Forgath reached down, his hands burning with arcane might.  He reached for things familiar, hard and cold.  He touched the ice and the iron far beneath, and they rose to his call.  Parting at his will, rising into simple walls, the ice heeded his magics.  The rest would come soon enough; he could bring up the first of the iron to be wrought into the simple tools and structures his minions would need. Lowering the ponies to the stone via retreating ice, he made his way towards them; there was some fear, even a squeak of panic, but he paid it no mind.  Soon they beheld the tools he made, divvying them up.  The work would begin.  And Forgath found, once more, that he had purpose.