Tales of a Millennium

Chapters

Prologue
Entry I - Valley of the Blaze Garden
Entry II - The Curse of the Silver Light
Entry III - The Perpetual Nightmare
Entry IV - Galloping Thundermare

Prologue

Entry I - Valley of the Blaze Garden

Author's Note

Thanks to http://uchuubranko.deviantart.com/ for the amazing work bringing the garden from words to the sketch, also to Aviator Raven for his amazing editor skills.

Entry II - The Curse of the Silver Light

Entry II – The Curse of the Silver Light

The night, a time bathed in darkness and peaceful silence, host of the dreams’ symphony. It is the instance where the stars bless our eyes with their dazzling existence and the wind can dance among the living with tunes of rejuvenating chill. The nocturnal hours are moments when life rests and are crowned by the silver light of The Moon herself. From the beginning of time, that is how it used to be, that is how it should be, although this world has proven to be far from how it should and the night is now one of the sufferers of this unavoidable law just as you and I. Ever after the Great Change the light from the Silver Star carries the gaze of the one banished from our land, filled with her grudge and resentment. It has nourished nightmares of ill purpose during each of the minutes and hours in times of darkness.

It’s no secret that the Mare in the Moon gazes upon the land from her prison on the Silver Star. As this is true her tainted heart turn the once Princess of the Night into the bringer of eternal darkness. No pony can now recall the full extents of her punishment, the night brightfull beauty was lost with her craft, the dreams of our kind fell prey of horrors and wicked fantasies and sadly with all her might the ruler of daylight missed to create the perfect dark time her beloved sister could. There was no one to blame, after all just her, whose heart was attached to the mysterious beauty of darkness, was able to bring its glory by dusk.

As the years passed on the facts became tales, as the decades went by the tales became legend, and as the day reigned with her magic during night the grudge took its toll on the souls that called the hours of darkness their life. Shadow lurkers and the obscure silhouettes could felt the void left by their princess and some of her worshipers mourned their entire life time its banishment.

Just as our land Equestria is full devotees of the sun there were some before the Great Change that lived attached with love and wonder to the glowing moon, rising worships to her splendor every night without fail. Creatures that longed during the times of the light with day dreams for that gentle glow to bring their live back once more, for singing to her with howls, to dance around her with wings, to speak with her with thoughts. Children of the night that love her reigning queen of pale light and white beauty, lovers that realized something distorted their unreachable mistress after the Great Change stomped on their love with the Sun casting her rule and law.

For them the banishment of the Moon Princess was the spark igniting the flames of decay, some of them grew afar from the Silver Star, feeling in their hearts that her moon light was not as bright and her glint not as warm, but those whose wonder and love was engraved inside their hearts were condemned to be corrupted by the rancor and rage their captive Mare in the Moon stored within and shown every night. It all started with their passion, then turned into an obsession and ended like their sole purpose to live. That wicked drive sustained by the anguish of their beloved altered their spirits and rotted their whole beings, they were no longer owners of their own bodies they were hers now and forever.

These cursed could only move at night, searching the skies for her queen and it’s bright. They would not age, as their life was not their own anymore, but their spirits crumbled to dust and their eyes bleach to a clear empty black alabaster reflecting their pale hearts. Hollow minds emptied and distorted by the Night Mare’s rancor were devoured every night, only living for her light, only living by her might.

For centuries they wait each night for her beloved to rise, becoming prisoners alike with the once princess of the dark each one captive in their own body victims of their own need, wicked of a curse long ago in deed. Their scales bleach, their hide wither, their gaze turn to silver, their bodies feed on the rage and sorrow the mare in the moon imprint on the shine, turning them into feral vestiges of their old once peaceful beings. Those most damped in the damned influence of the moon showed a stone like skin hardening their limbs and parts of their bodies, hide and coats turned into slate and rock making them everlasting as their curse. Each night feed them more, each night curse them more, each night they needed more and mourned for the nights of a thousand years where they stayed immovable, nonexistent, missing from a world they left behind long time ago.

They became part of the legends of the night, populating the ill dreams of the pony kind, the foals were frightened by their stories and their guardians terrified by the chance one of them could strike their land. The All Whites were called, their fangs are waiting, their claws kept sharp for the moment their bodies would move and they could follow their Princess, their ruler, their owner.

The fears of the ponies from the past were firmly established as a few of the Whites have awakened this dream of nonexistence, way too late, way too far from what they used to be. As foul beast they hunger for the light of their beloved, embraced by a uncanny strength nourished by the rage of endless nights of anguish. These great white monsters only stopped their frantic search when consumed by their own hunger as they are not able to find her beloved never again in the sky.

Stories of the encounters from these white monsters with towns, caravans and travelers spread through the lore and history of the realm. Many times there were no souls able to testify such brutal collide and only their path of havoc could bare evidence of their acts. Still there were those who could survive the frightening path of those white faces of death and brought their spoils of terror spreading the legend of those vile raging beasts.

The Whites are now remains of a legend once told, some of them have even turned into dust, some of them have ceased to exist and becoming empty shells like sculpted bodies, but the blight of their existence lives on. Those who remain will be kept out from this world to feed on the Curse of the Silver Light in their endless cycle of non living, until at the longest day of the millennia the foretold stars will gather to welcome the exiled princess to this world once more. What would happen when the mare leaves her moon? what would happen when the curse leaves the All Whites?. It is unknown I just hope for a compassionate end for this cursed unfortunate souls.

But that is indeed a different story

Entry III - The Perpetual Nightmare

Entry III – The Perpetual Nightmare

For you must know Magic is the life that runs through the structure of existence itself. From its wonders we can obtain day and night as well as bring rain down to our land. It has always feed our kind with its mighty and warmth touch helping us and delivering the livelihood that thousands of generations had on their days. It’s not a secret we have been blessed with this gift, and neither the glory it has shined on us, but as it nature dictates that same flow of life can become a torrent of despair within the wrong grasp.

What this words record is knowledge meant to be abolished from this world, the collective memory of the creation have almost lost its trace on behalf of itself, for the nature of this enchantments was never to be discovered, and yet the echoes of its consequences still resound on the day and night we all share under the sky.

This sorcery was born from fear itself. Harvested from the dread, created by the struggle of countless spellcasters, sages, sorcerers and wizards that despite generations or species have found their match on the everlasting judgment of death itself. Yes, one after another the wilders of magic have been able to weave the treads of creation itself, bending the laws of nature and tamed the cosmos movement itself; but none of them even with their transcendent might has been able to overcome their inherent end.

This was the origin for the Nightmare, The Perpetual Nightmare, the effort of countless warlocks driven by their own fear of nature itself brought to this land one curse that even the most unreachable beings fear.

There were times where the knowledge was lost or erased but it would seem that evil itself serves as the messenger of this wisdom of pain and curses. Finding new fertile soil in the minds of the confused erudite the seed of this sinful wisdom grow with their arrogance against the rules of life.

By scrolls, and records the masters of the magic have left behind the traces of their work, letting new scholars to start where their precursors left before meeting their final fate, each breed going further, each mage reaching farther. For each generation the excitement and invigoration grow and torn to madness as their fear of not being able to accept their own nature and left behind what they have achieved.

As records of the spells were captured on ink for the future, the root of the Nightmare can be traced down. Failed sorceries to stop the age of the caster were the first, and too obvious, attempts followed by rejuvenation and dead rising spells. Each mage was prompt to find an answer, to prove its divine superiority by finding the eternal life. But all and each one of them failed and faded in the never ending flow of time.

Many branches grew from that root. Some of them even brought chaos and calamity to their finders and the land. But the knowledge never stopped, jumping from life to life, traversing species and times, the records were growing and the wicked never halted their chase for glory and immortality.

One of those branches grew into the mind of one of the most gifted spellcasters the world has brought to life. Welkin Gazer was responsible for one of the brightest ages of magic after the great change. His work and wonders helped even the princes of the sun to overcome the duties of two deities by her alone. But as the years went by Welkin Gazer had to pay the toll of them, and his fear led him to live a double life that hid by in darkness of the night the overflowing shadow inside his aging heart.

By studding sinful scrolls from sources yet unknown, Welkin Gazer came across the theory that unifying the principles of dream waving magic with his mastery over the conception of time and his magical nature as a unicorn the path to endure ages by finding eternal slumber, and rising whenever he would consider would be at his feet.

Records of the wise unicorn based on this source, recount a spell capable of victimize a soul with a never ending dream. A dark fantasy overloaded with the most intimate fears and horrors the victim mind could craft. And according to Welkin Gazer journal on the matter “It would seem that the nightmare itself creates a malevolent being inside the dreams of the victim. Scheming the endless torture and assuring the suffering. ”

For years the mage master walked his days as a kind and wise scholar inside the walls of the rooms and halls where he imparted his wisdom to young horned students. By night he would run unspeakable experiments to dozens of his kin abducted, even some of his own apprentices, to bring him the ease from the disgust and fear mortality craved on him. His putrid knowledge source was tested with his skills as a master of the magic arts.

But the Nightmare was so much of a challenge for him. As his science grew by failure his ambition turned into madness and soon his daylight act was shattered by his own self turned into a unrecognizable monster that lost every ounce of will and self-control, desperate and hopeless he tried to consume the whole Canterlot Magic Academy into an endless sleep to find at least one test subject close to his desired outcome. This attempt was countered by the swift response of the stellar princes herself and her personal guard, the four corners.

With no option to flee and his sanity long lost Welkin Gazer cast his unfinished sorcery over himself succumbing in a slumber that lasted for a thirty nights and its days. But the slumber was far from what the old unicorn could expect, tormented by endless dreams of indescribable dread he woke up only to end his own life not being able to escape from the horrors created by his own magic and mind.

However the tragedy what that old fool of a mage brought to us, was far from over. Those who were victims of his dementia paid with unbearable hallucinations that haunted the few months of life that remained in them. Just a few of them were able to wake up from their terrorizing dreams just to die on a world that they were unable to see, listen or even feel. The records told that the pain, suffering and unavoidable loss of those innocent souls diminish the glow of the sun, for the ache the sacred mare felt inside her heart.

Ever since then the dream weaving magic has been forbidden among the pony kind, hated with such anger that the house of the sun and moon have chased down any wizard who have come close this principle. Still the original scrolls that ignited Welkin Gazer corruption were never to be found, and the sole nature of the magic wielders makes the search for immortality an unstoppable quest, for a mind overcome by arrogant fear is lost to a path away from the warm shine of light and hope .

As the record of the world knows the Perpetual Nightmare could live on in the dreams of a never coming dawn awaiting to occur.

But that is indeed a different tale...

Entry IV - Galloping Thundermare

Entry IV -- Galloping Thundermare

The name she was given by her birth is now long forgotten; some even think she was never one of our kind and claim that her origins are from the womb of Tartarus itself. However, those words were born from ignorance and fear sprouted by her tempest as she galloped through our blessed Equestria like one of our own flesh and blood.

Once she was a just wretched filly lost into the consequences of life and this world. Being an orphan has never been a blessing, and in those ancient times where the hostility and corruption were law, the young mare was destined to live day after day of harsh and painful service.

These were times of confusion and betrayal, the rule of the sun princess and her promises for a wonderful Equestria were not enough for some who were willing to do whatever in the pursue of riches and power. Those were the dark times of the realm of the sun and our kind was far from the glory and prosperity we know today. Nevertheless, our young mare was just one of the victims of those wild times and her pain will be one to be carried in a way never seen before.

She was taken by some of these ruthless ponies, casting her fate to misfortune and anguish as the hearts of her guardians were tainted with the need of demeaning the pure and clean, completing the cycle they couldn’t break, making it grow with no stop as our filly spirit was broken like theirs.

The “saviors”, as they usually named themselves, treated her almost as a slave, making her work each day of her young years to earn the food and shelter they always bragged to her. There was no day she could feel love or kindness. Just abuse and corruption fed her spirit for day and night. Still, she was strong willed and always hoped for a place beyond the rain and withered fields. A place to escape from all what her life was and just be free.

Her days of innocence flew away like the pegasi on the sky. She always admired the winged ponies for their implicit freedom, cursing the day she was born as one bound to the ground. The sky was the place where her spirit and wishes could gallop free, contrasting her body shackled to a reality full of unpleasant times and ill memories.

But as history has shown our kind there is no date not to meet, neither term not to expire, and just as complete empires have fallen to the putridity of their cores after an unspeakable atrocity, her spirit could break no more and so she ran away from her saviors. For day and night the mare ran, feeling them on her hooves, terrified of being caught and taken back. Through fields and roads and plains, through scorching sun and brutal storms her gallop carried on, never turning her sight, never stopping her dash, not until her flesh could bear no more and her mind awakened from her fears and mourns.

Under the rain and thunders she stood to the ground. Her hooves were broken, her heart almost demised, she could taste her life on her mouth as the feeling of her spirit still running was leaving her behind. This was her end, she was aware, and as the end freezed her to the core, and as the final race came to this conclusion, every fiber in her knew that that hill bathed by storms was her last resting place. That was when the thread of legends entangled all through her bones and soul.

Over the winds and tempest another withering being was near to meet its end. A strange creature was starving for ill thoughts, not described in any books or scrolls, some believed was akin to the fabled bringers of cold and snow of our Heartwarming tales. No one had ever encountered such kind of being, ethereal and nonexistent in flesh although real and tangible in essence, its hunger and need drove him to the dying mare for the sustain, her despair, pain and fury could provide for it.

The fading earth pony could not understand the specter beyond her sight. She had thoughts of the afterlife and saw it as a carrier for her soul, but the creature was far from a celestial being. It fed over the mare’s sorrow with such frenzy some could even call it passion and flare, mistakening the feast it was having over the now broken soul. It was such a desperate devour that the creature could not realize he got attached to its prey, as a cold unnatural feeling started to run across the earth pony’s flesh.

Both becoming one could mean something unreal, but the legends are born from so much more, and that storm was the time for one to do so.

A lighting of incommensurable might rushed from the heavens to the ground, sparking the earth and sky with its terrifying bright. It stroke with godlike accuracy the body of the parting mare, and ended the life of the ethereal creature in less than a breath. The power of the sky itself flowed through the agonizing creature’s veins, and the essence of the unknown being took each ounce of its fury and despair previously consumed into a form of pure living plasma. Her body blasted in a maelstrom beyond description, made of energy and remains turning her mane and tail into a whole lightning flowing from a body now dyed in a white glow of aberrant beauty with bolts of blue electricity running through her coat. Her eyes blasted with sparks, covering them with the full current of the celestial wrath as a cry from her throat turned into the voice of the welkin speaking the piercing language of thunder. The Thundermare was given birth by storm and death itself.

The Thundermare’s mind was blank. She could only hear the call of the rage in the sky and see the might of the tempest regaining her memories. Memories of pain, suffering, abuse and sorrow fueled her fury that resounded into the deep ceilings of the world as an uproarious thunder. Her hooves suddenly moved by their own, recalling the fatal race that brought her there, but now her gallop defied reality itself taking her to the clouds above.

Leaving lighting traces behind, the Thundermare was at last able to find her longed freedom in the sky. Each one of her steps leaving bolts of deadly power behind, setting a symphony of chaos and tempest at the surroundings skies, over the land the creatures witnessed her race with fear and startle as her wonder started to fade into a madness driven by a rage long before engraved in her heart.

The gallop was her right, the gallop was her might, the gallop was existence and life as she runs through the skies of our world bringing fear to those below. Over land and sea, over plains and mountains, the thunder of her hooves recalls the pain of her previous life and announces the danger of her wrath and might. A being who seems the avatar of fury that was never touched by love, an asymptote to peace waiting for a soul brave enough to tame her for the world’s ease .

But that is indeed another story.