned my enforcement of what has become the first law of Starswirl's University for Magical Studies. My decision to ignore these questions has made me subject to considerable critique, with some Ponies going so far as to accuse me of merely creating new rules to assert my authority over the University I founded. Apparently some of the students now look upon me as tyrannical dean, grown power-hungry out of some desperate attempt to command control over the life that time continually threatens to snatch away. No longer being youthful myself, and perhaps lacking the degree of self-reflection that the young at least believe they have, perhaps those accusations have some founding in truth. However, regardless of that, I still stand by the first law: Never use magic to explore the unknown. As a scholar, I must emphasize that this rule is not purely of my own invention. I first encountered it while visiting a nomadic Zebra tribe, who stopped near Canterlot shortly after I began my studies. I made audience with their chief, and I asked him to explain to me source of the Zebras' mysterious powers. Translated to Equestrian, though roughly, in order to keep the rhyme, he said; “In pursuit of growth; mind, body, and soul, To know the way, you must first know the goal.” I dismissed this statement for many years, viewing it merely as an attempt to ignore my question. Zebra chieftains have always had a cryptic way of communicating, and perhaps, on reflection, he was telling me that he could not answer me directly, since I did not really know what I wanted. Perhaps Zebra's powers have no clear source, at least not in the sense of a Unicorn's magic. But that is a subject for another time, my old mind seems to wander, and I should return to the topic. My law is not meant to imply that ponies should not seek knowledge. Indeed, if I thought that, it would have been amazingly foolhardy of me to create this temple of study I hold so dear. I encourage Ponies to explore the unknown- through the arts, through medicine, through navigation, through philosophy, and even through this “natural science” field so many students seem interested in researching these days. But never through magic. Even when researching a new spell, a Unicorn must have an end goal in mind; they must know what they seek before they seek it. Wandering through the realms of wizardry blind may very well result in finding things one does not want to find. I caution the reader, the story behind my creation of the first law contains events that many will find unbelievable, and those who do believe it may find it horrifying. While it is my attempt to keep this forward civil, I vowed that I would tell the truth as well as I know it, and as such, I have not made any attempt to omit details from my tale or censor the events of the story to follow. Those of weak constitution may desire to stop reading here, as do those few of my students who wish only to learn what they need to know. My application of the Zebra's rhyme to my rules for magic came about after a package manifested itself, through teleportation, in my bedroom one evening. While I am no stranger to being sent magical messages, often, rather obnoxiously, when I am attempting to sleep, this package instantly distinguished itself from all the others I have received in my career. The wrapping was of a material at first unknown to me, brown and soft to the touch. I later identified it as, rather shockingly, the dried and tanned skin of an animal, likely an ungulate. The package became even more enigmatic when I opened it and found it to contain a collection of letters from an old student and colleague of mine, Venture. Curiosity is not a trait as widespread among Ponies as it is in, say, felines, which my faithful friend Aloysius just demonstrated by knocking my ink off the table, possibly to see how I would react. The rarity of curiosity may explain why many aspects of things such as dragons and the Everfree Forest remain a mystery, though Ponies have lived with them for centuries. However, perhaps as a cosmic balance to Ponies' general complacency, the few that do portray curiosity show an often alarming excess of it, as I'm sure most students are aware. Venture was a curious pony. She began attending my lectures after a friend dared her to walk up in the middle of a presentation and pull my beard. I was initially furious, as anypony would be to a stranger who had apparently decided interrupting and causing physical discomfort was a suitable substitute for a hoofshake and a “hello.” But before I could start ranting about etiquette, I saw her eyes. To this day I've never seen pupils dilated that wide, a deep black abyss seeking to take in every bit of light and information around it, contrasted by the small shimmer at the center of the abyss. On the surface, a thin layer of light pink separated the black from the white remainder. These weren't the eyes of a disruptive sociopath, they were the eyes of a small foal, waiting for its mother's approval. I asked Venture if she wanted to hear about my theories on the source of magic. The statement barely left my lips before she said yes. I motioned to the nearest chair, and she calmly took a seat. Venture was orange Unicorn, with light blue mane of frequently changing style, a bit too young to be my peer and a bit too old to be my daughter. An amazing student, but a terrible scholar, she had no patience for diligence or rigor. It did not surprise me in the least when she told me she had grown bored of studies, and wished instead to go “experience.” She had invented a spell specifically for finding magical things that nopony had ever seen, but had become frustrated that the spell only ever pointed toward the Everfree Forest. She found the forest boring, saying that she didn't want to only find things “Ponies should have found a long time ago.” She believed that, in leaving the nation of Equestria, the spell would find a new target, and promised to send me letters of her findings. To my deep regret, I encouraged her leaving; I taught her spells I thought would assist her survival and gave her a large bag of equipment. She had always been much too fidgety in the classroom, for though she almost always liked the subject of the lecture, she found whatever particle of dust floated by to be equally as fascinating. She would be much happier out in the world. I also thought it would help her fulfill her destiny, which I interpreted as pertaining to navigation. Her Cutie Mark was of a compass, as it is with many natural explorers, though the needle of her compass curiously pointed toward the little “w.” That was the direction in which she chose to begin her journey, the vague, arbitrary designation of “west.” We both knew she would find her fate that way. Looking at it now, perhaps she instilled my newfound interest in changing Ponies' destinies. For the sake of being concise, I will quickly summarize the letters she sent prior to the final package. She spent many years roaming the sea, then the jungle, then the desert, then the jungle again. On her first jungle expedition she adopted a companion, a small, brown-black, short-eared, long-tailed, pawed, squirrel-like creature, whose species is still unknown to me, since Venture is the only pony I've known to encounter one. She merely called it “Frederick,” and failed to explain the origin of his name. She encountered Zebras, dragons, Griffons, and many less sophisticated creatures. She, through a very circuitous route, soon journeyed to Clawthens, the Griffonian capital. She stayed there for over three years, studying the Griffon’s culture while educating them about magic. Though I admit I may be speaking mainly from my fondness for the pony in question, I personally think Equestrians should credit Venture, at least partially, for the friendly relations we've recently developed with the Griffons. Younger students may be surprised to learn that, at that time, many Ponies still believed that Griffons actually ate Ponies! Walking unarmed into their capital was unthinkable. While far from a professional diplomat, her friendly talks and trades of cultural understanding paved the way for future ambassadors. Her letters grew increasingly infrequent during her stay in Clawthens, finally concluding with an small note indicating she was ready to move on. Letters stopped coming altogether for over a year. The hiatus was finally broken by the arrival of that disgusting brown package. I will not delay any longer. What follows is the package's contents, reproduced by me to the best of my ability. I present it to you, dear reader, not only to prove a point about my laws, but also to provide you with knowledge, even if that knowledge extends beyond the comfort of our peaceful Equestria. It's what Venture would have wanted. Author's Note Hope you all enjoy. And don't worry, just because it has a prologue doesn't mean it's ridiculously long. If the italics are annoying to read, please inform me. I want to separate Starswirl's writing from Venture's, in the original doc they used different fonts, but I can't find a way to do that here.
Tuesday, 4th Week of SummerSorry for the long gap between letters, friend. There hasn't been much time for me to write these last couple of months, nor has there been much to talk about. My horn, silly piece of bone that it is, really wanted Frederick and I to cross this mountain range. You know how mountains are, nothing but snow, rocks, and potential enormous plummets to your death. Same as they ever were. Some quick advice, before you ever teach my finding spell to any of the brats you bring in to fill the enormous hole I've left in the sentimental workings of your school and your heart - I kid - make sure you add a way for the spell to account for altitude. My version still only points in a straight, horizontal line towards whatever it's seeking. We were almost all the way to the top of the mountain before I realized the spell just wanted us to get to the other side, and it would have been much easier to go around the base. Frederick, amazing little friend he's been through our travels, stuck with me throughout all the harsh, vertical climbing and cold that kept making his little paws quiver. Although, ever since he realized there was nothing at the top and we started heading back down the other side, he's been quite angry at me. And rightly so. Some good did come of our otherwise pointless mountain-climbing expedition, in that I found our destination. Do you remember the Circular Forest? If not, I may have forgotten to tell you. There’s an old griffon legend that, buried in a valley between the mountains to the north-west of Griffonica, there lies a dense forest, shaped in a perfect circle. Supposedly, if one can brave the forest, their greatest desire can be found in the center. Many claim to have seen the forest, though few griffons actually fly over the mountains, likely for the simple reason that there are no known villages on the other side for them to visit or trade with. Even fewer griffons have actually entered the forest, and supposedly, no griffon who has entered has ever returned. Much of the legend is, of course, silly and baseless. Ponies often said similar things about the Everfree Forest, but I remember you practically took us on field trips there. But, the legend can't all be false, for from the top of the mountain we could see a large, green circle at the center of the valley. When I activated my spell, my horn pointed right at that circle. Now, some days later, Frederick and I have made camp just outside a thick row of massive trees. We plan on circling around and observing the outside for a while before jumping in, just to make sure my horn is pointing at something in the forest and not something on the other side. Next time I write you, we'll have stepped into the place where griffons dare not tread. The thought of that has me absolutely giddy. I still have my taste for adventure, and I know something tremendously exciting is bound to be found here. You’ll be getting this letter late. Normally I try to send these letters as soon as a write them, but I'm frankly exhausted from all this walking and climbing, and I just don't have the energy to teleport something even this small over such a great distance. I'll try to remember to send it first thing in the morning. Goodbye for now, friend.
Friday, 4th Week of SummerFriday, 4th Week of Summer I forgot to send the last letter first thing in the morning! I'd actually forgotten that I'd written it until I sat down to write this one. And it looks like you'll have to wait even longer, friend, I'm having trouble with my teleportation spell. Though, as a consolation, I think I may have found evidence for one of your theories. I'll try to explain. You once said that any excess magic from a spell is discharged into the atmosphere, creating heavier air and unusual events in places with a high unicorn population. I still contend that that “ambient magic” is not why you'd find students sleeping in the chandeliers, we just threw parties whenever we knew you weren't there to stop them. However, I think the overall theory is correct. Why? Because the air in the Circular Forest is so thick with ambient magic I'm practically swimming in it. And it's creating a little bubble around the forest, one that seems to stop me from teleporting anything out. Honestly, it's much more “magic humidity” than ambient magic at this point. There’s magic condensing into heavy little beads in my coat, then running off and disappearing back into the air. I can't see it, but I can feel it. It tickles. And nauseates. And is very, very chilling. Not in the way the mountain was, with the air itself being cold. Chilling as in a sudden cold rain on an otherwise warm spring day, the little droplets suddenly hitting you and flowing down in a tiny icy river from your head to your hoof. The air isn't hindering my breathing, but I find myself sucking in air slowly, and holding it in for longer than normal. I'm not sure why. Likewise, I'm not sure why the magic condenses on me at all. The actual water-based humidity doesn't. The forest is fairly cold, probably because of water, fog, and the thick foliage that is blocking all the sunlight. Strangely, the forest always has the same lighting, no matter the time of day. It’s dimly lit, with a sort of blue tint, like the night sky right before it turns black. Fortunately, there’s still enough light for me to distinguish objects and colours, but only at close distance. It continues to remind me of our dear Everfree, the trees all have the same giant dark trunks, the same broad leaves, the same patterns of apparent malformed faces in their knots. Quite a few smaller ones have died, and are probably the homes of the many animals I hear buzzing, cawing, and whispering all around me. Occasionally, I catch sight of one, but never long enough to describe what it actually looks like. Boring though the forest may so-far be, the creepy familiarity makes me feel a little homesick. Hopefully the animals will at least be different than in the Everfree forest, maybe we can find Frederick a new playmate! Speaking of Frederick, either through time or through fear, he has apparently forgiven me, judging from how close he's been clinging to my back. Poor little guy keeps looking around, with big, dramatic head swings every time he hears a noise. I'm not sure he's blinked since we entered. I suggested he stay outside, but he kept insisting to come along. After the first time he jumped I even offered to turn around, and we'd find somewhere else to explore. He then bucked up, puffed up his chest, and started walking deeper into the forest. I think he knows how much it means to me. Oh, you know that thing about no griffon ever setting claw here? Absolute rubbish. Well, probably. They most likely did it. What I’m getting at is that some sentient lifeform has carved a clear path in the forest. Another flaw of my spell is that it only finds things ponies have never seen before, it very well could bring me to something another race sees daily. I doubt that griffons encounter the forest daily, though. There was a mossy, crumbled, stone sign outside the path’s entrance. The characters were far too worn to read, but it didn’t look like a modern griffon’s writing. But it may have been an ancient griffon’s work, so whatever’s here probably hasn’t been seen in centuries. The path itself is odd. From what I can tell, it’s a perfect spiral, starting from the sign and moving to the forest’s center. There’s a slight downhill inclination as well. Every step I take into the forest is one I’m taking deeper into the ground. The spiral pattern appears in some of the tree’s knots and in rows of vines, as well. Between the life and the ground, I’ve decided that “Spiral Forest” is a more fitting name that “Circular Forest.” And since I’m discovering it for ponykind, I get to call it that. It’s never been in my nature to just play it safe, but I’ve decided, if only for Frederick’s sake, to stick to the path. I’m sure knowing that someone else has been here, even if it wasn’t a pony and was very long ago, is of some comfort to him. Plus, there’s a chance that this downward motion could turn very steep, very quickly. The path at least allows me to see a sudden dropoff coming. We’ve made camp for what I assume is night. I’m not sure how many loops there are in this spiral, so the journey to the center could take anywhere from another day to a full week. Unless something odd happens, I doubt I’ll write again until I reach the center. I know you won’t get this until I return, but just the same I hope you’ll wish me luck. Send me congrats when you finally do get these, friend.
Saturday, 4th Week of SummerSaturday, 4th Week of Summer Please excuse my penmanship, Starswirl. It’s hard to even magically work a pen when you’re shaking with excitement. I’ve found the center. And I can honestly say I’ve never been more surprised. I expected to find some relic, some statue, some idol or scroll buried in a ruined temple. Or maybe an ancient tree from an elder age, kept alive with the magic it now spreads throughout the forest. Or maybe a deep chasm that descends all the way to the center of the world. I never expected to find this. Equines! An actual, functioning civilization of equines! Can you believe it? For all this time we’ve thought that equines only lived in Equestria or surrounding lands, how could I have possibly imaged to find a village on an entirely different continent? Let alone in this creepy, dank Spiral Forest. I haven’t seen equines since I left that tribe of buffalo. What was that, five years ago? It’s been too long. You may note my use of “equines.” I’m not entirely sure what they are, though I know they are hooved, sapient, and friendly. Well, “friendly” may be too strong of a word. “Hospitable” is a tad bit more accurate. Their appearance is… well, frankly, unusual. Honestly, while I’m picking apart diction, I might as well say “unsettling,” though that is harsh to say about my gracious hosts. They most resemble a pony race, but have buffalo-esque hooves. Their body type resembles ponies, though they seem a bit taller and thinner. They lack horns or wings, possibly indicating a closer relationship to Earth ponies. There’s a slight luminescence in their eyes which I assume helps them see in the dark. Funny enough, that glow is the only thing distinguishing their irises from their scleras, both are white with a slight yellow tint. They do have cutie marks. Sort of. The marks more resemble that of a zebra, with abstract patterns instead of pictures. The few, and I mean very few, like two or three, foals I have seen all have the marks, and it may be possible they’re present from birth. All the marks are spirals, though the size of the spiral and decorative dots around it vary. Those aren’t the really unsettling parts, though. Their movements are wrong. Or maybe just off-kilter, somehow. (That sounds so mean to say, but I have to describe it how I see it.) They’re too forceful. No, that’s not quite it. I’m having trouble putting it to words. It’s like they constantly struggle to move, like every little twitch pains them. They have very thin fur. Thin enough to see their skin, pale and wrinkled. Dark blue veins, almost black, spiderweb across them. I think the skin’s really thin, too. I swear, sometimes I can see their muscles slithering under the surface. Ugh, look how rude I’m being. And to these perfectly hospitable equines! This horrible description will be the first thing ever written about them. Promise me you won’t let anypony else read this letter. I’m hoping we can actually send Equestrian ambassadors here, establish communication and trade with them. Introduce these ponies (yes, “ponies” now) to the wide outside world! And here I’m talking about them as though they’re monsters. They’re not monsters. I don’t know exactly what they are, but I’m determined to be friendly with them. I haven’t yet figured out what they call themselves. But for now, they are the residents of the Spiral Forest. The Spiral ponies. It’s hard to say how friendly the Spiral ponies are, they’ve been fairly hard to communicate with. They have a very unchanging, blank facial expression. I’ve never seen one smile or frown or look angry, they just always look rather sour. It’s possible they reflect emotion in their language, but even the manner of their speech seems different to ours. They emit a continuous sound for the entire length of their conversations, making it impossible for me to pick out individual words. The sound is generally very high-pitched, though the exact tone fluctuates. My guess is that the subtle tonal changes indicate the words, inflections, and emotions. They converse among one another very rarely for a species that doesn’t seem to have any form of nonverbal communication. I’ve yet to see any writing, or even notable hoof gestures. They only seem to speak when they find it absolutely necessary. Its like they all just know what the other is thinking. Personally, I find their lack of speech irritating. How am I supposed to learn a language nopony uses? Frederick, on the other hoof, probably appreciates their silence. Their pitch probably doesn’t resonate well with his sensitive ears. He always covers them with his paws and ducks into my pack whenever they talk. The first time, I tried to tell him he’s being rude, but he looked so terrified, curled up in a ball and shaking. He’s not going to do well during our stay here. I’m still trying to think of a way to help him out. Having read my description of their appearance, I’m sure you can imagine my shock when I awoke to find one of these ponies standing over me. He was looking down on me, unblinking, while I slept. I locked eyes with him for what felt like forever. I kept waiting for him to attack. Fortunately, he simply turned and started walking down the path, in the same direction we were. Reflecting on that incident, its very, very likely I’m the first unicorn he’s ever seen. I’m sure I looked just as unusual to him as he did to me. Poor thing must have been terrified. He walked until he was almost out of sight before suddenly stopping. He looked back at us. I assumed he wanted us to follow. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this whole situation, so I thought it best to do what he says and remain quiet, to avoid upsetting him. I woke up Frederick, who, upon seeing our host, looked far more shocked than I think I did. I gathered our things, and we went. That walk must have taken us all day. A full day of nothing but walking through a creepy forest, lead by a stallion that apparently wanted to stay in sight, but not be anywhere near us. I swear he paced himself so that we could only catch glimpses of him as we rounded the increasingly tighter curves. I called out a few times and asked him to wait. He didn’t. My hoofs are still sore from the trip. We finally made it to the village, sweating, tired, and thirsty. There was no gate or entranceway, just, suddenly, the forest ended and the village began. I say “ended” but there are quite a few, very tall trees lying around, their branches still blocking the sky. Distinguishing day from night is still impossible. Walking in, I could see various Spiral ponies working on building a tiny cabin. All their homes look the same, all rectangular and made of a grey wood with a slightly blue tint. They lack doors, instead being covered with several giant leaves, which also make up the roofs. The village is circular, and the houses all face the center. The Spiral ponies who weren’t building the new home were working on their farms. So far, I’ve only noticed one crop, a bright red fruit somewhat similar in shape and size to an eggplant, though significantly flatter at the tops and bottoms. Rows of farms were dotted between the houses. As soon as we entered the village, all the Spiral ponies stopped working and looked at me. As intense as it was, all those glowing eyes staring at me, I was surprised by their very small number. Assuming they don’t have any villages elsewhere in the world, the entire race probably has fewer than two hundred members. I stopped as soon as the ponies turned to me, but our guide kept walking. Another stallion, the only Spiral pony to have a horn, stepped forward. Our guide spoke to him, got behind him, and they both turned to face us. The horned one looked us over, before turning to the other Spiral ponies. Apparently this one is the village leader. His cutie mark is much larger than the others, with the spiral covering almost his entire flank. He gave orders to the others, evidently telling them to get back to work. The rest of the village, including our guide, resumed farming and constructing while the leader stepped forward to us. Not quite sure of the proper response to meeting, I slowly lowered my head, still maintaining contact with his glowing eyes. He didn’t respond. Eventually, I gently raised back up. Frederick, who had disappeared into my bag as soon as our guide had opened his mouth, peeked his fuzzy little head out, focused on watching the village leader. The leader spoke to us, and Frederick ducked back in. I then felt it necessary to establish that we spoke different tongues, while maintaining formality. “Hello, sir. My name is Venture.” I pointed to myself with my hoof as I said my name. “I am a unicorn from the far-off land of Equestria. We’ve come in a peaceful mission of exploration.” Upon hearing my voice, he looked us over again, staying completely motionless except for his eyes. He spoke again, possibly giving us his name, though I have no way of writing down what he said. He turned and started walking away. I’ve said they all walk like they’re hurt, but the leader has a very pronounced limp. His forelegs almost drag his hind legs along the ground, like they’re too heavy to lift up. When he noticed I hadn’t taken the hint to follow him, he turned around and waited for us. The second we started after him, he began walking again. As he guided us across the village, various ponies stopped their work to stare at us and talk to each other. It’s very disquieting, knowing somepony is staring at you and talking about you, but neither their face or voice gives you any clue what they’re saying. As soon as we moved past these ponies, they resumed working. Even the foals seemed to help on the farms, carrying bags of seed for their parents. During this little trip across town, I saw the center. The focal point of the town, the Spiral’s conclusion, the very dead center of the forest. There’s a pond. Or a pool of some liquid, purple and thick. Of course, it’s perfectly circular, varying in about twenty to twenty-five meters in diameter. The whole pool swells and recedes rhythmically, like a miniature tide. It spreads out from the center then gets sucked back in, leaving traces of the fluid on the shore. The constant motion is quite mesmerizing. I stared at it for a few moments. Maybe longer. The view was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the leader’s head. He stood, crouched down, his face mere inches from mine. His breath was quiet and gentle, but feeling it flow across my face made me shiver. It smelled like rot. My stomach churned. We locked eyes again, and for the first time, I looked away. I couldn’t even think about diplomacy or politeness, I just shut my eyes and backed away. After a moment, I opened my eyes again. The leader was still focused on me, but he nudged his head, clearly motioning for me to follow him. However offput I was by our last little interaction, I was proud to finally have, if only to a small degree, communicated with him. He led us to an empty cabin, where we now sit. Frederick’s sleeping on our little grass bed. I’m not sure what the Spiral ponies are doing while we wait here. I suppose the leader wants to keep us here while they discuss what to do with us. Though, maybe, he realized we were tired and just wanted us to get some rest. I can’t sleep now. As frankly surreal and unpleasant as this situation has been, this is by far the most fascinating thing I could have hoped to discover. I’m too nervous, and too excited, to sleep. I hope to interact with them more, maybe discover an actual communication method. My internal clock is failing me, but I’ll try to write everything I discover about their society tomorrow. Friend, we have, pun intended, spiraled into the unknown. And I’m going to experience every bit of it I can. Goodbye for now, friend.
Approx. Thursday, 5th Week of SummerApprox. Thursday, 5th Week of Summer I’ve lost track of time. No surprise there, I suppose. I’ve only been living among these ponies for a little bit, less than a week I think, but I can already tell they have little concept of time. There’s no night or day. I’d bet there’s no winter, summer, spring, or fall. I wonder what it’s like, living with no notion of things changing. And dying the same way. Forgive me, Starswirl, not only for waxing philosophical, but also doing a terrible job of it. I’m a bit shaken right now. The details will come later. I like to keep my experiences in some kind of chronological order, though I often fail at it. Let’s just say that the timing of our arrival was a bit unfortunate. Despite my saying, in the last letter, that I was too excited to sleep, eventually exhaustion and the boredom of laying around in this cabin for a few hours caught up to me. I awoke when two Spiral ponies entered, carrying a basket of the red fruit. While one stared directly at my still-sleepy eyes, the other set the basket down, picked up a fruit, and rolled it over to me. The other then grabbed a different fruit and ate it. I smiled. They’re willing to shelter me, provide me with food, and give effort into communicating. Introducing them to the rest of the world, and vice-versa, might be easier than I thought. They left after their little performance, not waiting to see if I understood. I only took the tiniest bite of the fruit. Whether or not it’s safe for them, it’s still strange to me. I’ve come way too far to be taken out by fruit. Since then, though, I’ve been eating them pretty regularly. The bright red skin is very tough, but the pale white interior is mushy, sort of like a slightly grittier banana. The fruit’s fairly sour as well, though it becomes sweeter after the initial bite. They, unfortunately, aren’t very filling, despite their size. It usually takes two or three to feel satisfied. I feel sorry for the Spiral ponies, since this mildly unappetizing crop seems to be their only source of food. Frederick’s been having a much worse time than I have. He’s been cooped up in the cabin ever since we got here. The little guy’s recently started eating again. I don’t think the fruits agreed with him, and he refused to eat any for long time. He’s lost quite a bit of weight. Fortunately, I think he can handle them in small pieces, and he’s looked a lot better ever since I started feeding them to him in tiny chunks. Still, he’s not been well. If he gets any worse, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this visit short. Shortly after eating, my boredom grew to frustration and I decided to risk seeing if leaving the cabin would anger my hosts. I threw open the grass curtain, but not a single Spiral pony looked at me. They were all too focused on farming. I soon spotted the village leader. Even he was busy, digging small holes and planting seeds. I walked over to him and stood outside the field. Eventually, I crept in, grabbed some seeds, and mimicked the leader’s motions. He looked over at me, but quickly went back to farming. I continued copying what he was doing, and soon we planted the whole field. Looking over our work, I could see sprouts already starting to grow. One of the other Spiral ponies working on our field suddenly took her bag of seeds, dropped them off outside the field, and walked to a hut. I was the only one who seemed to notice. As we moved on to the next little garden, another Spiral pony came out to join us. She picked up the same bag and started planting them. The whole time I was out there I saw Spiral ponies leaving and entering their huts. I’m assuming they lack a true sleep cycle, just as they lack a day/night cycle. Instead, they rest only when they’re too tired to work. They’re almost always working. And all of them work. Adults plow, plant seeds, and harvest fruit. The youngest foals carry seeds and fetch tools. As do the elderly. One of the ponies who worked alongside me recently was very visibly pregnant. Everyone works. I’ve started working, too. It’s been almost too exhausting to write. You’d think that a plant that grows so quickly would more than feed this tiny village. But, sadly, they die just as quick and they sprout up. It couldn’t have been two days after I helped plant that first field that I was digging up all the dead crops. The fruit decays quickly, too. I swear a basket I harvested started rotting before I filled it. It’s such a cyclical plant; they’re planted, they grow a single fruit, the stalk dies, the ripe fruits are eaten and the rotten ones are used as fertilizer. The whole process takes less than a three days. I guess that’s why the Spiral ponies are always working. They have to keep these plants alive to keep themselves alive. So they spend their whole lives struggling to live. It doesn’t seem like a happy existence. I’ve been stuck on this sentence for a while now. I guess I’ll just have to say it. I saw somepony die today. It was one of the elderly ponies. He looked old, and frail. Far skinnier than the others, but just as pale. His eyes didn’t glow as bright. I’d seen him working on a field across from me. I thought “that pony looks too old and too sick to be working as hard as he is, it’s a shame this culture seems to expect that of him.” I wish I’d said something. They wouldn’t understand me. But I wish I’d said it. I’d been harvesting fruit when the scream came. High-pitched, like their speech, but without any semblance of musicality. The fruit fell out of my mouth as I turned around, looking for a source. The old Spiral pony was lying in the dirt, with his hooves digging into the ground and his head raised high. His cries kept getting cut short by his heavy gasps for air. His front hooves dragged him along, moving him closer and closer the the pool at the center. His heart was giving out. I think. I rushed to save him. “But what would? A healing spell? Do I know any? How do I do them again? He needs water, sleep, air, rest, me. He needs me. I need to do some thing. What?” These thoughts rushed into and out of my brain just as fast as the wind and little beads of ambient magic flew into and out of my face. I wasn’t fast enough, though. I arrived just in time to see him collapse. His eyes completely stopped glowing. I panicked. Can’t remember what I thought. I looked away from the body. A sudden realization hit me. I was the only one who tried to help. There, in the center of town, I could see all around me. And all I saw were Spiral ponies, packing up their farming equipment and heading to their homes. Going inside! That was their response! Didn’t do anything to help, just packed up their equipment and headed home. Like this poor stallion’s death was nothing more than a whistle, blown to signal the end of their prolonged work day. “Hey!” I couldn’t stop myself. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to do something? Aren’t you going to help him?” A few Spiral ponies passed me on their way home. They wouldn’t look me in the eye. They were just going to leave this old pony to rot. It wasn’t long until I spotted the leader. His head was hung low, but I stuck my face underneath it, locking eyes with him. “This pony just died. Don’t you have a responsibility? Don’t you care about him? Don’t you care about anything?” I shoved him. Didn’t mean to, it just happened. I shuffled back. “Sorry.” He centered himself, brushed me aside, and walked to his hut. Nowhere to go, I returned to the body. I bent down and got real close to his head, and poked his chest with the tip of my hoof. No response. Of course not. When I stood back up, a Spiral pony was staring at me. It was an old mare. I’d seen her working on the same field as the old stallion. She was the only one who stopped. Behind her, others walked right on by. She never looked at the body, only at me. It felt like an eternity, standing there. Her blank expression directed at me. My many futile attempts at reading it. Eventually, she too carried on home. Soon, they all left. Reason soon came flooding back to me. I’d made a complete ass of myself. This is a small town, with a culture completely separate from ours. They must have a procedure, a ritual, or something. Some sign of respect for this old stallion’s life of work. But I don’t know, maybe they don’t value respect, maybe they don’t value compassion. Maybe they don’t value basic fundamental levels of sympathy for other living creatures. No, that’s harsh. And rude. They stopped working. Work is the only thing I know they value. Maybe their brief respite is their funeral rites. I shouldn’t have done anything. I should have stood there and watched, but if I just wanted to distance myself then I wouldn’t be here, living this event. But I’ve never really prepared myself for things like this. I did a terrible job of handling this whole thing. I’m not sorry for trying to help, for asking for some acknowledgement from them that they valued this pony’s life. My values are just as important as theirs. But this should have been a more private event. My actions may have undone any good I’d accomplished toward diplomacy. I’m a rash pony by nature, unapologetically so. But I may have made things a lot harder for myself. Stranded out there, alone with the old stallion’s body, I still struggled to find the right course of action. I considered calling for help again, bursting into the other ponies’ home and forcing them to do something, or just trying to bury the pony myself. Finally, I did nothing. It hurt, physically and mentally, to leave. I couldn’t look away, no matter how hard I tried, as I forced myself back into my cabin. But my leaving was proper, in this society. I think. I hope. Can’t let this discovery be for nothing. That whole thing happened only moments ago. I thought writing would calm me down, but I’m still shaking. There’s been rumblings outside, various Spiral ponies leaving their homes, headed to the center of town. I’m going to stay here a bit longer, trying not to make the situation worse. When I set out from Equestria, I said I wanted to go experience. Today, experience found me. I’d never seen anypony die before. It’s horrifying and tragic and gut churning and awful and I never ever want it to happen again. I wish I’d never seen it. I’m going to try to sleep. I’ll fail. Author's Note I was getting sick of publishing it in parts, so here's the rest.
Venture's 5th LetterStarswirl’s note: The remaining letters lack dates, or any sort of heading. I’ve taken the liberty of adding titles to separate the letters. However, at times it is difficult to tell whether Venture intended to start a new letter, or simply was continuing the same letter on a separate page. Therefore, it’s possible that my numbering is inaccurate. Venture’s 5th Letter Starswirl, I hope this makes it to you. Frederick and I have fled deep within the Spiral Forest. We can’t find the path, but that’s okay. It’s a spiral, all we have to do is go straight from the center and we’ll be out of this horrible place forever. Go straight out of the spiral. That’s a good plan. Forget diplomacy. Forget cultural understanding. Forget the Spiral ponies. Those things. Monsters. Evil, vile creatures. I walked out the hut. They were all out there, gathered around the body like flies. I could barely see through the crowd. I wish I hadn’t. They ate him. Each and every one, trotted up and chewed, ripping away chunks of the body. Chunks of their brother, or father or friend or whatever. They ate him. You could see chewed mass of pony flesh sliding down their throats. Then, one by one, they slowly walked away, the corpse’s blood dripping from their mouths, staining their coats. The ones who left went back to farming. I watched the whole scene in shock. The leader went last. He clamped down on the poor pony’s muzzle, tore off half its face. Something had already eaten its eyes. He finished chewing, swallowed, then picked up the bloody skeleton by the neck, using his teeth. The leader jerked his head, hard, sending the remains flying into the pool at the center of town. The body sank in, completely consumed by the liquid. I finally moved, just a twitch of my back hoof. The entire village snapped their heads toward me. Hundreds of glowing eyes and bloody mouths, focused on me. I screamed. They ran at me. I managed to jump back into the hut, grab Frederick, and rush away before they could get there. No other option, we had to run into the forest. I never looked back, never saw anypony pursuing us, but I could hear rustling in the branches behind us for a long time. I stopped running long after the rustling stopped. They might still be looking for us, though. I stopped to write this letter and give my hooves a rest. I didn’t have time to grab our supplies. Frederick’s terrified and sick, but otherwise alright. We’re okay right now. But we may start running low on food soon. I’m so scared. We could be ambushed at any moment. They could kill us. Then eat us. They could drag us back there. I can’t go back. So we’ve got to keep going forward. We’ll run into the path eventually. No, no path. Straight out of the spiral. That’s the plan. I’ll write again when we’re out of here. I wish I could send this to you, friend. I wish you could come help us. But that’s out of your power, just like this whole thing seems out of ours. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe soon. “Don’t worry,” I wrote. Why on earth would you be worried? If you got these, then everything turned out alright. You never have any reason to worry. I’m the one who’s supposed to be worried. And I am. But I shouldn’t be. I’m not sure I’m truly addressing these to you anymore, friend. Something’s moving in the forest. I don’t know what it is, but we have got get going. I’ll write again when we’re safe.
Venture's 6th LetterVenture’s 6th Letter I can't find the path. We've gone straight for days. Or weeks, or months or hours or I don't know. I don't know! But we've never hit the road. It's gone. Gone, or must be. I didn't want to use it, but it's not like we were getting anywhere wandering through the forest. It couldn't have been an hour after we left the village that we circled right back to it. I poked my head out of the foliage, but nopony saw me. Us. It was us at the time. Frederick's missing. We'd been sleeping, lightly, in shifts. He was supposed to wake me up if there was trouble. He must have abandoned me. No, he wouldn't, would he? Leave me alone out here. Hunted and haunted. He left me. Or he was captured. That's even worse! My friend in the mouths of those monsters. He ran away. Rightly so. It's my fault we're stuck here. It's my fault he's so sick and in such danger. I'm sorry, Frederick. I'll forgive you for leaving. Please come ba- Sorry, friend. Starswirl. With Frederick gone, I've had to keep watch by myself. I can't sleep, the rustling in the forest keeps getting louder and louder. It used to be so gentle, a branch blowing or and animal howling. Now it's constant clawing and gnashing and scratching and hissing and it's wet and it's everywhere and it's terrifying but I haven't seen anything. It hasn't attacked me. Yet. Maybe it's as scared of me as I am of it. It's so hard to keep my wits about me. I've been practicing magic to keep myself grounded, thinking rationally. Just little teleportations, far too tiny to do any good, or moving objects around with my horn. I feel much more calm after writing, as well. This letter itself has been very therapeutic. Most of what I've been writing is nonsense poems bordering on children's rhymes; free-verse of course, knowing my inability to master meter. I'll duplicate one here: Sunny Spoon stepped on a sliver When the wooden raft washed down the river Named her daughter River Silver (I apologize for this line not rhyming) Because Sunny Spoon should never spell But River Silver said "Oh well" A unicorn of awesome power Though with disposition, often dower She liked not being named for wood And spelled better than her mother could.* * Starswirl's note: Several pieces of paper were included with the journal, seemingly containing Venture's poems. The pages have characters placed in a similar structure to this poem, however, most of the characters are either written in a language unknown to me, or are simply completely illegible. The few poems written in Equestrian have had their contents harshly scribbled out with a very dark ink, though some basic words such as "the" and "a," as well as any mentions of "Equestria," are still visible. Suffice to say, possibly because it was reproduced separate to the others, this is the only surviving poem. I came to a realization while bastardizing both words and magic, I had seen the village! So, were I to cast my finding spell, surely it would guide me to some new adventure outside of this nightmare. Not that I want a new adventure. I want to go home. But all would have to do is have magic guide me out of here. Trust the spell. Fat lot of good that did me. It still pointed to the village. Brought me back there again. Again! I'm so sick of this place. I started running away, opposite the direction my horn pointed. But somehow I still circled back here. There has to be magic at work. The forest. It has some kind of force, or will, or something. It's evil. I think. But I'm not thinking. Not clearly. I'm so tired. Maybe it's not the forest. Maybe its that puddle in the center. Swelling, in and out. In and out. Like my breath. Getting slower. I need to sleep, now. I'm not safe but I need to sleep now. I need
Venture's 7th LetterVenture's 7th letter In and out. It’s such a smooth motion. Vile smooth moonless tide. Adjective adjective adjective noun. I’m doing it wrong again. This whole writing thing. Noun verb seems so simple. Thinking in fragments. It’s better the more I look away from the in and out and in and out. Again! Please forgive me, teacher. Friend. Friend who I trust to be somewhere outside this infinity. Friend whose image I can only grasp through the significance of the word. It’s so nice to have a friend. My apologies friend. I slipped. They’d seen me. Of course they did. I was right outside their little town, waiting and watching. They’d do something sometime so I could escape. Had to be patient. But they saw me. But they didn’t do anything. But I still wasn’t going back in, not after all the struggling I’d done out here. But maybe in there it was quiet and the scratching wet would die away. But I couldn’t risk it. They left me out there, minding my own business. My business of waiting for them to slip up. I’d peek through the bushes just watching the workers going in and out with the tide. Waiting for… whatever it is. I waited so long. Then it happened. It. again. That same musicless scream and whinny while clawing into the dirt. The mare this time. The one who stared. I did what I should have done the first time, I watched. And waited. She dragged herself on her front hooves, soon collapsing directly in line with me and the pool. They all left her. No attempt to help. No respect. No surprise. I saw the leader glance in my direction as they all entered the huts. A warning. That body. Lying there with the in and out. I returned the eternal blank stare she gave me. All those eons ago. My stare broke. The earth itself rumbled. Then. Then. The pool arose. Swelling growing. Giant crashing wave of vile cancer goo piling and mounting and rising and under it was was. just was. White. Oh, dear princess it existed. so much white. Pure white bones teeth claws all wrong. All wrong Ribs fused to femurs fused to many skulls and infinite teeth and jaws opened and closed with the in and out. Making screams words incomprehensible and chewing it writhed and dripped purple poison along the ground and roared. Silent. The spiral silenced. The Unseen vision rose from the spiral’s conclusion. Couldn’t scream or run or exist. I wasn’t while it was. Being cascaded upon the corpse. Tear sound echoed as ripped out her eyes. Then, like a gentle wave, slid back into its origin. Sound returned to the spiral as the in and out resumed. Then I slipped. I had to. Had to. Go deeper. Back in. Village, I mean. I broke in tumbling sprint to the pool. Had to see, confirm. I stared again. Another eternity lost watching the in and out. Had to run had to escape had to go now. I was back in and I had to leave I still need to leave why can’t I leave? I tripped over the body on the way out. Scrambled up to my hooves, and wound up eye to eye with the symmetrical fresh deep black voids in her skull. And I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop me. The urge. no not urge not compulsion not desire oh no not desire. Had to. True need. The need abyss instilled. You know it’s funny. Not so, not at all, but then why can’t I stop laughing? It’s just pony teeth aren’t meant for that sort of ripping tearing chewing. Fighting nature to grind shreds too tough but no thought of this only blank but oppressing need. Wet slimy slither metal taste. Need forcing chunks down while stomach constricts and shoves and tries to force fights against and fails. Still heaves at memory. The need subsided. I looked at the body’s fresh wounds and realized and stumbled away to vomit. Turning back towards my crime, the others had emerged and were doing likewise. They finished eating and threw it into the poison. The leader came to me, tilted his head. Toward the cabin. I’m there now. Staying at a place I swore I’d never be again, No change except the tiny bloodstain on the wall. I’ve slipped downwards. Please help me get out.
Venture's 8th LetterVenture’s 8th Letter Help me get out. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. That’s fun. Scribble help. help from friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. Out there. Somewhere. Do you care? Lifes not fair. I can taste the air. Salty. The ocean! A massive mass of water. Like my cancer pool, but bigger. Less perfect in form. What a strange dream. But I seem strange. I write None of the others do. I wish I could sing with them though, when they feel like it. Its lonely. Lonely I can smell. Putrid but faint. Moss maybe. Dirty. Dirt itself sounds like sobbing. I sob sometimes, in my hut or in the fields. I don’t know why. IIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiii 1111111111111 lllllllllllllLLLLLLLines lines and scratches. pointless. I is funny one, feels wrong. Im not I, I have a name but I can’t feel it anymore. Faded like time. I’m writing to tell you about the things I’ve tasted. Despair’s the main one. Ash. The flavor pours out from the other’s constantly. Ash flowing in the spiral humid swamp forest. But not from me. I taste hope. Then I taste anger, sweet metallic, whenever the I that’s not I is thrashing biting screaming crying at the others and they ignore and flavor with ash. I taste metallic alot. Purple! The cancer, taste it from a turn away. Horrid, stingy burning with a syrup that holds forever in the mouth never coming out I’m never coming out no matter how much I hack from the back of my throat. But oh. Oh that hint of sweetness. Under the in and out. It’s origin the spiral’s origin the source of the cancer and spiraling out forest. Under there is A A The word. I’ve lost the word. my name my friends and now the word. the word is gone just like you and soon I and everything with the time that’s faded and Ambrosia! Sweet but not a sweet that tickles but the kind that fills fills the mouth the skull the stomach the sinus the soul overwhelming overpowering leaving in burning peaceful submission. I’ve tasted the ambrosia. Not the food of the princesses not the food of the sisters sun and moon but the flavour of the Gods. older. refined. All it took was staring at the in and out for days, growing weak hungry starving but my little spell kept pointing showing me the way the taste beyond tastes beyond the known flavours beyond becoming experience. I magic lifted the cancer the in and out goo and parted it and the light and ambrosia washed over me pressed me back and burned. it burned but I pressed on My hoof pushed through to it burned my leg to the bone but the something the otherside source of it all tasted so good. hurt now. I came back only to write this. I’m going to the source. goodbye for now. friend.
Starswirl's EpilogueStarswirl’s Epilogue: I do not know how much time passed between these events and my receiving of the package. Nor do I know who sent them, or how they sent them to me using the teleportation channel I had set up for Venture. I do not even know why they sent them, why the package is wrapped as it is, or why most of her poems were ruined. But I have every reason to believe the story is true. Immediately after reading the letters, I found transportation to Griffonica. At the time the journey took well over six months. When I asked about the Circular Forest, the Griffons told me of a large fire, a few years prior, coming from the valley in the mountains to the northwest, which was seen all over the country. A group of Clawthenian soldiers escorted me to the forest’s remains. The whole thing was reduced to a perfect black circle. None of the former wildlife, nor the evidence of the Spiral Ponies remains. However, the spiral pattern where the path was can still be seen. It culminates at another perfect circle, this one being a pit 20 meters in diameter and 50 meters deep. There is no longer anything inside the pit, though the black substance the pit has still not been identified. From what I hear, even now, almost thirty years later, the scorched earth where the Spiral Forest once was still remains. Not a single blade of grass has grown there. I have spent many nights lying awake, horrified about Venture’s tale and saddened by her loss. I’ll admit that I’ve even had considerable difficulty making and keeping friends ever since. I can’t help but wonder what she found where she is. If she hadn’t made that spell, if she hadn’t wanted to leave the school, if her cutie mark didn’t point west, would any of this had happened. Sometimes I even catch myself thinking that maybe this tragedy was what her cutie mark signaled, that this whole event might have been her destiny all along. More than that, I’m scared. But that’s why I have my rules. The rules are there to protect the students, and the rules are there to protect me. Even as a magic user and seeker of knowledge, I’m well aware now that there are things out there we certainly don’t want to find. The rules exists to keep me from finding them. Because Venture certainly has made me curious. And I’m scared we’ll start to look.
