The Scholar's Laments

MY FAILURE

I am going to die. It seems rather unfair really. I’m extremely close to my old observation post… I nearly made it. But no, I can say with a great deal of certainty that I am going to die here, very likely frozen to death. Of course if I keep the fire going long enough then I’ll upgrade to either dehydration or starvation. That’s a dim hope though… probably don’t have enough lumber to keep the fire going.

The reason for my rather grim outlook on my continued existence is that I am currently trapped in a cave, by an unknown amount of snow. Seeing as how it came down in what I assume was an avalanche, I would be willing to bet that it is quite a great deal. I have been attempting to dig my way out, and failing miserably. I’ve been looking for another pathway out of the cave, but that also has proven to be a moot point as the cave ends in a sheer rock face about a dozen hooves in. I have used my sight to search for another less obvious way out and have not found it. Considering the power of my sight that is essentially saying that there is no way out and that I am going to die here.

So here I am, freezing, sitting next to a dying fire eating away at the last of my kindling, and all I can think to do is jot down a few more lines and observations before my ink freezes… Typical me really. It’s also an exercise in futility as I can’t really observe anything from here… Even my magical sight has its limits, and one of those limits involves having physical barriers between me and the nearest skyline. Unknown tons of snow over and around a stone cave would certainly do it.

So what to do, what to say… When years from now, if even then, somepony digs out my remains, likely rotted and skeletal, and sees this collection of telescopes and compasses and ink wells and quills beside me, and then looks into my papers to see what I’ve written, I would really rather like to have some sort of poignant last words for that pony. But buck it I can’t think of anything.

Let’s examine the circumstances of my demise shall we? The great progression of my life from royal scholar and observer, trusted by Celestia and a respected academic with wife and child, to an old griping pony dying in a cave, with a war raging in his home, his wife dead by her own hooves, and his child in the middle of the Everfree joined up with savages and barbarians, or dead. What poignant statement, what great universal truth, can someone like me who had everything and lost it all to a mixture of pony’s anger and his own incompetence share? We’re all bucked? Life is a bitch? Being polite for decades and suddenly having your life ripped away from you really shatters your reservations about cursing? Is there ANYTHING that can be gained from my sad example of an existence in these last moments?

… Well… Maybe a suggestion of what not to do… I started this quest, up into the ice and rock, so that I could get the equipment I needed to record a record of folly, of the war fought here in Equestria that ruined EVERYTHING that the Royal Sisters ever cared about, that they gave everything to protect… I suppose that instead of the folly that lead to this, and the folly of the traitor Elements, my own folly will be the one that is recorded. The folly of one more dead pony in a time of war… Maybe someday some Cult jesters will giggle over it.

I suppose that I’ve complained enough for the moment… The fire is dying down, which is evidence that it’s time to feed it another telescope. I’m cold and I’m tired and I suppose that I’ve got nothing left to say… I just want to lay down and sleep by the fire while I still can… And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I was the Scholar, and I tried to make a record of folly… and like with most other things, I failed.