Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria...

Hatred and grief poisoned the land. Ever since their leaders had perished in the initial discovery of Equestria, the three Pony tribes had lived in unrelenting suspicion, and most of the time, war. Ignoring the terrible cold, they forged independent nations nigh-dedicated to the destruction of the others. In the south sprawled the vast Earth Confederacy, staining the skies with their industry and renting the ground with mines. The Pegasi formed a great Empire that dotted the mountains of the land, after having been driven from their cloud-cities once the Confederacy had developed their gunpowder weapons sufficiently; and finally, near the coasts of the North, Unicornia glistened in tarnished glory.

War and division lasted for centuries, spears and swords giving way to guns and machines. Each side developed ever more fantastic technologies, tactics, and spells to break the deadlock; generations of ponies were sent into the maelstrom of combat. Each passing year and each fresh campaign promised to win the war. Towering Confederacy Titans crushed armies beneath their hooves, Empire Airships scoured the ground below with a torrent of bombs, and advanced Unicornia war-spells allowed a fortunate few the power to blow away mountains. Either way, the war's seemed ever the more imminent.

Yet this is not that story. The War did not end.

The Titans fell, the Airships burnt, and the unicorns drained the very land of its magic with overuse. Resource scarcity had come and went man years ago; Earth ponies reopened empty mines and scoured them for traces, the Pegasi fell back on the older , simpler ways, and the Unicorns dabbled in increasingly dark arts. The Titans and Airships and overcharged spells were only notes in history now, or twisted wrecks dotting the lands. In the Confederacy, small "tanks" with poor quality parts were the vehicles of choice now, and the armored battlesuits were replaced by gaunt ponies with steel helmets. The Empire became obsessed with the warrior culture and the art of the blade, and the Unicorns devastated themselves trying to recreate past magical triumphs. Yet the hatred endured, and worsened.

And so has the winter.

Equestria is depleted, a broken husk. The environment is ruined, the temperatures are falling, the land is hopelessly divided, and there are increasing shortages of everything. Food, iron, ponies. Centuries of war have left few to suffer through these final days.

They used to say we would inevitably triumph over our enemies. Now they say we will surely outlive the others.