Throughout all the world's legends, there is a common concept. All the world's mythologies speak of an ancient race that once dominated the world, subjugating all its creatures and all its land for themselves. They ruled for thousands of years; then, one day, many centuries ago, they vanished.
In the north, there stands a pair of massive ice giants. Nearly a mile tall, they dominate the landscape around them. They are shaped unlike any creature in the world, save potentially the Minotaur; they are large, bipedal creatures, wearing some sort of thick garment and holding massive halberds. Behind them stands a massive ice wall; they stand guard over the only gate. They appear in the mythology of every nation in the northern half of the world, and they are referenced by many in the south. They have many names, but nobody knows what they call themselves. In thousands of years, they have never moved, never spoken, never shown any sign of life. Much speculation has been made about what they are guarding, these two motionless sentries. I believe I may finally have an answer.
They are guarding the ancient kings of the Earth, the ones who built a massive global civilization then watched it turn to dust.
They are guarding Man.
The twelve of us landed on the lone rickety pier of Korobinsk, in the far north. Already, we could see the upper half of the Giants standing in the distance. We stayed only as long as it took to purchase supplies and rent someone's sledge, then we started north. Even in the summer, the air is still biting cold. We lost two on the voyage up, simply because their coats were too thin. A shame, too; one of them could have been very useful for navigating the terrain.
It took us two weeks to get halfway there. We were almost forced back by a blizzard, but all eight of us miraculously survived. Ancient magics fill the air now; their energy pulsates through my veins. We can see down to their knees, now; or what I presume is their knees. Massive robes cover their legs, so we can't quite see what's underneath; but we can see enough to know we're making progress. This magic, it messes with my mind, with my perception. We will have to redouble our efforts; at this rate, I might forget the entire trip before we make it back to Korobingrad.
With another week, the five of us finally see the base of the giants. Their feet are massive, far larger than any structure in Equestria. A sense of dread fills my soul, and I do not know why. I should be excited; we are almost to our goal, and we brave four will be the first to visit these giants in recorded history. I can sense the source of these magics now, the ones making me feel this way. It will not be long before I will have grown used to it, and will be able to fight it subconsciously.
The two of us arrived at the foot on Sunday. I walked up to the giant, put my hoof against its foot. It felt strangely warm, a welcome respite from the bitter cold. I alone made it to this giant; I am still amazed by how I managed to arrive here with no help from other ponies. The wind is beginning to pick up, now. I shall make camp behind this foot, and attempt to communicate with it in the morning.
I awoke this morning to the sound of cracking and shearing. I looked up. The ice giant I had been camping behind had begun to crumble. I could only stand there in awe as it began to yell; a deep, rumbling yell that shook through the heavens and across the plain. My body trembled as its arm began to shear off, with chunks of ice raining down around me. It is falling on me now; I am compelled to move, but I cannot. I must keep writing, keep documenting; it is my duty. I realize too late what I have done; I am frozen in place. The ice is almost upon me now. I must -
Excerpts from the journals of one Dr. Falkharn, leader of a doomed expedition to the north end of the world
