The Shadows of Yadith

Alas to those who search for the unknown, for they try to form light amidst darkness. Truth is hid from them by the veil of shadows. One day they shall find a torch, and brandish high this powerful light, but in madness they shall flee, for pony minds were not meant for such an abominable sight.

Al’zarith the Mad – Into the Abyss

What continues to disgust me about our kind is our susceptibility to mass ignorance. Since the dawn of time we have been aware of the darkness that dwells within the heavenly fold and the abominable evils that lie within those stygian dimensions; yet we continue to ignore the obvious conclusions that can be drawn from our history. We did so with the banishment of Princess Luna, with the years passing by she became nothing more than a fable, a story told by grandponies to their young, before eventually being forgotten as all but a legend of the past. Thus we ignored the truths of reality and leapt into the world of delusion, fully aware of the consequences. We continued to ignore the connotations of her imminent return until it was too late, only by chance being saved from the destruction by a band of merry few. But even these ponies had no grand revelation when they read about the ancient powers of the stars in that fateful encounter.

This ignorance continued into the days of Discords’ revival two decades ago. The Princesses who had banished him seemed to forget the fact that their magic would decay once they had transferred control to the elements. Preferring instead the petty ignorance of which all fools enjoy in their dream worlds. Only when forced to look into the chaos of their delinquency, did they act on the holding rites which bound him to his stone realm. Even after such activities, they continued in idle foolishness, like an opium riddled stallion in his drug infested stupor, oblivious to the cut-throats that surround him.

Ignorance is the fuel of this society, and ignorance is our bliss. I realized that during my experiences those many years ago. It is ignorance that binds this kingdom together. How else could it function with the things I have seen? The maddening realms that have been parted before my eyes have driven me to the extreme tips of my sanity. The visions and experiences I have had since my awakening would be enough to drive a lesser equine to madness, or preferably to death from the ruinous knowledge that they impart. The primeval and abominable have driven me to drastic action, some of which you have no doubt read in the news of our society. The mystery of Timberdale in the brooding swampland forests of Murkmire and the chaos of the Chatterhoof Rails to Arkmane brought limited fancy of interest into minds throughout the land. My branding as a danger to the realm and my unexpected pardon will have again most likely peaked your interest in this matter. But what I speak of now you will discard as an amazing fantasy, for who could believe such madness, such explosive reshaping of the perception of the world?

You will flee to a Dark Age delusion, fulfilled in the belief that what I speak of in these letters is nothing more than the rampant madness of an equine, faint of mind and lacking in sanity, ignoring the true terrors of which I tell.

It does not matter anymore.

Ignorance cannot save you from what is coming.

The dark stars of the sky herald their return, the prophesies spoken in the grim fantasies of ‘The Fall of Suul’ and the dreaded 'Libro Tenebris Mysteria’ will come to pass!

Their return is nigh!

All will feel their malignant touch as they descend to bring forth their abhorrent will, once again, upon the universe!

Some wise mortals have chosen another path. You have no doubt heard of the march of the faithful, those covered in tattered black robes and masks, who followed the ruinous banner of Archbishop Ironfall of the Esoteric Order. Into the high mountains of the Kothian peaks they moved, on a divine mission, directed by nebulous higher authorities. Some locals in those regions will tell you of the queer sights they saw that night on the mountain, but the majority of learned investigators will scoff at such local superstitions and inform you that these were the works of the borealis. Still it is true that Ironfall and his faithful disappeared that night, some say into paradise, others to the darkest regions of perdition, who can truly know for sure what happened in those dark, tainted spires of Koth? But there are sinister hintings of what Ironfall and his flock had in mind when overviewing the ‘Book of The Golden King’, which was all that remained in their collapsing prayer house, and which has so recently come into my collection in preparation for what is to come.

Resistance is futile to those who lie dreaming in the blackened abysses beyond the grasp of space and time. They are dead, but of course they are dead. However, that shall not stop them; the end has not been averted, only delayed. Soon they shall awaken to bring their terrible presence upon the universe again, which all shall tremble before as they end the life of this planet in gibbering insanity and genocide.

So I write this to warn those who will listen, those who will harken to my call and rally to my banner, for a doom will fall upon the lands of Equestria, and perhaps I have the silver key to our survival when those of the void awaken. I cannot promise you of my success, but what is to come will rend Equestria with such ease that even the heavens will tremble, so great are the powers of those who dwell beyond.

Perhaps I also write this to ease my own sanity, and to assure myself I was not pulled into some mad ploy of the actions of a few madstallions, and joined their own insanity with the chaos of the events that followed. But that has almost completely been vanquished by my later research into these matters, and this writing will help me instead to decide on a final step which is arrayed before me.

The beginning of my awakening came on a late Friday morning in my native home city of Arkmane, a city of ancient edifices which the industrial revolution had built around.

Arkmane was an odd mixture of the new and old and seemed to complement itself in quite a delightful manner. In my youth I had adored Arkmane core’s winding passageways and shadowy side alleys. Much to my parent’s displeasure, I ventured deeply into these twisting realms and antiquarian portions of the city, learning its hidden secrets like a scholar learning ancient history, enraptured by its lore. I must admit I garnered myself a bit of trouble in my adventuring, but I was young and foalish then and investigated, without restraint, the cities hidden pathways.

I had grown up amidst the long shadows of the city, and made friends with many in my investigations, building up a conclave of collaborators in my studies of Equestrian antiquity. I soon entered the prestigious halls of Arkmane University, and partook in studies fitting with my antiquarian mindset, investigating the eras before the rise of the Celestial monarchy and Discords dictatorship.

I left their halls with a fine result of success grasped within my hoof and proceeded to write on my own findings on Equestrian prehistory. Although I did not succeed in getting more than local notoriety for my work, my studies into the lost Empire of Skyflame were well received in the small establishments that noticed them. Later these establishments would seek to whitewash the memory of such things, as if they felt a deep shame over ever noticing my work before the incident, but perhaps the disappearances of my thesis are for the best, for such deluded ponies, and for myself.

With my work in academia progressing, I began for the first time to delve deeper than ever into the Arkmane Archives, even arranging a few trips to Canterlot in order to discover further mysteries of history. I was working on a final book on the complete history of Equestria, which I hadn't named at that time, and was still in the midsts of work when I heard its arrival.

I was writing a chapter on the Discordian Civil War when I was interrupted by the thump of a hoof upon my apartment door. When I opened it I was greeted with the exhausted sight of the wall eyed mail-mare who occasionally did my mail rounds. The cause of her strain appeared to be a heavy package balanced precariously on her back. I moved to help her, straining with the weight of it despite being aided by a levitation spell, as I carted the package to the table. However I realized it had no return post and no name attached to it apart from my own. Curious I queried the mare but she had as little idea as I to its origin, I asked if she could find out where it had come from and she assented, intrigued the peculiar delivery as much as I was. I waved her out and she gave me a smile as she departed to the rest of her rounds, wishing me a good day as she went.

Closing the door, I turned back to the package and proceeded to remove the parcelling. As I tore away the paper, a silver box emerged, a strange and splendorous thing which shone in the morning light. I unveiled it and the box laid there, graven with many curious sigils at its edges and a serpentine lever at the top, which appeared sunken into the metal.

I admired the silver box and the primordial sigils that covered the surface of the container. I recognized a few of the symbols as those that had been discovered in the disrupted archaeological digs on the Mountains of Theng in Northern Equestria. The warped design lit powerful fantasies within my mind and I wondered of the contents of the device, for surely it was ancient beyond measure considering the primeval symbols of the old world. Unless one had been a master of forgery and symbology, one could have known of the long ignored archaeological digs on the peaks of Theng, or the tragedy of which befell that expedition so long ago.

Once again I wondered at the nature of the device and the origins of its delivery, perhaps this discovery had come into the hands of a fellow historian such as I, who in their knowledge of the community had passed it to my hooves. Surely as well, one of my fellows would have given me proper insight into where it had been found before handing it over. But instead I had nothing.

Strange thoughts rose into my mind, of esoteric cults and cryptic chants of elder zebra shamans of primordial days, mixed with tales of fantastic lore and ancient events. With them came the visions of precipitous Theng that had risen high upon the mountains, and the magnificence of its ivory towers which were lit upon by hellion braziers of cerulean flame during the mythic moonlit epochs, before the dawn of Celestial History.

Eagerness overwhelmed my ruminations, and I hastened to open the strange container and discover its hidden stygian secrets of wondrous prehistory. I raised the contraption in a magical aura and attempted to open its strange locking mechanism. But when I twisted the lever I gained naught but resistance to my incessant tugging. I attempted further to breach the device and at last managed to succeed to some degree when discovering that the lever could be extended from the box. With this knowledge I attempted to move the device once again, this time with it fully extended from the container, however I lost again to its resistance. Further investigation eventually led to the reasoning that it must be extended to a point rather than to its fullest extent; eventually patience and luck solved the curious puzzle.

The next puzzle seemed to be that of a repositioning of the lever, it suddenly being caught at a permanent level which could only be moved from left to right. When moved the sides extended outwards in even slats of six, when each was in its required position a small click sounded and it moved no more, I stood in frozen patience, my ear planted next to the box as I moved the lever back and forth gently. It took hours, but finally the last slat clicked into place, I heard a whirring sound as the entire piece repositioned itself into the shape of a pyramid, by what means I could not tell.

This puzzle seemed not to be related to the lever, it refused to budge completely, I wondered for half an hour on what to do next, gently testing the sides of the thing for movement. Finally I raised the device in the air with a magical aura and gained a response. The sigils began to glow suddenly, the shape began changing in my grasp and suddenly I beheld a shining trapezohedron. The suddenness of the light caused me to drop the device, which clattered heavily on the floorboards, but was seemingly no worse for wear.  I raised it off the ground once again, but the lights had dimmed and were fading, I realized where to go from this, and began to test it with other spells.

It took an hour, but finally I cracked the puzzle. The required spell caused it to be engulfed in astral fire and the box repositioned itself back into its original shape. This puzzle seemed to be a code, when each sigil was tapped it emanated light and a pure tone but it seemed they had to be tapped in a particular way. Eventually after much hassle I found that the basic combination was of hitting the right side thrice, the top twice, the back five times and once on the left. With this the box opened up at the top in six triangular pieces, extending outward like a metal flower which I approached and peered into.

I recoiled in disgust at the sudden stench, before returning once the foul odour had lessened, but with wary caution. The container hinted ominously of its contents, and temptation soon overtook my natural fear. I raised a hoof curiously but timorously towards its hidden treasures, towards the device which had known of times when the skies had heralded other sights than those arrayed in Celestial days.

Lo! I beheld it as the shadows drew back before my investigative hoof, and paled, my face as white as chalk as I stared in horror at its twisted form of abhorrent writhing. The hideous evil danced there on my counter, its leering demonic appearance and disturbing stone body whipping back and forth, almost as if the artist had caught in motion the gibbering creature’s frenzied prayer to those gods of forgotten, eldritch epoch’s and far off ages of sunken, antediluvian realms.

It was a statue, but it held such motions of fiendish, invidious, evil and distorted living horror that I could not accept it being of such normality of the carven idols of the Equestria of prehistory. It seemed it moved at the edges of my sight suggestively; as if it wasn’t truly bound to the dimensions of existence of that my race knew.

What madness had the forgotten epoch's of our history spawned this idol?

It reeked of must from the primordial crypt, when lost empires and golden clad kings had ruled in fragmented Equestria, and whom had spoken of forgotten things in elder tongues before the dawn of measured time.

The statue I beheld was of a figure with the upright appearance of our draconic elders, but held no other similarities beyond vague suggestion. Its head held a seemingly high crest, which to me looked like a horizontal crown of bone. Dark carved signs were etched to its crest which I likened it to some foul lizard from the lands of Zebrakind. Thousands of abhorrent tendrils and tentacles covered its upright body, its main limbs ending not in claws like a dragon, but in hell-spawned whipping blades and bone vices.

Within its grasp it held three cracked golden flutes and an orb of silver of meaning unknown to me, but I shuddered at its elusive and sinister implications of the symbolism. No mouth was bound to its hideous, blank face, but it leered still despite such lacking of the organ. Rancid gills lined along its long horned neck seemed to flap hideously despite it being impossible. But by all that is terrible of its nature, the thing which paralyzed me in fear was its three insidious, gleeful glowing blue eyes.

They glowed in knowledge of elder days when the darkened skies had told of occult truths in gleaming arcane stars.  Such wild visions invaded my mind, and I had scarce ability to draw back from the obsidian creature before I was consumed within its maleficent gloating gaze.

Yet I managed to breach my trap and pull back from the device, I staggered to the kitchen to calm my mind before another revelation struck me, and I paled at the connotations. It had been late morning when I had drawn the necrotic statue from its box. But now I clearly saw that it was now far from being so.

For as I had gazed into the hoary statue for what seemed like little more than minutes, the darkness of dusk had been brought upon the world.

I reclined at my desk, worn and aching from my long voyage into the eyes of the strange statue of nameless eons past. I was disturbed by this newfound ability of the statue. However the warping of the perception of time was not uncommon in some ancient magic as the enchantments degraded.

I had packed the aged statue once again to the shadows of the silver box, but now sat musing on the disturbing nature of the thing. Never before had I encountered such a strange and mysterious object in all my studies of the Pre-Discordian histories. It seemed not to bear the hallmarks of any known styles of the past and I wondered, perplexed by it.

I had searched my tomes on the events and empires of the eras before Discords rise, but had come up with nothing which referred to a statue similar in appearance. Neither the thesis of Starswift on 'The Nature of Prehistoric Religious Deities', nor the workings of Dawnwing on 'The Artistic Styles of Pre-Discordian Architecture' illuminated its origins.

I drew the statue out again and looking at the obsidian terror once more. Soon I was lost within its hoary structure. It whispered darkly of the precipitous abysses, of gaunt citadels in the shadows of space and time, and I trembled at the idea of such things.

I avoided the eyes of the icon and finally had a closer look at its design. I noticed that it was not just a statued figure standing on its own, but that which perched vulturine upon an azure crystal plinth. Cryptic runes presaged its mighty form in a nameless tongue of forgotten primal origins.

The degenerate writing was truly terrible. Crooked and warped in strange signs and of a completely undecipherable runic text that would have poisoned any interpreter’s attempts to divine what it proclaimed. I wondered deeply if it was the name of the elder god of which squatted above, but its untranslatable nature made it a futile musing.

I placed the strange statue back in its puzzle bound box and sealed it tight once again, suddenly overcome with the sense of a presence as I admired the strange and decadent art piece. I shuddered in repulsion at the idea of a watcher gazing upon me and enclosed the device in my safe, to which only I knew the combination. Closing the door and engulfing the statue in shadow once again, only to return it to the light of day once a lead could be found on its alien history.

Late into the night I searched, prying into detailed crumbling tomes and modern histories that I had acquired for my vast personal library. I trekked into epochs before the Common Era and into the obscure elapsed ages, desperate for knowledge. I raked long through the antiquarian and modern texts for some sign of such a statue, but found nothing but dust.

It seemed that such a god, symbolic figure or creature had never before been seen in the vast annuals of reputable history. I searched long into those volumes, until the arched roofs of the antiquated houses in Arkmane core were lit by the crimson glow of dawn. No further finds on the source of the primordial icon were revealed and I was weak with exhaustion, the urge to sleep dominating my mind.

I lay back in my armchair and stared around at the mess that I had managed to make of my office. Lairs of dust and mythic legend were scattered in piles around the room, but I didn't care, a fierce fascination held jurisdiction over my sleep dredged mind. However even that could not resist the clutch of Hypnos and I collapsed into a world of dreams, dominated by figures clad in blue in preparation for the grandest of rituals.

I awoke to the bright rays of the noon sun as it breached my window with vibrancy. It was going to be a fine day, but I had not time for such musings, and hastened into the bustling streets, scarcely remembering to cover myself with my saddlebags and waistcoat as I charged, zealous, outside.

I trotted hurriedly to Arkmane University that I had studied at so many years ago, deciding that if anypony had some information on the statues origins, it would be in the University. Moving into the building and walking through the gothic marble halls to the titanic library, I felt small again between the pillars of books, just as I had in my youth. With strong relations to the university and maintaining friendships with the librarians, I would have a fair chance of gaining access to the restricted section of the library.

Whilst I waited for confirmation of my access, I dabbled in rumor with the old librarian Bookwise who informed me of recent news. It seemed the Chatterhoof rails, which had been a long project of Equestria’s main mass transit, had finally been completed. Now we had attained a direct line to the imperial city Canterlot all the way to the most northerly regions of Stalliongrad. Such a miracle of engineering through the dangerous interceding mountain range had never been attempted before; its success had opened the way for other forward thinking projects. Its’ direct route through Arkmane allowed a greater movement of goods and its appearance seemed to be bringing increased prosperity to the many small shops and aged stores of the city. It was rumored though that the princesses had not been in favor of this project behind closed doors, but such thoughts were viewed as nothing more than puerile slander.

Another interesting piece of news was the seemingly brightening star, Cerebus, which seemingly began to complement the moon in its luminosity. Few knew why it had suddenly lit up, but many had considered it the work of Luna as she dabbled with the night sky, others thought it the death throes of a star before its collapse; still others considered more arcane reasons for its sudden brightening. Soon the chatter turned elsewhere and I asked about anything in the archives having knowledge of the statue that had so recently come into my holding. Bookwise frowned at the description I gave and attempted to recollect any information that might be related to it, but with not much success. At that moment he received affirmation and passed a slip on to me, suggesting that I should do my own research in the archive whilst he had a think about the statue I had spoken of and would inform me upon my return if he remembered anything.

I left Bookwise to his pondering and descended deeper into the recesses of the Library. Few ponies were present, most deeply infatuated with whatever book or text they were attempting to read or decipher. As I drove deeper into the forest of tomes I eventually noticed the distant door to the left of me guarded by two of the royal guard. This was the door to the restricted and rare section of the library. It had always had the golden armored guardsmen protecting its doors in order that its secrets would be kept to a select trusted few. As I moved towards them the guards levitated their swords from their sheaths, giving me a hard stare as I passed my slip over. They stared at the validated pass for a moment before passing it back and bringing their blades back to their holsters. I nodded in thanks as I moved forward, opening the doors with a push of magic and entering the next room.

Finally I entered the restricted section and moved into the regions occupied the theosophical texts, cryptic histories and occult and fantastical readings. I paced between the shelves and delivered ever-growing piles of rare and restricted literature to a nearby writing table, until the desk was heaving with obscure volumes of yore and fantasies of maddened dreamers.

With many volumes before me, I began to dig deep into the dark literature on Equestria of prehistory, desperately scrabbling through the extravagant editions of Dunsneigh’s 'Dreams of the Olden Gods', The griffon Archfeather’s mythos of the 'Forgotten Kings' to discover at least some hint of what the thing was. I delved into the fantastical and the insane from lore, eons past, until the sun had passed its zenith in the sky and my mind warped by a thousand tales of strange things and unequine-like gods, but nothing was found on the mysterious statue.

I searched for information related to the elder structure, but to no avail, the insane statue remained enigmatic and nebulous, clouded by the lost knowledge of a long forgotten era of history. Disheartened by failure in a place I thought would have knowledge related to the device; I replaced the books in their worn shelves before departing through the ebony doors and the sleepy guards to the front office.

It was here that a new lead appeared.

Bookwise hurried over to me with wide eyes and grin which told me he had stumbled upon something in his reminiscing. He told me there had once been a book on what I sought for a great many years ago. A positively archaic tome many millennia of age which had mentioned in the primeval written tongue of Zebrakind the strange statue of which I sought.

The Book, he told me, had been filled with strange and terrible imagery, as well as truly revolting and demonic dreamscapes. Its binding was of no known form that honest ponies knew of and had consisted of strange, weird, yellow leather that seemed to whisper as the book was moved, but which had been as hard as iron.

Nobody knew how ancient the document was, some projected that it was over ten thousand years of age; others proposed that it had been made during the chaotic terror of Discords reign. Asides from the strange leathery bindings, the thing had another defining feature of which was bound to its covering. A vile sigil of indescribable origins, which appeared to be focused around an orb of blackness in the middle, whist tendrils of smoke or light moved around it languidly.

Hope surged within me. I asked rapidly of what had become of the book. Alas Bookwise said that after a terrible tragedy involving one bright young student whom had read and translated the tome, the book had been taken away by the Royal Sisters to be disposed of. It had either been burned or locked in the vaults of Canterlot where it would rot for all eternity, so was completely unreachable. Bookwise noticed my falling expression and then revealed what he had wanted to inform me of all along, for he had seen other variations of the hieroglyphic tome before. It was a rare volume of great price, but there existed other copies of the esoteric text, if I had luck on my side then perhaps I would find another crumbling copy.

With newfound hope, I thanked Bookwise, I told him if I could discover what the statue was I would inform him of my research. He smiled, bemused at my excitement and ushered me outside into the fresh air of the city, wishing me all the luck in my search as I hopped gaily down the steps and into the streets of Arkmane.

I marched through the antiquated city core, deciding to further my search beyond the library and into the many old bookshops which delved in theosophical texts and ancient histories.

I almost danced through the city, visiting shops here and there, trying to find the darkly rumored manuscript which Bookwise had spoken of. None of the shops had the book, but knew of it through hushed sources that it was a book of supreme mystery. A few of the shops I had entered had even in the past held such powerful tomes of lore, but they had long since been brought into the collections of lords and rich professors, monuments to their prosperity and far from my searching hooves.

It was not until late into the night that I found that hidden shop.

Half crushed between moldering buildings near Arkmane Quay, which stank of strange odours brought in from the sea, it had been half lost between the tangles of buildings in rotting alleyways near the wharf. Unlike the other shops which had long since closed, this one remained open with a lit candle near the dust covered window of the shop. The deep sea mist roamed inwards from the lapping ocean and curious curls of fog whispered over the broken cobblestones. Arkmane Quay had long since lost its importance many years ago, so the streets had fallen into uncared dilapidation, where only drunks and the impoverished now eked an existence.

I trotted to the cracked, grime-covered panes and peered through into the murky shop. The place was laired in dust and cobwebs, great stacks of books rose from floor to ceiling in necrotic piles, the texts festering from the moist sea air which crawled through cracked panes. I entered, drawn by the piles of elder knowledge and looked across the occult craft for the salespony, but could find not a trace of him in the shadowed edifice.

This did not deter me and I began my hunt for the tome which I sought.

I found much in that necrotic shop, alien sigils were painted upon the walls; dust ridden charms hung from the roof looking like miniature corpses, and a brazier burned low on a charred pedestal at the center of the shop. In my search I found the long lost texts of the 'Fall of Suul' and the rotted tale of the 'Star Prince', which I had thought expunged by imperial degree many centuries before. I wondered to whether it would have the elder tale which I sought, and continued to thumb through the crumbling volumes.

Finally I found the ancient tome.

It was held on a pedestal of twisted ebony, lit by crimson candles which illuminated document. Its archaic elder runes of proto-zebra expression filled my mind with unalterable sense of dread, but also of a strong sense of appeal. I carefully shifted each of the thin pages and saw on each terrible images of forgotten epochs before the rise of pony or Alicorn. I saw things of when forgotten kings had ruled from jet thrones, of times when dark powers had held sway over Equestria. Pentagrams and hieroglyphs lined the document and hinted suggestively of warped, dark magic. I shuddered to think of what the terrible words used in ritual opened, and I trembled in silence as I closed the book, as I could stand no more of it.

I lifted it reverently and added it to my growing pile that I had deposited in my saddlebags. A great sense of trepidation dominated my instincts, and I wondered what hideous answers I would have once I finished with the primal tome.

I turned to look for the keeper of lore again and yelled in horror as I was confronted with two dark malevolent eyes from the shadows, barely illuminated by a shuttered lantern. The figure stepped into the red light and I saw that it was an aged earth stallion, worn and pitted by a lifetime enduring the cold, wet, rough sea winds. He gazed horribly into my eyes with his maleficent black orbs and I recoiled at the stench of mildew that lingered around him.

He glared at me with demonic scrutiny and I nervously I told him I admired his bookstore, as it held texts which I thought destroyed or lost to time. I levitated out the books I wished to purchase with a tremble and asked of their price.

Quickly the glare of silence was broken by a crooked grimace of rotting teeth.

I apologized for the intrusion, but said he had not been at his desk when I had entered. He shrugged it off and spoke in antiquated terms that he had been in the backroom of the shop before I had entered, and had assumed me one of the vagabonds which frequented the streets. We moved through the tottering piles to his desk, but my fear had not receded, there was something terribly wrong with the abnormal darkness and the curious shopkeeper.

At last we reached the crumbling and woodworm infested desk, the ancient pony laid down my purchases, peering at them through broken and rusted spectacles. He nodded in amusement at my choices and complimented me on the selection into the important lore of the past. He told me that the Yellow book of which I sought was the prophecies of the zebra oracle Al’zarith whom, beset by a strange madness, had written of primal things, forgotten in this era and all but the furthest regions of Equestrian history.

As he spoke he moved towards the chair at front desk, placing the lantern down carefully at the side of the rotten counter. He murmured that Al’zarith spoke of things long forgotten by his kind. He had been removed his tribe and cast into exile for heresy, and during his wanderings he had written many books of lore and power. His most intriguing had been the 'Pannathic Scriptures' that I now sought to purchase, which had been written, according to Al’zarith, in the Veil of Pannath were the screaming dead dwell. Although not as knowledgeable as the terrible 'Libro Tenebris Mysteria' it was more accessible.

I had never heard of such a book before but the name brought terrible sense of crawling fear, like the work of subtle poisons. I did not like the way he looked at me predatorily and willed myself to be gone of this stagnant place before it became too outrageously late. I hurriedly asked what he requested for the books, the resulting answer was a trivial amount of which shocked me. He asked for nothing more than a few bits for the ancient tomes, as if they held no rare importance. I, not willing to spit in the face of good fortune, said nothing of this to the elderly stallion as I bought the lore.

I bid him well as I hastened to leave the place, placing my newly acquired cultic manuscripts into my saddlebags with the utmost care and consideration. I backed out of the twisted and rotting store and into the streets where drunken ponies stumbled, and strange figures lurked in the shadows of the night.

It was high time I left this rotting place and with a quick trot, I moved upwards to the better kept districts of Arkmane. My mane pricked in disturbance as I crept through the degraded alleys and streets, but behind me the wind whipped in from the ocean and brought to my ears the sound of which truly froze my blood.

On the easterly swell rose the whipping wind and I listened to the scream of the ocean waves, yet sensed something beneath it...

I heard the raucous cackling of the shopkeeper...

...And the padding of unknown hooves behind me.

I hurried through the filth strewn streets, my mind ablaze with primal fears that conjured horrible nightmares which overflowed into the midnight shadows. I twisted through Dockstreet and trotted rapidly across its cobbled roads, careful to avoid the blackened alleys. I moved furtively from lantern to lantern, watching tensely as I tried to reach my home before midnight took dominance over the sleeping city.

Primal senses told me that the padding behind me was gaining.

I quickened my pace in fear as I saw warped and elongated silhouettes crawl forth from the shadows.

I moved faster and the lurkers seemed to increase with my pace, shadowing me with terrible malignancy.

I was in full panic and hurried faster into the quite domain of Merchant Street in nothing more than blind terror. I hurried towards my house in the old portion of the city into Carthorse Corner and through the twisting alleyways.

The padding changed into a canter.

I shifted from a nervous pace to that of adrenaline induced flight of fear. Dark things dominating my mind as the sounds of the padding continued to follow my every step. I rushed through the streets, knocking over some rotten apple barrels in my frenzy, as I ran I watched the fungoid fruit splay in front of my hooves.

I ran faster and any trace of ordered consciousness snapped with a terrible rotten crunch.

I fled around a side route using street knowledge of the city. Behind a group of waste storage containers I hid, watching as two ponies stumbled around into the street. I shifted from my position, escaping the stench of the filth and moved silently across to the next alley on my left. I was frantic not to make a sound to alert them, as they had stopped and were peering into the shadows in order to discern my position.

The leading stallion brought his head back like lightning and I only just managed to move into the shadows before he caught sight of me. I cringed into the shadows, praying to the gods that he would not spy me clinging to the sidewall. I slowly edged closer to the side path, inching slowly and painfully towards the escape. The stallions drew back from the street only to return a moment later, lighting two torches, they began thrusting them in the corners of the alleys.

It was only a matter of time...

I pushed my patience to the limits as I inched frantically towards my escape route as the torch bearing ponies grew closer. At last I managed to pull myself around the edge of the street into the alley and darted in panic toward my escape.

As I hastened into the darkness a terrible event occurred.

I had not noticed in my fear that a certain obstruction had fallen in front of my route of escape, and with a terrible clang I tumbled over it, drawing the attention of the strange ponies to my means of flight.

Rising from my stumble I limped into a nearby street and dragged myself up a flight of stairs, desperate to flee as they closed in behind me. I stumbled forward to the stairs leading from the wharf. Some bins lined the stairs as I groped forwards urgently. In frantic fear I magically flung these at my followers as they advanced. However they did little to obstruct them, but gave me just enough time to limp through a nearby iron gate.

I slammed the bolt closed behind me and hastily moved through the alley of Innsbridge as my hunters rattled in frustration at the bolted metal bars behind me.

I darted through the filthy side lane, desperately making my way to my house in Shatteredhoof Lane. I ran in fear as I heard the sudden wrenching of metal behind me and a crash as the steel gate was forced open.

I did not tarry, frantically running alone through the silent streets as I was pursued. At last, I reached the main street and crashed through the traffic of automobiles and steamcarts, darting through the vehicles with inches to spare.

The obstruction gave little ease to my fears and two followers were once again only a hairs breadth from me. At last I caught sight of my home, its brightly lit rooms shining like a beacon of hope to my terrified mind; with safety in sight I made one last desperate attempt at flight, pushing my stamina to the limit in order to get a lead on my pursuers. Startled by this new pace they tried to catch me before I attained the stone steps of my house, grasping with magic at my hooves. But in the primal sense of panic I activated my own magical abilities and severed their grip.

With a rush of adrenaline I charged, smashing through my door and bolted it tight behind me. The solid oak frame groaned under the weight of the two ponies clashing against it. The door continued to buck and shake for a few more moments before my pursuers gave up. I heard muffled trotting towards the various windows in my house and felt deeply reassured by the fact that these were guarded by anti-magic bars, designed to withstand the strongest magical forces. Indeed I saw them try to press their arcane energies through the window, and flushed with relief as the jangling and singing bars held under the strain.

Still hidden under the black veil of the shadowed moon they began to retreat back into realms of shadows, becoming nothing more than the murky shapes in back-alleys of the city. I tremble to think of the malignant will of those silent figures, and was thankful that I had managed to escape whatever murky fate they had arranged for me.

I assumed at first they were one of the many vagabond groups which the old stallion had mentioned, it seemed reasonable that they would shadow a figure of reasonable wealth in order to extort him. But the whispering recesses of my mind truly knew that there was a much more malign reason for the attempted accosting. Had not the old stallion spoken of the terrible powers the book had known of? Who knew the reasoning of the silent figures, and whatever foul plan might have been behind them...

I moved up the stairs to my study and placed the heavy tomes on my leather bound writing desk, nervously closing the open curtains on the night, and whoever might be watching from the shadows.

I collapsed into a chair I began to ruminate on what powers might have sought to silence me. I tried to brushed off these ideas however, for who could have known of my search but a trusted few? Not only that but few knew I had in my possession the chaotic and runed statue. Still visions of esoteric cults whispered at the edges of my mind, I was disturbed to think that I might be followed for knowing too much.

I tried to distract myself and turned to the ancient tome instead, its black orb suggesting mysteriously of its contents. The salt mists of the ocean wind had warped the pages and run the ink from some of the hieroglyphs, but still it was in good condition compared to the other crumbling tomes I had seen in the putrid store.

I drew out my knowledge of ancient proto-zebra runes and started to transcribe the ancient tongue into Modern Equestrian. It seemed at first that I was successful, but the script that I received was incomprehensibly garbled. It was after I had written out the first page of the tome that I decided that it must have been written in a code that only the astute could truly interpret. This conundrum of language and cipher continued to deter my understanding and I tossed and turned with the code for hours, until I succeeded by using ancient tablets of the secret Zebra Shaman tongue of the Haaku. Using this as a basis of translations with a few minor alternations, I began to succeed.

The text finally broke into a semi-understandable translation, the preliminary tests in deciphering the ancient documents were positive. At last began to comprehend the first true source of information I had yet discovered on the abhorrent statue.

As I read it I was convinced Al'zarith must have been truly mad, what sane being could write of such lurid and fantastical things? I will write for you a translation of the first tale of the book, the one of which I consider the most profound and revealing.

The Fall of Thurim

In vanished continent of enigmatic Mu, amongst the primal swamps of Thu’rguth, the ponies of Kaldrim and zebras of Muur’kalia did meet in concord for the first time under the gibbous moon. Both equine groups had belonged to powerful coastal civilizations on the high emerald seas of Gu’lur, but as the tides had risen over many years, the cities eventually sank under the ocean waves like a sinister joke of some trickster god.

The survivors fled the raging oceans of the golden temperate coast and had traveled far across long forgotten inner Mu in search of a place they could form a newborn empire. They journeyed to where the hideous, putrid swamps and hellish, desert savannas ruled. Eventually they traveled to the midlands where the high peaks of snow coated Calldurak settled, like the esoteric palaces of beings who had lived before the time of pony and zebra.

It was here, under the precipitous towering mountains that the two races great civilizations first met, first in curiosity of one another and their alien features, then to share their cultures and traditions to one another once the barrier of languages had been broken. This was done at first by the usage of sign language, then in a tongue both comprehensible by them, which culminated in the common language of Hastar. The two groups shared their stories whilst learning the common tongue, and grew aware of each other’s similar plights, deciding it would be wise of them to band together in these hostile lands.

Thus was the new high kingdom forged together as one in from the ruins of their past, and the high city of Thurim born from the ashes of the old world.

The zebras and the ponies settled in the fertile regions beneath Callduruk, tending to their animals and creating small primitive fields and huts. Alchemy of the zebras cured many diseases of the swamps and magic ensured their safety from the beasts of the mires. However the harsh calls of winter approached, but they lacked mineral resources such as coal and iron to create proper instruments of mining and heat fires during the winter months.

Many froze during those long winters and the people suffered as they lived amongst the brooding mountains, but at least they away from the terrible marshes and the unbearable savannas of the lowlands, which were inhabited by the hostile tribes of the M’Uuruk. But here luck changed for the suffering equines, as they heard the fable of that ancient place known as High Paad’ka’lurum.

Of this place the less hostile natives of the region had spoken of to them in hushed and terror stricken tones, warning them not to visit the heinous plateau where it lay. They knew the evil history of the titanic abandoned city with its queerly shaped stones, crimson stained obsidian plinths and high twisted non-euclidian towers.

The shamans and elders of the villages remembered of such places and could recall the terrible times of when those altars had dripped of recent blood, and of the horrible chants and lights had called down dark things from above. Better that the high castles and strange citadels be left alone to crumble, rather than hear the tread of equine hoof in their unhallowed halls, and awaken things that should rest for eternity. The folk of Thurim laughed at such foolish tales of horrors within the broken city, they saw only a chance to exploit the ancient contraptions and tools of the lost people. So they waved away the superstitions of the primitive marshland ponies.

The equines of Thurim climb up the mountain to the forgotten city and delved into the hoary collapsed ruins of the elder beings.

What they discovered was of such strangeness that none could abide the structure afterwards.

Crude, malevolent carvings leered at them with pseudo-equine faces, committing terrible acts in worship to a great abominable figure on a stone plinth. One picture seemed to represent the crawling of a dark thing through some sort of rift as the equine beings danced in frenzy, feeding a captured primitive to its gaping maws. Other carvings portrayed horrible beings dancing in the moonlight whilst terrible and heathenish sacrifices took place, an orb of malign fury writhing in the sky before the horrors, devouring the souls of the dead.

These were not the only peculiarities, the strange stone of the city was not of the local region, and the masons of Thurim wondered greatly of which ancient lands it had been drawn from, for none could be found outside the city. Great bottles of blackened alchemical liquid lined the walls in tottering shelves near a great hallway of one of the pyramids and stank of a puerile necrophage. A great sigil was carved into the wall, and pictured the black liquid being poured into a large dank cauldron of some kind. The dark liquid fell to the bottom of water filled vessels and shined in an oily dank fashion which was entirely deplorable.

The equines did not profit from the sullen darkness and eldritch collapsed city. Its lore nothing more than the sodden ruin and its ancient technologies all but rusted and collapsed, they despised the hateful place but saw profit in the region as metal ore did glow temptingly in the caves and slopes of the mountain.

In rage against the cyclopean structures of the elder people they raised their primitive tools and destroyed the decadent monuments of olden Paad’ka’lurum, driving the obsidian stones into the marshy waters of the lowlands. With the destruction of the ancient city the Thurimians did celebrate, until the high peak of Calldurak was lit by the glow of golden torch and celebratory song.

The primitives of the marshlands looked up at the glowing mountain and the fallen stones which had tumbled from the primeval peak and shuddered at the blasphemy. The shaman’s dirge ruled the night and they spoke of a mighty doom which would fall over the equines of Thurim which no hoof could stay.

So did the equines of Thurim settle in the high mountain peak of Calldurak, and upon the spot where the ancient city had stood build high terraces and mighty houses of magnificence from the rich metals which coated the lustrous mountain. Their oracle, an equine by the name of Cal’thak said that for a thousand years the glorious kingdom would see prosperity and glory, all whilst he lay on his deathbed, but he spoke before his death, of a terror which would come from the lost and sunken ruins of Paad’ka’lurum for their desecration of the sleeping house of the elder race.

The equines of Thurim celebrated at the prophecy, for a thousand years the elder had said their city would be coated in gold! Few paid attention to the cryptic warning of old Cal’thak but even they could not contain their good humor at the prophecy of such luxurious connotations.

Only the zebra high priest Larchak heeded the ancients warning and paled at the prophecy, for he had known Cal’thak before the old stallion’s death and had spoken in depth with him during the excavation of the necrotic city. Larchak climbed upon a marble plinth before the celebrating people of Thurim and spoke of such things to the Thurmic folk, but they rose in protest against the hideous proclamations. They chose delusion rather than heed his warning and sent him into exile, banished with scorn from the city of high Thurim.

Thus the fate of Thurim was sealed in the ignorance of the high priests warning, and its doom cemented into the keystone of history.

After the exile of the high priest the equines of Thurim began to build the glorious metropolis on high Calldurak. High towers of platinum roofing proclaimed the shining city from afar. Beautiful curling engravings covered all the structures pure white marble that had been found in bounty in the high peaks. Ivory and obsidian roads cleared the way before glorious golden and silver gates of the city, the grandeur dazzling ambassadors and merchants from the cities of Kai and Uregg.

The houses of proud Thurim were clad in silver and bronze of magnificence and proclaimed their wealth and power in their extravagance. Tall towers crowned their corners and stood high and mightily in the mountain sky. The high court of Thurim was the joy of the city, its many domed and thousand pillared design showing the work of hundreds of artisans and the affluence of the nation.

It is here in the golden halls that they worshiped the chthonic deity Yeg, whom they praised for guiding them to Thurim and giving them power once again. Here the equine deity rested on a throne of engraved platinum and gold, bejeweled by the rubies and diamonds of the prosperous mines. He lay with such nobility and artistic beauty, that the equines of Kai and Uregg marveled that he did not rise from his palanquin of diamond, in a river of mercury, and walk with them, a god amongst his people.

But this was not all that mighty Thurim had gained in the hundreds of years that had passed since they had settled. The epic city now stretched from the highest pinnacles of the mighty mountain to the lowest regions near the changed marshland regions that had belonged to the tribes. They had long since built upon its rich soil a many canalled agrarian farmland of floating fields and terraces. With the destruction of the marshes the primitive tribes had been enslaved and now farmed the land for their masters, as the equines of Thurim lived in opulence at the tribal equines expense.

The slaves loathed their new masters and often strove to escape their clutches, but magically enchanted bands of gold maintained their forced loyalty to the decadent people of arcane Thurim. They had not forgotten the days of freedom and slave elders spoke of the ancient prophecy of their shamans, and the proclamation of Larchak and Cal’thak, speaking with glee at the coming destruction. But still they feared for their own tribe-stallions at the hands of whatever forgotten evil the equines of Thurim had awoken and began to grow fearful as the growing city moved further towards the broken, shattered ruins of Paad’ka’lurum.

For a thousand years the equines of Thurim had gathered at the shattered remnants of the fallen city and danced in mocking victory before the broken structures. They had reigned supreme over the pendulous monuments and defied the ancient prophecy of which Cal’thak had spoken of, for had not a thousand and more years passed since the fateful prophecy?  They drank and were merry, lounging on barges guided by the slave equines of M’Uuruk. They dozed in opulence, enjoying the soft silks of their embroidered robes, the fine wines of the farmland planes and celebrated the destruction of Paad’ka’lurum. They laughed at the queer hateful curses delivered by some of the slave barge-ponies and danced and sang until the morning woke them from drunken slumber.

It was during the one thousand and third celebration that the ancient horror first reared its head. In signs of which the tribal ponies viewed with premonition, the great jet ruins of Paad’ka’lurum glowed in a bright terrible light, disturbing the equines of Thurim from their languid resting and black lotus educed stupors. They stared in confusion as the glow continued until it finally died down to naught but a trickle of light of which emanated from the structure. Some more analytical figures swore that a dark stain spread from the old ruins and into several deep caves, seemingly like crawling black protoplasm, but when they looked again it had vanished. Some strange music lit the night in pealing mockery of true joviality and a high strange whisper rose on the sudden winds coming through the murky swamp.

“Uru’gkai Mu’graa’reg Qu-lu-un'grh Yugroth De’jaa-aal'n-Gu-ri'ek”

The equines of Thurim wondered at the strange light and message. But when famed Chen-rah, the high alchemist spoke of the marsh gases being the cause of the light and the movement of such gases causing the queer sounds, the Thurimic folk receded back to dance and song amongst the ruins of the cyclopean structures.

But from that day forth an evil had settled on the ancient city of proud Thurim, and naught would be the same again after the strange call had sounded.

It came on during the high winds of winter.

The city was coated in the light dust of snow from the northern winds of Uregg when It came. The water which had long been tapped from the high mountains turned to a fated blackened coloration. Of this liquid Othur-Theg, the High Priest and scientist, compared to the ichorous blood of a god, further studies showed that it seemed to have magical qualities of extreme potency. Eager followers of Yeg, believing it was his divine gift, drank the substance and fell into a deep slumber which no outside force could awaken them.

When they awoke the stared blankly into the fearful onlookers with eyes as black as coal, they opened their mouths and an alien accent spoke the syllables of Thurimic language, not unlike those of a dreamer who had understood the words from far off places.

The ascended dreamers spoke of paradise within the heavily folds, of ancient gods from the times before the land of Mu rose from the sea. They prophesied that these gods of the lineage of Yeg wanted their worship to be greater than before. Certain pivotal sacrifices must be made at certain movements of the stars for them to walk amongst their children again.

The dreamers were greatly wondered at, but none of the Thurim thought fearfully of them for they knew that the dreamers had seen the gods in heaven, which explained their queer nature of speech and thought. Instead the proud and opulent people crowded around these dreamers and as they spoke of their frightful will.

They were accepted as divinely touched prophets and they replaced the high priests of Yeg. The high priest Othur-Theg was beheaded by the crowd of the faithful as he protested against such blasphemy, fearfully preaching that he had found the origin of the substance in the archives of the high library, and the dreamers must be destroyed.

With Thurim mesmerized by their strange qualities, the ascended dreamers slowly began to integrate the heinous worship of a vile and malevolent new deity called the Dark One amongst worship of the Thurim. Once-pure Yeg was twisted into a mockery of his noble self before they discarded him from the pantheon and had his statue beheaded.

Those faithful to the ascended grew and grew until all but all equines of Thurim forgot pure worship of noble gods and turned to the darkened tales of the ascended. The slaves once hateful of Thurim and gleeful for their destruction now wailed because of other reasons, they were trapped with the now decaying Thurimians by the magical bands of service as the ascended numbers grew. The ascended now demanded a sacrifice of slaves to fulfill the need of the most powerful master, the Great Dark One. A hideous statue was carved from the fallen obsidian stones of Paad’ka’lurum by the sleeper Gaahrag-Rai, and the slaves wailed at its unveiling.

Gaahrag-rai sculpted the strange and eerie statue of the Dark One into the form of a nightmare god of fear. Its body was of whipping blades and terrifying vices and its head proclaimed three eldritch eyes, which gazed malevolently and sadistically upon the strange and maddened followers of its vile cult. It was said that through this statue, ancient magic was weaved of which no unicorn could comprehend and which could reach out to the stars, communing with and summoning a terrible power. Of this statue the ascended prayed and gibbered in maleficent ritual and insanity until the dawn of the sun. The rituals and worship of these evil entities was of such shocking and vileness that merchants and ambassadors of the other cities drew away from the city. They shuddered as they looked back at the fallen citadel and the rise of the decay of the mighty society. Thus without the guiding hand of sanity, Thurim began its descent into decadence and foulness.

Great rituals and sacrifices of the slaves became the work of the city, no more was there the inspired artisan to paint fair murals, no more was there the hardworking laborer to draw out the ore from the mountains, no more was there the craftsmen to turn gold into wondrous statues.  As the chants and prayers became wilder, the city drew forth the repugnant stench of thousands of maggot ridden corpses as they lay piled before the obsidian sacrificial altars of Paad’ka’lurum, that had been drawn up from the ancient ruins of the marsh.

The people chanted, frothed and gibbered terribly as they worked themselves into frenzies for the coming of the Dark One. The few left to protest against such travesty sighed in resignation to the coming storm and fled into their houses until the end had risen or else were slaughtered.

But most disturbing was the change in the high ascended sleepers of the priesthood, they began to warp and twist abominably and of such vile nature that they scarcely seemed to be ponies. This change was increased by the drinking of the foul waters and great power was bestowed upon these twisted mockeries of nature. It is here in the last years of the truly ancient city of Thurim that they feasted upon the sacrificed and rotting corpses of the slaves in ghoulish banquets, waiting until the great stars aligned.

The summoning ritual was being prepared for the Dark One to descend from the higher planes and walk amongst equines as he had in the past.

All would bow before the Shadow Emperor.

The slaves wailed in misfortune and beat themselves for allowing the brief chance of hope to enter their souls. For now they were bound to the evil will of the undulating, gibbering and flapping horrors whose slime ridden, degenerate bodies oozed from the blackened pits of Thurim during the full moon. On such days they danced, maleficently at the night sky and the rising stars for his coming.

Thurim was a twisted mockery of itself, where pleasing columns once stood, now the collapsing halls were covered in the long dried and crusted blood of the slaves. Where beautiful and primeval gods of Yeg and his kin had once posed, now the vulturine statues of the vile insidious beings did squat, sinister and malevolent before the chanting, gibbering, hissing, horned and tendril ridden creatures of the abyss.

At last the alignment came in the thousand and thirty second year of the destruction of Paad’ka’lurum and the twenty ninth year of the fall of the ruined city of Thurim. The slaves had been all but destroyed by the immense sacrifices of the ascended dreamers and the lands had been left to rot and degrade, the once golden fields being sucked once again into marshland. Kai and Uregg had long since abandoned all hope for the equines of Thurim and now decided it was time the horrors burned alongside their rotten city.

Together the two great kingdoms marched toward the putrid city, drawing with them great dragons to reap the skies and shining plate armoured warriors to cast the abominations back into hell. Lances and steel spears followed in legions behind these shining warriors as they marched upon the decaying city.

Realizing the great awakening of the Dark One had been stalled by the movements of the other kingdoms, the warped Thurimians spat and hissed in fury, crashing unhallowed gongs and cracked bells in a furious tempo of prayer as they prepared to unleash their master’s fury upon the intruders.

As the armies of shining steel advanced so did the prayers grow louder and fiercer, until a deafening wail rose from the broken pillars and rusted gates of blood encrusted Thurim. The city was under siege as great cannons and siege engines battered the crumbling walls of the degenerate city, and dragons brought fire upon the once marvelous houses and monuments of the once glorious nation.

Great siege stones and dragon flame crushed the flapping, gibbering, abominations as they spat evil magic which burned the bones of the dragons and brought them crashing to the ground. Great king Marius of Kai, dressed in battle armor, cleaved his way through the foul things of Thurim but fell before Gaahrag-rai, being ripped asunder by the ghoulish strength of the creature that had once been an equine sculptor of a beautiful city.

But the power of equines is not so easily defeated, and from Marius's death came greater loathing for the hideous Thurim. The armies moved forward despite the horrifying sights and shocking casualties, into the broken and stygian halls that bared all the hallmarks to being the incarnation of Tartarus on Mu. Rotten bones of millions of dead slaves covered the surface of the cracked and broken rooms. The hideous terrible sculptures of leering gods were so lifelike that the stallions of Uregg cast them on the floors and destroyed their hateful forms in insane desperate frenzy.

At last they reached the high throne room of the golden palace of Thurim where stood Muurag, the high priest of the ascended, leading his abominable brethren in a hideous chant before the statue of the Dark One. Terrible cerulean orbs devoured a pyre of corpses and blood crisped and boiled in foul cauldrons as a powerful magic poured forth. Discordant chants sundered the desecrated halls of the throne room, while the demonic abominations shouted out the rancid prayer of

“Qu’lu-ungr Yugroth De’jaa-aaln-Guriek!”

With a powerful surge the kingdoms forces pushed into the rotten halls of the throne room and began to smite the evil priests which whipped and twisted before the dark god. A great slaughter began as the devils fought and chanted in greater frenzy, blood staining the floors and drenching the broken tiles in crimson red. But the hatred of the equines was strong and they smote the aberrations before finally impaling Muurag upon a blackened spike.

But the chant had been completed and foul Muurag laughed maliciously at the darkening of the fiery skies and the hooting and howling of cracked flutes. The warriors of Uregg and Kai saw something in the darkened skies which scorched their souls forever, and fled in maddened abandon to the deep caves and dark places of their homelands. Here they hid away from the frightful sky message of the strange gods in gibbering insanity, becoming nothing more than cannibalistic wretches. Of what powers Muurag had called forth none dare tell, except the lone survivor of the babbling mad who spoke of a great umber nightmare. Of great cities of Thu’rguth, all disappeared that night under the sign of Muurag, leaving nothing but a great carven statue lying in the blasted waste of the land.

The great figure of the enigmatic Dark One.

Thus fell the great kingdoms of land of Thu’rguth in lost Mu….

As I read the tale I became more and more uneasy, but I remained incredulous of its factual nature. An insane tale of lost continents, broken cities and evil gods it seemed to me so much delusional nonsense. I thought it clear that author was naught but an ancient insane hack attempting his hoof at writing false elder lore. I pushed the book across my desk in distaste, ready to remove it at the soonest convenience. But a small part of my mind spoke out, I wish it hadn't for perhaps if I had ignored it then I would still be in blissful ignorance of the dark realities to this day. But I paid attention to that subtle little whisper...

Perhaps… perhaps some of the ludicrous tale was true. Even if I ignored the foalish idea that the statues were used in communing with astral planes, I could accept that they were some form of idol of worship and that powerful magical enchantments had been bestowed upon the sacred images. Such idols used by the kingdoms of old Equestria would be a vital in the understanding of the lives and practices of Equestrians before the Celestial monarchy. But the problem of origin still troubled me.

I needed to locate the source of the statue to unveil its true history.

I had not received word from the mail-mare I had spoken with a few days ago, but I believed that it had been adequate time to discover the statues origin. If she did not come to inform me of her find by the morning then I would seek her out.

I leaned forward and grasped the cover of 'Pannathic Scriptures' and closed the book with a resounding thud. I opened my safe and placed the lore next to the silver box, planting magical wards over it to protect both from intrusion and then clicking the combination back in place. I turned to the other tomes in preparation to decipher them, rubbing my sweating forehead with a shaking hoof. The strain of the horrible tale and the midnight pursuers had laid a toll upon my mind. I felt exhausted, unready to delve into the fantasies of the others, but a strong urge forced me back to the desk to read through the decayed volume of the 'Star Prince'.

For many hours I read through this other tale before departing to dreams of nightmarish quality. The fable told, gave me other insights on the statue than the Fall of Thurim. I realized that many tales had been told of the ancient statues origin or the origin of its forbearer's at least. With this conflicting data confusing my search, all that could be construed from the ancient texts was one vital and pivotal point, one point of purity which always remained consistent.

The statue was transcendent.

I awoke sweating and panting in horror at the terrible nightmares that had clawed into my dreams.

I stared fearfully at the darkened room before ripping open the curtains and allowing the benevolent light of the sun to shine down on me, easing my distress with its warm light.  I paced around my room to ease the tension in my body before dressing in my shirt, waistcoat and tie and descending to the kitchen to eat my breakfast in sullen silence.

For the past few nights the dreams I had been having had been getting more and more surreal, so much so that today I wished not to sleep in order to avoid the horrors of the night. I moved to my drawing room and stared at the black steel metal safe in my wall with a lurking sense of doom. I dared not open it and stare at the horrible devices now; it was too soon and my mind could handle neither lore nor statue. Instead I relaxed in my living-room whilst reading of the frivolities of the nation to ease my edgy consciousness after the escapades of the days before.

A loud knocking woke me from my leisure.

I moved to the door and I felt an extreme sense of dread at the possibility of the shadowed stallions planning on taking me away. But it was only the mail-mare with her rolling eyes. She brought news of the discovery of where the statue originated from and my eyes widened in shocked realization as I finally discovered who had sent the statue to me. She told me the package originating from the swamps of Murkmire from a small township called Timberdale in the northern most region of central Equestria.

It had been from Razorquill.

Razorquill was friend and compatriot in my research into the past during my studies into ancient Equestria, he was one of the supreme authorities of my expansive social circle or collaborators. An emotionally withdrawn and quiet antiquarian, Razorquill preferred to communicate over long distances than in person. We had before had long discussions on the old tribal gods of the Earth ponies, and the rising of the first civilizations in Equestria. He always took the side of the fantastical in these matters, but of which he expressed himself most eloquently and ably at countering my logical arguments with his own sharp wit and foreknowledge that I could not help but admire. Occasionally he had been proven correct in small matters, but other times he had failed to deliver substantiating evidence on why he supported such wild theories.

I first met Razorquill four years ago at a local conference on previously uninvestigated history in the Pre-Discordian era. This cold, gaunt shadow of a Pegasus stallion portrayed the signs of civility and intelligence, his rhetoric perfected and his responses to those who questioned with sharp wit of assured intelligence. His coat was a dour grey and he always wore a suit, which suggested formality of an ancient highborn family. His archaic usage of vocabulary astounded all my fellow historians in the strange and vivid ways of which he described his findings. The only fault in this dark, intensely knowledgeable stallion seemed to be his enduring fascination with the fantastical and occult.

From his fascinating words, I drew towards him, he had always been the most intriguing of my many acquaintances and had been familiar with the strange mystical lore that I had so recently dabbled in. It could have only been he that had sent me the package and brought me to this queer investigation, for I knew of no ponies of similar fancy and understanding of primal Equestria in Northern Reaches. Now I understood where it had been delivered from, I wondered greatly at the lack of letter with greater curiosity, for Razorquill had always delivered the packages he had sent me with a long winded and detailed letter.

This terrible delivery however, had contained nothing.

A dark and brooding feeling of fear descended upon me and I worried greatly for my friend, wondering at the lack of letter and remembering the initial terrible stench of rotten blood the idol had reeked of when first delivered. The region of Murkmire had always been a nebulous, decaying place, filled with deep marshes and curious blue marsh lights above the deep waters. Timberdale was of no exception from this. Dilapidated and dating back over a hundred years, the township had been built for the excellent supply of wood once found in the region, but had sank into poverty as the trees of which the economy had been built upon disappeared due to deforestation, leaving only expansive vile swamps to remain. The ponies of the region had degraded too, turning into shiftless degenerates which skulked in collapsing remains of the shattered town. All of this had been delivered to me by the news of Razorquill in his weekly volumes from the rickety manor that he lived in, peering out into the gloom of the township and writing of the thoughts and visions of which clouded his mind. In The past few weeks he had been becoming reticent and secretive in his letters. He had said he had found something important that required all of his available time, so he had less time to write to me, something of which I now understood with the arrival of the idol.

Once the mail-mare had left I drew out the puzzle box and the 'Pannathic Scriptures' and gazed in fear at them for the first time. A small part of mind screamed at me to bury or destroy them, destroy all of it and go back to the times of peace.

But it was not to be, I decided to visit my distant friend in the marshes of Murkmire, and whatever wise primal intuition was buried under a stony resolve to discover what this ancient statues purpose truly was.

I hurried into the streets as a storm brewed in the sky, lightning flashing and thunder roaring as I trotted in paranoid haste to the new railway which had been built, carrying the tome and statue with me in a black leather case. I bought a ticket at the booth and climbed aboard the train, sitting down on the leather seats near the window as the steamer moved to chug away into the north. I sat there unprepared for what would await me in the shadowed and terrible town of decay.

Since that event my mind has never been the same again and my cracking sanity opened a frightful abyss of terrors unknown to happy, ignorant and carefree ponies.

The nightmares of my dreams were reborn…

Within the mists of Timberdale.