Maidus 5th, 965 SE:
Bought a journal. Never thought I would; I hate writing about myself, always have. Makes me feel awkward and arrogant. Still, Misty Inkwell probably has the right of it. The more of my life I document, the more inspiration I can find. Anything to help with the writer’s block.
Got another letter from the publishers today. They want to know when I’ll have a new manuscript to send them. I brushed them off, as usual. Told them I’m ‘working on it’. Heh. If by ‘working on it’, I mean staring at blank pages, then I’m hard at work. It used to be so easy, but these days…
I need to find something, anything. I don’t need to write the next bestseller, or an award winning classic, but my bits are drying up, and I can’t start relying on Nighty just to keep myself afloat. It’s either write something, or go back to working dead end retail.
How does one even end a journal entry? I suppose this is as good a way as anything.
Maidus 8th, 965 SE:
Not much happened the last few days. Mostly just smacking my horn against the wall in hopes of generating an idea. Went on another date with Nighty; he’s such a dork, but then again, so am I. We talked about moving in together, but neither of us can afford a living space big enough right now. Canterlot is a city of nobles, so even the cheapest apartments cost as much to rent as entire houses down in somewhere like Ponyville.
On the topic of ideas, though, I had a decent one last night. It came to me in a dream; I don’t remember all the details, but there was some kind of city, enveloped in darkness. There was a sinister vibe in the air, a thick misama of evil. I’m not sure what direction I want to take such an idea, though… I’ll have to muse on it some more.
Maidus 9th, 965 SE:
I dreamed of the shadowy city again, and this time I think I might have something. In my dream, I walked through the city, a place I could feel was ancient beyond time. The buildings were strange, clearly not built for ponies, with towering steps and oddly angled spires. I saw not a single living thing, and yet the whole time, I felt keenly aware of a force watching my every move.
I’ve never written horror before, but I feel like I can work with this. A solitary protagonist, lost in a city outside of their comprehension, trying to escape the sinister forces at work in the shadows? It needs more fleshing out, but I believe that, at least, I at least have a starting point.
It seems that keeping this journal is already helping more than I thought! I’ll have to make sure I keep using it…
Maidus 11th, 965 SE:
Drafted out an outline today. Things are shaping up even better than I thought; the words just flowed from my pen, ideas springing forth with ease. A wayward pegasus drifter accidentally finding herself stuck in a shadowy city between the folds of reality, uncovering the dark secrets of the inhabitants to escape before she becomes trapped forever… I think it really has potential.
Not that there aren’t still gaps. Exactly what the secrets of the city are still escapes me, as does the nature of the antagonist. A powerful force watching behind the scenes, but why? For what purpose? These are critical elements, and they still elude me.
I can’t shake the feeling that these journal entries are too short. What else am I supposed to write about? I had a daisy sandwich for lunch, I stubbed my hoof on the bathroom door, and I really need to remember to stock up on quills. It feels like a waste, using energy to write about such mundanities.
Maidus 12th, 965 SE:
Just woke up; writing this by candlelight. I need to get it down, so I don’t forget.
I was in the city again; this time, a name came to me, somehow. Tambelon. I don’t know what it means, or where my subconscious drew it from, but it seems eerily fitting. I walked through the streets, far wider than those of Canterlot, clearly built for something other than ponies. I could feel the smooth stone underneath my hooves, the chill of the air, it felt so real!
I saw the edge of the city. It sat on a precipice, surrounded by nothing but inky black darkness. It was almost a sea; I swear I saw it roil and churn. It went on forever, stretching into, and perhaps even above, the horizon. It was an awesome, terrifying sight.
The entire time, the feeling of being watched never left. It wasn’t a hunch; I was certain of it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Something dark, terrifyingly powerful. Perhaps the master of the city, its ruler? But a ruler of what? Nothing seemed to live there. Well… at one point, I thought I saw a shadow move. I chased after it, but I found nothing.
I’m not used to having dreams anywhere near this vivid. It’s helpful for inspiration, but I’m starting to get concerned. I might go see a doctor at some point, see if something’s off. But not yet; I need the ideas to keep flowing.
Maidus 13th, 965 SE:
I’m such a scatterbrain! I’ve been so focused on my manuscript I totally forgot about my date with Nighty yesterday! I was supposed to meet him at Donut Joe’s at noon, but it just completely slipped my mind. He showed up at my apartment all concerned, and I felt just awful.
I feel like I’ve gone from zero to one hundred in an instant; it’s only been a week, but I can’t get these ideas out of my head and onto the pages fast enough. The fact that I got so lost in drafting I totally forgot about a date… I haven’t been this motivated in a long time.
Thankfully, Nighty was understanding. We had tea in my apartment instead; I needed the break. I told him all about my new work, and he seemed pretty interested. I didn’t take him for a horror fan, but it turns out he was much more interested in the magical logistics of a city held in a sea of shadows between realities. Arcane studies was never my best subject; I’ll have to research to see if any of it is plausible, or if the horror will come from something completely beyond possibility.
Maidus 13th, 965 SE:
Something odd happened today. I started writing out ideas for the antagonist, the master of Tambelon. I want them to be some kind of ancient sorcerer, but I’m not entirely sure on details yet. But as I was musing this, just for a moment… I felt like I was being watched.
It was just like in the dreams! That feeling of being observed by something unequine, a force of darkness and evil. It was gone as soon as it came, but I still felt rattled. The dreams must be getting to me. On the bright side, I’m even more convinced the idea is solid. If merely writing down ideas can trigger such a strong emotion, then I must be doing something right.
I plan to go to the library tomorrow, to see if anything like Tambelon could exist in real life. Not looking forward to doing magical research, so I hope it’s completely impossible and I can just make up whatever I want.
Oh! And just in case I forget again, I have another date with Nighty on the 20th. We made reservations and everything, so I can’t forget it.
Maidus 14th, 965 SE:
Ah, research, the bane of every writer. Either they hate it, or they love it so much they get distracted. Sometimes both at once.
I did some digging; it doesn’t seem like Tambelon the way I envision it is possible. I found some old pony tales about a city in the north that was banished out of time, but that didn’t sound exactly like the way I was picturing the shadowy realm outside of conventional existence.
I got a weird headache at the library, though, which was odd. I thought it might have been just getting tired, or from wearing my horn out, but it felt different, somehow. A nice cup of tea soothed it when I got home, but it was still uncomfortable. I hope I’m not coming down with anything…
Maidus 15th, 965 SE:
Woke up in a cold sweat. I dreamt of Tambelon again, but this time it was more like a nightmare. I was being chased by… something. A mass of shadows, I think, but I didn’t look. All I knew is that I had to run, that I couldn’t let myself be caught. But no matter how fast I galloped, no matter where I hid, it knew where I was. The force watching me never ceased, and the monster saw me through them.
Tambelon is starting to infect all my waking thoughts, not just my dreams. Every day, I sit down and plot out more and more. I haven’t started a full draft yet, but I already have dozens upon dozens of pages of notes and plans. I feel like I’m becoming obses-
A drop of blood just fell from my nose, and my headache’s coming back. I need to see a doctor.
According to Dr. Felt, there isn’t anything wrong with me. The nosebleed was due to a simple cut, though where I got it couldn’t even begin to guess. As for my headaches, he diagnosed me with an acute case of “stressed and overworked”, and suggested I take a break.
I have enough to prove to my publishers I’m working on something now. I can afford to take a few days for a breather.
Maidus 16th, 965 SE:
Writing this in an attempt to stave off boredom. All I can think about is Tambelon, no matter what I distract myself with. I can’t focus on reading, and I have to resist the urge to jot down the ideas that drift through my head.
I have to wonder if it’s even a good idea to take a break at all. Trying to ignore my ideas is probably just making me more stressed in the long run, right? That sounds reasonable. Maybe I’ll just take notes today, as I do other things. What’s telekinesis good for if not to do multiple things at once?
Maidus 17th, 965 SE:
I didn’t dream of Tambelon last night. As far as I recall, I didn’t dream at all. I find myself oddly disappointed; I suppose for the lack of inspiration.
I’m in two minds about my developing obsession. On one hoof, I enjoy being this passionate about a work, vividly picturing a world and bringing it to life on the page, but on another… I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s… a bad feeling? Of sorts. Tambelon scares me, in a way that’s just slightly too real to be a simple fear of the concept I devised.
As I write it, it sounds ridiculous. What am I even afraid of? A world in my imagination? Manifested from the claustrophobic fear of a deadline closing in. It's not real, obviously. I shouldn’t live in fear of my own idea.
Tambelon is my world, and I shall craft it as I choose, when I choose. I will not let it control me.
Maidus 18th, 965 SE:
Had a new dream. Need to write it down.
Well, that was… something. I don’t quite know how to feel about it.
I had a dream last night, the most vivid and coherent so far. As soon as I woke up, I knew I had to get it down. All of it. I barely managed to get up, brew some tea, and make a note in here before writing consumed me.
I wrote for eight straight hours. I don’t know how the heck I did it, but I sat on my flank for eight hours in a row and just wrote. First it was notes, and then I ran through the dream beat by beat, and before I knew it I had drafted almost a third of the book. Ended up with first person narration; I guess this journal is rubbing off on me.
In the dream, I found myself entering through the gates of Tambelon, massive arches of black stone holding a portal of rippling shadows. As I stepped through the portal, I couldn’t remember how I came to those arches, or why. But I knew I had come here for a purpose, that I sought Tambelon for a reason I no longer knew.
I wandered through the strange, twisted streets of the city. Their paths were suitably dreamlike, with impossible geometry; they looped in impossible ways, the exact same buildings appeared in different spots, and the road was impossibly smooth, like it was made of one single, massive slate.
I wandered the streets for a while, and yet I saw not a single soul. And yet, the entire time, I knew I was not alone. The force, the observer, the evil sorcerer who rules Tambelon, watched me the entire time, through some kind of magic. It was almost as if I could understand his emotions through that observation; his sinister curiosity, sizing up this new intrusion into his mighty realm.
I entered a few of the buildings; all of them were different. One of them contained a disparate hoard of strange objects, things that I felt I could only barely not place. I tried to observe them, but as I looked I simply could not figure out what they were supposed to be. I struggle to even describe them in words, even after writing that part of the story. I put a lot of time towards descriptions.
Another of the buildings contained naught but an empty, infinite void of blackness. I entered, but I dared not continue past beyond sight of the exit. The further I entered, the more I felt compelled to keep going, drawing me deeper for a purpose I couldn’t understand but felt so right. It was only with the last of my better judgement did I turn my head from that alluring darkness and flee.
The more I wandered, the more strange sights I found, the more the curiosity of my observer turned to annoyance. Somehow, I had been able to elude his trickery, his attempts to ensnare my mind. So he set upon me a great beast of shadow; a creature with innumerable limbs of more species than I could count, eternally reaching out from the inky blackness of its almost liquid body.
It instilled fear in me, a deep fear beyond anything I have ever experienced. Even now, I don’t remember exactly what it was like. Most likely, the intensity is being exaggerated by my memory, but that dread compelled in me a yearning to lie down and give up, to be consumed. I managed to resist, and ran.
That’s where the dream ended. It’s possible that my dream of being chased happens directly afterwards, though why my brain constructed those scenarios in reverse order eludes me. What I also don’t understand is why I felt like I had to write down another summary. Something is just driving me to express these ideas. It’s a passion, but it’s almost dark in a way. It’s slightly concerning, but I really can’t deny the results.
Maidus 19th, 965 SE:
Another night without a Tambelon dream. I feel restless, unnerved. I can’t think of where to take the story next. My muse is depleted, and it’s driving me up the wall! Of course, when I want to relax, I am flooded with ideas, but when I get excited to write I run headfirst into a wall.
I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap.
Maidus 21st, 965 SE:
Something is terribly wrong.
I slept longer than I expected when I took a nap the other day. Much longer. I woke in the dead of night yesterday, and yet I found myself leaping from my bed. I had another dream of Tambelon, and I knew what would happen next.
I wrote, for I don’t know how long. Until the sun rose, and past that, until it had all but set. The words flowed from quill to page like they were the ink’s natural form, an unbroken stream of ideas and narrative. I had absolute focus, almost like a trance. Scarily like a trance.
Nighty came to pick me up for our date. I didn’t answer his knocking, because I had gone completely numb to the world around me. It was only when he went to the landlord, had him open my door, did they find me, near passed out from exhaustion, still writing with quill in aura.
The landlord wanted to take me to a hospital, but I refused. Nighty was too worried to be mad, and I told him everything, about the dreams, and the writing, and the obsession. I’d brought them up when I saw him last, but things hadn’t been quite so severe then.
Having someone to talk to about things really put into perspective how odd I’d been acting, how concerning everything was. I’d brushed off my fears as irrational, but sharing them made me realise just how rational they were. I don’t know if it’s from some kind of illness, or if I’m afflicted by some kind of spell, but… I’m really not myself, not acting in a healthy way.
Nighty stayed all night. We fell asleep huddled together, and my sleep was dreamless. Him being there made up for the disturbing sadness of not seeing Tambelon again.
I’m going to go see a doctor. A mental specialist of some kind, if I can. I need to know what’s happening to me.
Maidus 22nd, 965 SE:
I don’t know what to think anymore.
I saw a doctor yesterday, an aetherlogian. An older mare, something Sparks. I told her about everything that had happened; my dreams of Tambelon, my obsessive writing, the trance-like state…
She ran a number of tests, magical scans I’m not even going to pretend like I understand. But, as far as she could tell, I wasn’t under the effect of any foreign magic. Whatever is causing this is coming from… from inside my own head. I’m not sure if that makes me less afraid, or more.
She gave me some medication, a calming agent. I’ve already taken a little, and I feel somewhat better. It’s making me realise more and more that something has been wrong with me. I’m wondering if I should scrap everything about Tambelon. It doesn’t feel healthy to keep fixating on it.
Maidus 23rd, 965 SE:
Another day on that medicine. I had a normal, if somewhat muddled, dream last night. Something where I was back in school, I can barely remember. It feels nice to have less vivid dreams.
However, I find myself completely drained of inspiration. Not just on the subject of Tambelon, but just in general; I tried working on something else, anything else, but it was like my brain had gone numb. Perhaps that’s the point of the medication. It stops me focusing on Tambelon, but it prevents me from creating anything else.
With nothing else to do, I read what I had written in my trance state. I don’t remember writing most of it, though I still vividly remember the dream I based it on. The protagonist finds herself chased by the shadowy monster, always just one step ahead of it but never quite escaping. She finds herself fleeing into a maze of darkness, a place so pitch black that only by the light of her horn could she make out the impression of a wall.
At the centre of the maze, I- she, found a portal, one barely big enough for a pony. She squeezed through it, and ended up in a massive garden of some kind, full of bizarre plants; skeletons of trees made of shadows, vines that wriggled and writhed like tentacles, flowers with buds that seem to contain voids… and in the middle of this giant garden was a series of huts. The monster couldn’t follow her, and she felt the observer’s anger.
She came across ponies there, but not any kind of ponies that exist in reality; these were shadowy forms, wisps of darkness in the shape of a pony. They crowded around her, but there was no hostility. They conveyed emotion without words, with some kind of psychic link. Curiosity, gratitude, fear, and concern. I got the feeling I shouldn’t have been there, but that they were grateful nevertheless.
She tried to communicate with them, but it didn’t seem like it was possible to get through to them with words. As she wandered the village, it struck her that it was still part of Tambelon; despite seeming so different. It was more accommodating for ponies, though only barely. Some of the huts looked much older than others, and some of the tools and objects lying around looked ancient.
I felt a strange yearning to stay there, but I… I was driven by something. I knew I had to keep going, no matter what.
Writing this, I know I’m not doing myself justice. Describing it here was almost an experiment, one with disappointing results. My work before was brilliant, deeply gripping and overflowing with a creeping dread, whereas I struggle to emulate that same feeling now. It’s the medicine, dulling my brain… but it’s fine. It’s only temporary. I’ll get something different soon, something specialised. Something that will really help me.
Maidus 30th, 965 SE:
I haven’t written in here for a while. I suppose I haven’t really needed to. Nighty has been around every day since the 24th, and having someone to talk to eliminates the need to write down my own thoughts.
I traded the numbing medicine for something more specialised, a mixture designed to dull obsessive behaviour. Typically, it’s given to ponies who have become consumed by their special talent, but it also helps ponies in my state of mind.
I’ve only been on it for a few days, and I feel… different. Not like I did before the dreams started. I’m no longer constantly thinking about Tambelon, but I often find myself just… not thinking about anything. I noticed that Nighty had left my teas out of order, but I just didn’t feel like I needed to correct them. It’s weird.
Nighty’s busy for the next few days. Some kind of important astronomical event, one that requires the Royal Observatory to send ponies across Equestria. I promised him I’d be fine until he got back. I’m pretty sure I will be.
I’ve been staring at this page for half an hour now, and I don’t know what to write. I feel like I should write more, but there’s… there’s nothing I can think of.
Junari 2nd, 965 SE:
I’m beginning to doubt this medicine. It works in a sense; my dreams are pleasant, and the images of Tambelon do not permeate my thoughts, but… I can’t write like this. I can’t work like this. I’m not sure what to do. I shouldn’t stop taking them, but I need to write. I can’t just keep lying around doing nothing, it’s going to drive me up the wall.
Maybe… I’ll go a day without them. See what happens. Just one day, as a test.
Junari 3rd, 965 SE:
I… I dreamt of Tambelon again.
At least, I think I did. It was blurry, a far cry from the vivid visions of the place I’d experienced before. I was in a dark void of some kind, floating in the abyss, and I could sense the city’s master. He wasn’t just watching me this time: He was there, somewhere in the dark with me. I was terrified, but also… it felt like it was what I wanted.
I heard… not his voice, but his thoughts. He asked why I had come, only to try so hard to leave. I didn’t have an answer for him. He asked what it was I wanted from him, from Tambelon. I… I said something, but I don’t remember exactly what it was. But whatever it was, it made him laugh, a chuckle that chilled me to my core. He said he had waited for a pony like me. He didn’t elaborate.
I woke up, then. I can feel my inspiration returning, but not devolving into madness and obsession. I’m going to try and write, at a slow and cautious pace.
Junari 4th, 965 SE:
I forgot to take my medication last night. I meant to, but it slipped my mind. Now that I have a way to directly compare… is it bad to think I feel better when I’m not taking them? I feel more creative, more energetic. And I don’t feel myself consumed by thoughts of Tambelon. Perhaps all that I needed was to take them for a short amount of time, to reset my mind.
Nighty comes back tomorrow, I’ll see what he thinks.
Junari 5th, 965 SE:
I lied to him. Why did I lie to him?
Nighty dropped by to see me this morning. I was glad to see him, but when he asked me about my medication… I told him I was still taking it. Why did I say that? I don’t quite understand myself. I feel better now, better than before. I… didn’t want to worry him. He wouldn’t understand.
I don’t want to go back on them. They dull my mind, strangle my creative spirit.
The dreams of Tambelon are coming back, though still less vivid than before. There’s been no more visions of a new part of the story, just wandering through the streets and floating in that void. The presence of the city’s master is ever present, but it feels less sinister than before. I don’t know if I’m just more used to it, or what.
I’m going to see if I can continue tomorrow. I don’t need dreams to plot out my story for me.
Junari 5th, 965 SE:
Grogar.
That’s his name, the name of Tambelon’s master. For so long, I’ve struggled on a name, but it finally came to me in yet another dream. He told me himself.
He talks to me now, in the dreams. About his power, how his magic was so awesome and mighty that he was sealed away by those who feared his power. How he sought to return to the world, to crush it beneath his hoof in revenge. I think he’ll make an effective antagonist. A clearly evil villain with a hint of sympathy about him, his plans rooted in anger and revenge for his imprisonment.
I see my medication on my bedside table, but the very sight of it inspires disgust. It is a double edged sword, and I cannot afford to pay its cost. They say all the best writers are a little bit mad, and I suppose for me, it’s true in a literal sense.
Junari 6th, 965 SE:
Did more writing today. I’m writing without relying so much on dreams now; the ideas flow from me more naturally. I feel more in control of myself. I have tamed this idea, and it no longer has power over me.
Nighty came to visit me today, but I brushed him off. I felt bad about it, but I want to get this done. Once I finish this draft, I can send it to my editor, and I can take a break. We’ll go somewhere nice. But not now. I need to keep going.
Junari 7th, 965 SE:
I’m nearing the end, I can feel it. The climax is near, but I just… can’t quite reach it.
I’ve reached Grogar’s tower, a shadowy monolith in the very centre of the city, one that extends both into the sky and a pit deep into the sea of darkness below. How I never saw it before, I don’t know. Perhaps I simply wasn’t looking for it.
But I don’t know what should happen next. Should the protagonist defeat Grogar, and escape the city? Should she escape, but Grogar remains free, continuing his plotting? Should she fail, and become trapped forever?
I could take it any direction I like, but I find myself deeply conflicted. I want something… horrifying, I guess. An ending that has mere notes of happiness on top of a feeling of dread that will remain long after a reader puts the book back on the shelf. But I just can’t crack it.
Maybe tomorrow. Another dream could help.
Junari 10th, 965 SE:
It’s done! I finally finished the full, proper draft, the one to send to my editor. I spent the last few days stuck in one of the most annoying cases of writer’s block I’ve ever experienced, but at last, in one final dream, it came to me.
The protagonist ascends Grogar’s tower, and faces the sorcerer inside. His form is that of shadows, twisting and roiling, with piercing red eyes. He finds himself impressed by the heroine, and offers her a choice. She can stay in Tambelon, become his apprentice, learn all his dark secrets, or return home to the world outside.
He attempts to tempt her, with promises of power and immortality, but she resists, refuses. She demands to leave, and Grogar manifests a portal, one which will let living beings and nothing other leave the realm of shadows. He is surprised by her refusal, but not upset. He seems, in fact, glad.
It is only once she travels through the portal that she, and the reader, learn the sinister truth. The body and mind of one strong enough to resist the temptation of shadows may escape Tambelon, a rarity few ponies can muster. But that seemed to be Grogar’s plan. And during her last moment in his realm, Grogar attached his essence to her soul. With that conduit, his escape is guaranteed, and the protagonist is left to realise the depth of their mistake.
I feel like that works as a compelling ending. I may need to make edits, foreshadow that reveal a little more, but as it stands, my draft feels solid. We’ll see what my editor thinks.
Junari 12th, 965 SE:
I feel pretty good about myself right now. I got a letter from my editor, and she loves the draft. She has a few issues I need to correct, but mostly the story is good enough to be published near straight away. It’s nice to know my absurd work pace paid off. I’ve given it a title, one I don’t think I’ve written here before: The City in Shadow. It feels plain, I know, but it gets the point across.
Tambelon has been the last thing on my mind these last two days. I went on a date with Nighty, to that place I couldn’t make last time. It was lovely, and it was nice to spend time with him without my writing being a focus. I… I still haven’t told him I stopped taking the medication. I’m afraid he’ll worry about me. Though, I suppose I could go back on them once I publish.
It’s been a wild month, and I’m glad I started this journal now of all times. I kind of hope a story never takes over my brain this much ever again.
Junari 13th, 965 SE:
I was wrong. It’s not over.
I dreamed of the end of the story. I was standing in a grassy field, having escaped Tambelon, feeling Grogar’s presence in my mind. He whispered to me, infecting my mind with dark thoughts of revenge and destruction. I felt more of my equnity slip away with every passing second.
When I woke, I found myself rattled, naturally. But… It was almost as if Grogar’s voice persisted. Not whispers as such, but stray thoughts, desires I wouldn’t normally have. The writing process has really gotten to me. I’m going to take my medication again, and I’m going to set my mind to anything else. Edits can wait.
Junari 14th, 965 SE:
I don’t understand what I’ve found, but I have to write it down.
I went to the library today, just to clear my head. The thoughts continue, even as I take the medicine, so I hoped a change of scenery would help. I found myself wandering aimlessly through the shelves, looking for anything that drew my attention.
Something did. An ancient book of myths, fairy tales for foals. I flipped through it, and my heart skipped a beat. One of them was about Gusty the Great, a legendary hero from long before Equestria’s founding. She battled a great king of monsters, and sealed him away forever. A monster… named Grogar.
It shook me. I know it shouldn’t. It’s an obscure story, one I don’t remember ever hearing, but it’s more than likely the name just stuck in my subconscious. My editor didn’t bring it up, so it doesn’t seem like it will be an issue. Not to mention that this mythical Grogar doesn’t bear that much resemblance to the one in my story. Apart from being an evil sorcerer banished long ago, that is. My Grogar isn’t a goat, he doesn’t have a bell… at worst, it’ll be considered mythological inspiration.
Yet, it still nags at me. I feel like Grogar, the one from my story, is mocking me. It’s a spooky coincidence, but that’s all it is. That’s all it could be. So why does it bother me so much?
Junari 18th, 965 SE:
The medicine isn’t working anymore. I went back to the first kind, and it was just as useless.
I hear Grogar now, a voice separate from my own. He goads me, laughs at me. I feel like I can see him just out of the corner of my eye. I don’t understand. What’s happening to me? I wasn’t under any kind of magic, it was my own mind! Why isn’t the medicine helping?
…Grogar laughs at me again. He tells me that of course his magic couldn’t be detected, that no pony could ever comprehend it. That ‘the guardian of dreams can’t save you’, whatever that means. I feel like I’m going mad. It’s not real, it can’t be real. I need to go back, see Dr. Sparks again, get some help-
I can’t. I tried. But I just can’t. Something is stopping me. I don’t know what it is. It could be my fear, it could be… whatever this is. I… I just can’t, I want to but I can’t I can’t I can’t
Junari 19th, 965 SE:
Nighty visited today. I feigned a cold. I don’t want him to see me like this.
The dreams are back, more vividly than ever. In them, I’m split; I feel my body moving against my will, acting in reality, but my mind is in Tambelon, moving through the ever shifting streets. I feel strangely at home there. I know I shouldn’t, but they feel so familiar, the darkness so comforting…
Grogar’s words seem to mirror my own more and more. I can’t tell which one is influencing the other. I can’t tell what I want anymore. DId I always feel this angry at the world? It feels familiar but not at the same time.
Could it even be possible? Am I possessed, by… by what? By a character from my own story? The figure from myth? Something else, a monster taking the form of a being from my imagination? I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m still writing in here. Perhaps I’m trying to exert some form of control over my life by documenting it.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Junari 20th, 965 SE:
My draft was sent back today, along with a complete list of required changes. I felt compelled to sit down, to make those changes, and more. I had no say in the matter.
Something was added, something I don’t understand. Something that… something that Grogar wanted added. It feels absurd, to admit that he has influence over me, but he does. I don’t quite know why, but I have a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I want to just bundle up my manuscript and throw it into a fire, but I simply can’t. I’ve invested too much. I have to see this through. Is that me talking, or Grogar? I don’t know.
I can’t speak to anyone about it. I tried, tried to write a letter to Nighty, but I just… I just couldn’t. This journal… it’s all I can do to express these thoughts. If somepony finds this… please help. Even if it could be too late by then.
Junari 21st, 965 SE:
I figured it out
I know what he’s doing
I have to stop him
Junari 22nd, 965 SE:
It’s too late. I- he sent the draft back. His message, his influence, it’s out there-
It was always him, in my dreams. He preyed on me, like he’s preyed on others. But I was different, in a way he didn’t expect. He sought to drain my soul, to empower himself just a little bit more, but I resisted. So he crafted a new plan. My dreams- they weren’t really dreams. He- I don’t know how. I was there, but not there, in Tambelon. Everything, it was him. His plan. My shifting moods, obsessive behaviours, all him.
I don’t know how it works, but he… he put something in the story. Something to draw ponies under his influence. The more ponies read, the more powerful he becomes. I’m powerless to stop him. If only I could warn the Princess, perhaps she could do something- maybe. I don’t know. Grogar does not seem afraid of her.
I don’t know what his end goals are. What he wants with me. He… seems amused by me. Something about me, he finds funny. That it was me, of all ponies, to deliver his salvation.
My head is screaming, but I have to get this down. Please, if anyone reads this, get the word out! The City in Shadow must be destroyed, every last copy! If Grogar can gain enough power… I don’t know what will happen, but it will spell doom for us all.
Junari 23rd, 965 SE:
Time. That’s what it is. I saw it in a dream, one without Grogar or Tambelon or anything. I don’t know how; perhaps some side effect of his magic. I saw- Tambelon exists outside of time. Grogar reaches into the future, into the past, to find targets, to drain them of their souls and leave them a husk.
I’m going to do something, in the future. Me, or one of my children, or one of my grandchildren, is going to… going to do something. Something that would hurt Grogar. Something that would put a stop to his plans. That’s why he’s so amused. Because I, someone who would have been key to stopping him, has become his salvation.
I got another letter from my editor. The City in Shadow has been accepted, and it will be published within the month. It feels too fast, no doubt more of Grogar’s influence. I feel horrible, sick to my very soul, but also proud. That’s his doing, no doubt.
I can feel myself slipping. I’m losing who I was, to him. This despair… perhaps that’s why he revealed what he did. To crush my spirit entirely. There’s nothing I can do to fight anymore. I can’t do anything…
Except give in
Give in
give in
Celestis 15th, 965 SE:
I finally found this journal again! I can’t quite remember why I buried it so deep in my closet. Or why so many pages are missing… must have spilled ink on them or something.
Things are going pretty well. The City in Shadow is a hit, even more than I could have ever dreamed. Might even make Canterlot Times Bestseller. Reviews are great too; a lot of praise has been given to the atmosphere, how tangible Tambelon feels. I’m glad that all the effort paid off in the end.
Things are going great with Nighty too! He got a promotion, and between that and the good sales of my book, we may just be able to work towards moving in together in the near future. It feels kind of unreal, to be honest. We’ve talked about it for so long, but now that it’s on the horizon… my future is laid out in front of me. We could get married, have foals… Though, I’m not sure I want them.
I’ll have to see where things go. Especially with the book sales; with so many sales, things are moving faster than we planned for. We might be able to move forward sooner than I thought. I heard a rumour that even Princess Celestia is interested in reading our work; to have access to her would accelerate things greatly.
It feels so strange to read the last few entries in here. I feel so silly, acting like I did. I realise now my mistake. I shouldn’t have been afraid of things I didn’t understand. Fleeing from shadows I should have embraced. I was a fool, and I’m glad others are not repeating my mistake.
When His influence reaches far enough, the ritual can begin. Tambelon will be drawn from the void between worlds, brought in all its glory into this realm. What I once feared, but now desire most of all, will come to pass.
Lord Grogar will enter this world. All hail.
Author's Note
(The City in Shadow is a great book, by the way. You really should buy a copy. It's so gripping, almost like my soul was being sucked right out of my body and into the world of the narrative! Also, I really feel like joining a cult now...)
Bit of a unique experience, writing this one. Not because it's different, because I refuse to be consistent, but because for the first 2 weeks or so I was working on a completely different story, one focusing on Pear Butter in a shameless homage to Star Trek: The Original Series, but after a mental breakdown or two (unreleated), I decided it wasn't the best fit for the contest. So I wrote this in about 2 days, with more motivation than I've had for a long time. Which is thematic, considering. (No, I do not have Grogar in my head. Besides, the other voices already there would beat the crap out of him anyway.)
Again, thanks to , Roxylalolcat, ScatteredStarlight413, and ScienceNova for pre-reading. Additional super special thanks to Roxy for keeping me somewhat sane during the time in which I worked on this. It's... been a lot.
As mentioned, this is an entry in the Ancestral Tribute contest being hosted by FanOfMostEverything, FIMFiction's resident expert in that one card game (no, not that one, the other one) and commenter on just about every story ever posted here. I don't know how he does it, dude what's your secret.
Cover art generated with Craiyon, with a prompt I don't remember. It probably uses data from a bunch of other sources, because AI art is bullshit, but I wanted something that looked abstract and barely comprehensible, which is about the only the only thing AI art should be used for. I'm trying to capture a vibe with an image that will be glanced over, not replace talented artists with soulless machines.
