Post by Dark Crescent on Aug 7, 2006 0:11:04 GMT -5
From the personal notes of White Fury, the Crystal Guardian of Xanadia.
The beginnings of Xanadia reach so far back into the memory of the land itself that no pony can recall but legends of it. It all began from a single pony, it is said, a pony that came across the rainbow. Her name was Whistles in the Wind, and she began The Way. It is the path of her children and grandchildren that we still follow.
Once, all of Ponyland used to be like our land. The trees were purple and yellow orbs soared over the sky, and we knew magic as we knew the air we breathed. All ponies lived in peace with the land. Our land was the heart of the world, beating with the neverending rhythm of Magic.
Then restlessness grew. More and more ponies wanted to leave. They desired to know more of the land, and they grew quarrelsome with one another, and our hearts grew mournful as we watched. We could see that the world was changing, our restless children were bound to change it. And so, even as the world outside was conquered and tamed by those who had been our children, we prepared ourselves to the inevitable.
It came the time for us to choose. As the rest of the world split into many creeds and many tribes, Xanadia became what it is today. We sealed ourselves away to protect ourselves from the change we could read from the stars, hear in the wind. We allowed for our brethren to forget about us, but we never stopped keeping watch. Our hearts settled to the worship of the dual divinity of the Sun and the Moon and we grew apart from the rest of the world, but we never stopped keeping watch.
That was how we knew about the Mage Wars. The Last Daughter of the legendary Whistles in the Wind had been trusted with the duty of observing the world outside, and she was the one to inform us of the escalating war. Sensing the danger, the Last Daughter gathered seven brave ponies and together, they confined themselves into the Temple of the Sun to weave a spell stronger than any we had attempted so far.
I was but a foal at the time, but I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The seven ponies and the Last Daughter spent days in the Temple, preparing the spell. They joined their minds in prayer to the Sun and the Moon and as they called on the Magic, their hearts became one and their very souls met. All of Xanadia gathered outside the Temple and watched as the yellow orbs overhead grew brighter and the Temple itself pulsated with waves of magic. I remember that day.
That day the Last Daughter became the Queen of Xanadia, and the seven ponies became the Guardians of the Sun and the Moon. These eight ponies formed a protective shield so strong that the Temple itself could not contain it. It was the day we lost the Temple of the Sun. I had loved that temple, yet even I gladly paid the price. We survived. Magic was drained from the rest of the world, but we survived. The Way survived. The Temple of the Sun was never rebuilt, the ruins forever reminding us of the great threat that we had once faced. The Temple of the Moon became the new centre of worship.
Ever since then, the Guardians have stood ready to protect us even as the Queens have kept watch over the rest of the world, gazing out through the stars to detect dangers. And together, the whole of Xanadia has ever since stood as the last haven of The Way.
It is only now, as the last living remnants of the memories of the past are fading away, that the young ones are beginning to look out again. The Way stands threatened as the young minds and hearts are drawn to the unknown, to the outside. We are afraid that the past will become the future again and that this time the split will mean the end of Xanadia. For we do not want the Outsiders to know of us. The Outsiders may bring with them the Lore of the New, and we would keep the Old. We are afraid that our young ones are tempted away from The Way by the New, until the Old will be no more.
That is why we keep watch. That is why we prepare.
The Way must survive again.
The beginnings of Xanadia reach so far back into the memory of the land itself that no pony can recall but legends of it. It all began from a single pony, it is said, a pony that came across the rainbow. Her name was Whistles in the Wind, and she began The Way. It is the path of her children and grandchildren that we still follow.
Once, all of Ponyland used to be like our land. The trees were purple and yellow orbs soared over the sky, and we knew magic as we knew the air we breathed. All ponies lived in peace with the land. Our land was the heart of the world, beating with the neverending rhythm of Magic.
Then restlessness grew. More and more ponies wanted to leave. They desired to know more of the land, and they grew quarrelsome with one another, and our hearts grew mournful as we watched. We could see that the world was changing, our restless children were bound to change it. And so, even as the world outside was conquered and tamed by those who had been our children, we prepared ourselves to the inevitable.
It came the time for us to choose. As the rest of the world split into many creeds and many tribes, Xanadia became what it is today. We sealed ourselves away to protect ourselves from the change we could read from the stars, hear in the wind. We allowed for our brethren to forget about us, but we never stopped keeping watch. Our hearts settled to the worship of the dual divinity of the Sun and the Moon and we grew apart from the rest of the world, but we never stopped keeping watch.
That was how we knew about the Mage Wars. The Last Daughter of the legendary Whistles in the Wind had been trusted with the duty of observing the world outside, and she was the one to inform us of the escalating war. Sensing the danger, the Last Daughter gathered seven brave ponies and together, they confined themselves into the Temple of the Sun to weave a spell stronger than any we had attempted so far.
I was but a foal at the time, but I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The seven ponies and the Last Daughter spent days in the Temple, preparing the spell. They joined their minds in prayer to the Sun and the Moon and as they called on the Magic, their hearts became one and their very souls met. All of Xanadia gathered outside the Temple and watched as the yellow orbs overhead grew brighter and the Temple itself pulsated with waves of magic. I remember that day.
That day the Last Daughter became the Queen of Xanadia, and the seven ponies became the Guardians of the Sun and the Moon. These eight ponies formed a protective shield so strong that the Temple itself could not contain it. It was the day we lost the Temple of the Sun. I had loved that temple, yet even I gladly paid the price. We survived. Magic was drained from the rest of the world, but we survived. The Way survived. The Temple of the Sun was never rebuilt, the ruins forever reminding us of the great threat that we had once faced. The Temple of the Moon became the new centre of worship.
Ever since then, the Guardians have stood ready to protect us even as the Queens have kept watch over the rest of the world, gazing out through the stars to detect dangers. And together, the whole of Xanadia has ever since stood as the last haven of The Way.
It is only now, as the last living remnants of the memories of the past are fading away, that the young ones are beginning to look out again. The Way stands threatened as the young minds and hearts are drawn to the unknown, to the outside. We are afraid that the past will become the future again and that this time the split will mean the end of Xanadia. For we do not want the Outsiders to know of us. The Outsiders may bring with them the Lore of the New, and we would keep the Old. We are afraid that our young ones are tempted away from The Way by the New, until the Old will be no more.
That is why we keep watch. That is why we prepare.
The Way must survive again.