Manescape: Torment

by appendingfic

Rating: teen
Tags: Discord, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Main 6, Nightmare Moon, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 10750

An immortal amnesiac unicorn finds herself on a quest across the planes to discover her secret history.

A unicorn wakes on a slab in a mortuary, with no memory of who she is. Aided by a message tattooed on her back, and an acolyte of death itself, she embarks on a journey to regain her memory and the secret behind her apparent immortality. As she gathers companions and travels further into the many realms of the planes, a sinister enemy begins to reach out, and her mission gains new urgency.

What can change the nature of a mare?

Published 2014-08-03 22:40:03 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-02 23:09:42 UTC

Nobody Said Dying Was Easy

Everything hurts. You’ve heard that phrase before, and scoffed at it, but now...everything hurts. Places you couldn’t name, every muscle, every inch of skin, even your eyes forced shut. You stir, and find the cold stone against your skin makes everything hurt more. You groan in frustration.

“Hey! Are you alive?” Something pokes against your stomach. “Or are you just doing that groaning thing corpses sometimes do?”

You reach out and swat at the offender, forcing your eyes open at the same time. Pink floods your vision, in part because of the shade of the creature assaulting you, and in part because of the drabness of the background.

You draw back, and see only the face, framed with the hood of a grey cloak, is so maddeningly pink, bright blue eyes shining in the center of it.

"Hi! I'm Pinkie!" the creature declares, raising and holding out a hoof to shake. Hesitantly you raise a limb, a hoof like hers, and press is against hers. "I just know we're going to be great friends! What's your name?"

You open your mouth and...pause. A name eludes your mental grasp. You dig deeper, and find nothing to quench your thirst for answers. No name. No history. And yet you recognize such things as a hoof. You wonder how deep this loss goes, what might be lurking in your memories...

A hoof raps against your forehead, or rather, something protruding from it. You yelp and jerk your head away. Pinkie is still grinning at you. "Hey? You okay? Jeez, what a dumb question. You were lying in a morgue. Somebody obviously thought you were dead. Hee. You're lucky I hadn't started the embalming. That would have been awkward, right?"

You try making sense of the words, but only a few points make it through the sea of babbling. "I'm dead?"

"Pfft! Of course not! Well, maybe. I've heard people argue the rules don't say anything about what you can and can't do while dead. So you could be. But I've always thought that was a little silly. But so is THAC0, and that's how things work, so-"

"You said we were in a morgue," you say, desperate to cut through the incessant babbling.

Pinkie raises a hoof thoughtfully to her chin. "Yeah. Sort of. It's a mortuary, really. A morgue's where you store people until they're ready to be buried, and this...isn't." A weak groan fills the silence, and you jerk around, losing your balance and falling to the floor. You had been resting on a wide stone slab, like half a dozen scattered about the room, itself carved of dull stone. Shelves full of medical equipment rest against the walls, although given the nature of the place, you doubt they are there to provide healing.

The groan comes gain, closer, and you raise your head hesitantly over the slab. A humanoid creature lumbers toward you, groaning at odd intervals. Its flesh is pale and lifeless, covered in stitches and stinking of strange chemicals.

Not living, but not dead. Undead. The word comes unbidden, and you shudder at the thought of it. You are unarmed, know no means of defense, and have as company only a mad earth pony (and how do you know Pinkie's species when you have no idea of your own?) as company.

You turn to her, but she has trotted forward, almost to the dead thing. She sets her legs apart and commands, "Stop!"

The thing continues forward. Pinkie stumbles back. "Whoops! Flubbed that Charisma check. Come on, stop!"

The corpse pauses, tilting its head as it examines Pinkie. It does not move again, but continues its intermittent groaning.

Pinkie glances back at you, grin back as if she hadn't almost been attacked by...

The thought hits you like a physical force. Not a morgue, because dead people are not brought here to be buried. But a mortuary, where they are...

"Were you going to turn me into one of those things?" you demand, your stomach turning at the thought.

"What? No!" Relief floods through you. "I'm a bard; I don't know that spell. I just do the embalming." The relief drains away. Pinkie's grin widens, if that's even possible, and she leans close. "You can't blame us; you look really dead."

"What?"

Pinkie produces a full-length mirror from somewhere and you get the first, shocked look at yourself. You don't blame anyone who thought you were dead. Old scars cover almost every square inch of your body; whatever color your coat was, it is hidden beneath grey scar tissue. Your mane and tail are scorched and cropped close to your head, and the horn rising from your head is nocked and chipped.

"Doesn’t seem to have done much to that tattoo on your flank, though," Pinkie points out. The words don't register, so fascinated you are by this creature in the mirror. You look as though you have survived a lifetime of war. You catch sight of a flash of color, suddenly, and twist your head to try and see.

"Pinkie, what's on the back of my neck?"

The pink pony twists her head to look. "Hey! It's a letter! 'I know you feel lost, but you need to CENTER yourself. Your effects should include a journal which will fill you in. Blueblood should have the rest, if he isn't in the Dead Book already.' Huh."

"What? Is that it?"

"Nope. 'Don't lose that journal or we'll be back to the start again. And don't tell anyone WHO you are or WHAT happens to you, or they'll find a way to make this stick. And don't--forget, FIND the journal and FIND Blueblood.' Ergh."

"What?" you demand. "There isn't any more, is there?"

"Nope," Pinkie says cheerily. "Just not too thrilled about seeing Blueblood. He's the Prince of Thieves and not a nice pony at all."

You sigh. You somehow doubted someone you'd made friends with looking like this would be a saint, but...what worries you is the implication that things like this have happened before. How many times have you woken up in the Mortuary?

There aren't any answers to be found here, that's for sure. "Well, first things first. How do I get out of here?"

"Um." Pinkie shifts uneasily back and forth, and the wide, blue-eyed gaze she gives you is somewhat sheepish. "They don't like corpses getting up and walking around, and they really don't like intruders." She then shakes her head, as if banishing the thought. "We'll go see Iggy!"

"Who?"

But Pinkie, deciding the issue was decided, pushes you along through several identical stone rooms filled with corpses - human, pony, and others you don't recognize - into a large room dominated by an earth pony stallion writing in a book twice as large as he is.

The stallion, tan with grey hair whitening with age, turns a sharp, square muzzle toward you, glaring at Pinkie. "Acolyte, some might argue that you have made a grave error when you are assigned to embalm a corpse and return with a living creature in tow."

Pinkie giggles, earning a narrowing of the stallion's eyes. "This is no laughing matter, Acolyte."

"But you called this a 'grave' error, Iggy. Get it?"

You almost snort, but the stallion appears unamused. "I understand you have-" He breaks off, staring at you with wide, caramel-colored eyes. "Oh Lady, not you again."

Hope rises in your chest. "You know me?"

"As well as any who still lives," he says dryly.

"Then you know my name?"

At that, at last, the stallion let out a guffaw. "Now that is funny. I have seen you in this place before, and those you have travelled with, but never have I met man, pony, angel or demon that knows your name."

Your mind is awhirl with questions at his words. "My companions? Where are they? What is this place? How did I get here?"

The stallion raises a hoof to forestall your words. "One at a time. This is the Mortuary of the Dustmen. We tend to the dead, and give use to the bodies of those that have passed into True Death."

"True-"

"This life is brutal and miserable. Pain suffuses every waking moment, and the planes rock with the wars between gods, kings, and the Blood War. Life is pain." He shoots a glance to
Pinkie, who has crouched low at his impassioned lecture. "Only the release into True Death - passing beyond the reach of any man or god - offers solace from this pain. We offer respect for those who have died, and reach out to show those the sorrows of life."

A sinking feeling gives you the idea you know what this man meant when he said he'd seen your companions. Pinkie, to your right, is all but huddled into a miserable pile; Iggy looks somewhat self-satisfied, but turns back to you.

"As to how you came here, there are those who bring the forgotten dead to us, so that their shells may serve our purpose even as their spirits have passed from this life. You..." He glances down at his book, and snorts. "Blueblood's people brought you here."

"Pinkie called him the Prince of Thieves."

"Apt enough. He rules a place below this quarter of the city, and fancies he rules the Hive. Some suggest he brings us the dead in hope of appeasing Death herself." His mouth curls upward in an expression of mockery or amusement; his beliefs, at least, have no truck with such thoughts. "But you had other questions, of your companions. There is only one I know of entombed here. A dragon rests in our mausoleum; I do not remember the name, but I know well he travelled with you."

A shiver runs down your spine at the words. You're not certain if that is the echoes of a memory, or awe at the fact you had tamed a dragon to travel with you.

"Now begone. I have work to do."

Pinkie drags you away without further prompting; she is uncharacteristically silent, at least until you are out of earshot.

Well. Out of earshot for most people. You suspect everyone in the building can still hear her when she speaks.

"Wow! You really traveled with a dragon?"

"I-"

"And I didn't realize you knew Iggy. Does he lecture you all the time, too?" When Pinkie next speaks, her voice is deeper, a fair approximation of the dust-dry voice of the bookkeeper Iggy. "This vale of tears is miserable; men are to contemplate the peace of True Death, not chatter on about frivolous nonsense!" She sticks out her tongue and makes a rude noise before grinning, tilting her head inquisitively at you. "So?"

You sigh. The tattoo on your neck warned you not to tell anyone about what happens to you, but you have the feeling you're going to have to trust somebody to get out of here. "I don't really remember. Not my name, or much of anything, really. That tattoo is about as much as I know about myself."

Pinkie sits down, and for a moment, her hood, held up by her mane, a poofy mass of pink, slumps as the mane flattens abruptly. It poofs back into shape as Pinkie hops back up, grin as wide as you've seen it.

"A mystery!" she declares exuberantly. She bounces around you in a tight circle before stopping in front of you, crouched like a dog. "I knew looking at you that you'd be the start of something exciting. I always see corpses from people that had exciting adventures, and here we are with a plot hook already!"

"Wait. What?"

Pinkie rolls her eyes. "Well, obviously you're going on an epic quest to discover your backstory, right? I'm gonna help!" She settles back, still grinning, and you wonder idly what it would take to take that smile from her face.

"Please! Don't leave me here! I've seen things! I can help you!"

You stare at the pink pony, whose coat is dulled by the power that steals life and vibrancy from this place. Her eyes are wide and panicked, and her mouth twisted downward by the fear of remaining trapped here, where no one laughs.

You reel as your mind returns to the present, nearly stumbling over Pinkie. She catches you, laughing, and you are left with more questions than ever. Was that a memory? If so, you've obviously met Pinkie before, and she's pretending you're strangers. And if not...the source of such a vivid hallucination is as much a concern as that.

"Are you okay?" She looks at you, looking so worried and sincere that you're almost certain she isn't the panicked creature bargaining for her life.

You shrug. "Just thought I saw something familiar. Can you take me down to where my dragon friend would be buried?"

"Okie-dokie-lokie!" she responds, and bounds off to lead the way.

The floor beneath the room you found yourself in is much nicer, a place of arching rooms and fine stonework. Columns support the great arches, carved with death masks and curling lilies. Plaques line the walls, interspersed with headstones and doors to small crypts. Drawn by a feeling you cannot name, you follow the edge of the wall, walking a curved path along the outside of the rooms. Pinkie trails you, silent out of respect for the dead.

At last you reach...a magnificent piece of work. A statue of a dragon rests against one of the walls. Six times the height of a pony, spines run the length of his body, even as the creature was carved at rest, curled around a headstone that marks the name...Spike.

Something about the statue changes as you approach it. You thought it was carved of the plain grey stone as the rest of this place, but it glitters violet, as if the stone conceals veins of amethyst. The eyes contain the glitter of emeralds. And a strange emblem, an oval pointed at the short ends and melding into long bars at the long ends, appears on the forehead.

"At long last you've come to see your precious Spike." You jump at the deep voice that echoes from the statue; it sounds gravelly but also somehow young, and muffled, as if drawn through a veil. The statue chuckles, and you wonder if it's your imagination that the lips curl upward. "So jumpy. But maybe you grow weary of being surrounded by the dead."

You stand frozen in your hooves, uncertain how to proceed. Certainly the dragon recognizes you, but you have no idea how to proceed. Demanding who he is...well. That seems a little cold.

"I needed to pay my respects," you say at last.

"You did?" There is a note of pleasure in his voice, and, worse, surprise. "I was beginning to wonder if you cared at all..." He gives out a rumbling sigh. "It's good to see you again, even if we're still apart. Unless...have you learned how to die?"

"It seems that isn't something you need to learn."

Spike laughs again. "You have plenty of practice, but you don't seem to have learned the trick to it, yet."

There seems to be no arguing, given that you awoke on a slab with the Dustmen certain you were dead already.

"And do you know why...I can't die?"

The dragon falls silent, and there is something dangerous about the pause. When he next speaks, his voice is weary and weaker. "Of course, I should have known. Dead again, and come to me for you memories. I last knew you searching for a way to end your curse of immortality. As you are here again, I doubt you found it."

"Curse?" you ask. "It seems like plenty of people would kill for this curse."

Spike's laughter was louder this time, and held a mocking tone. "Even then you knew. Every death steals your thoughts and memories. Every death steals a piece of yourself. Your only hope is to learn to die, or you'll lose everything that matters."

The words seem mad, but your mind sings out in recognition. And there is the fact you awoke in this place with no memory of your past life. "Then help me, Spike," you whisper. A thought or memory strikes you, and you add, "I want to join you in True Death."

The dragon sighs, and the wistful sound breaks your heart. Because you have no memory of him, nothing to know if he ever meant anything to you, and you know the words come from some part of yourself that only wants an answer.

No, you think. He waited for you. He rested here waiting in the hope you would give him comfort. "I will find a way," you declare to him and Pinkie and all who might hear. "I will ensure True Death takes both of us together. You won't be alone any more."

He lets out a shuddering sigh, and when Spike speaks again, his voice is stronger, no longer muffled and lacking the pain and loneliness it held throughout the conversation.

"This is what my eyes see, unfettered by the shackles of time.

"You shall meet enemies three, but none more dangerous than yourself in your full glory.

"They are shades of law, of chaos, and of neutrality, given life and twisted by the laws of the planes.

"You shall come to a prison built of regrets and sorrow, where the shadows themselves have gone mad. There you will be asked to make a terrible sacrifice. For the matter to be laid to rest, you must destroy that which keeps you alive and be immortal no longer."

The world seems to shift, and then the statue is still and made of grey stone, and Pinkie is bouncing at your side. "Hey! You alright? You've been standing there for an awfully long time. Oh my goodness, you didn't have a sudden relapse of death, did you?"

You shake your head, trying to root yourself in the present. Was that a dream, a memory, or something else? Pinkie obviously hasn't seen it. You glance sidelong at her, wondering if you should tell her. But like the flash when you wondered if she ever frowned, you're not certain how real it is.

You decide to keep it to yourself. Shaking your head, you reply, "It's nothing. I was just trying to remember who he was. Come on. I'm getting sick of this place. Where's the exit?"

"Ooh! I know that one!" Pinkie declares, giving a spectacular bounce. "Come on, once we're outside I can really show you Canterlot!"

Author's Note

Yes, you read that right. This is a Planescape/My Little Pony fusion. I figure there's plenty of dark fics, so this shouldn't be too dark. Of course, the drama here will be which ending I'm aiming for.

You'll note there are changes here and there. Even if it is Pinkie, I didn't really want to stay with the floating skull. The Nameless One's identity should be clear; I might mention it later if people are actually having problems.

Spike's prophecy is almost directly quoted from Planescape: Torment, which is copyrighted by Black Isle Studios.

Anyway, c/c appreciated, although do try to restrain the 'are you going to do x/y/z?' questions; I have a good idea where I'm going, and don't need a lot of distraction.

Already Distracted By Sidequests

The name Canterlot sounded majestic. At the name, you had briefly entertained thoughts of towering, glittering spires, white stone polished to shine like diamonds, and glorious riches showing the glory of a great city.

At least there are towers, you think, as Pinkie leads you out the front gate (apparently, visiting one of the graves makes a legitimate excuse to be in the Mortuary, even if you started out a corpse). The rest...is less impressive. You can't imagine how streets could be filthier without a deliberate effort. Trash, debris, and more unpleasant things are sprawled and pled throughout the street, leaving the people, most dressed in rags or worn clothing, to walk around or wade through it. The buildings are, to the last, falling apart, whether they were shaped of stone or wood. Even the light is dull and wan, forcing you to squint to see anything.

"Well, this is a fantastic sight," you drawl. "I'm thrilled you were able to show this to me."

Pinkie giggles. "Of course I wasn't excited to show you the Hive, silly. Look up."

By some instinct, you know that a horizon is supposed to curve downward, revealing a view of the sky. The view, therefore, of a sky full of crowded streets curving up into a titanic circle, jars something in you even as you marvel at the sight. "What in the world?"

"It's Canterlot, silly!" Pinkie giggles. "It's on the inside of a gigantic donut-"

"Torus," you correct automatically.

Pinkie doesn't notice, continuing on without interruption. "And it sits on top of a huuuuuuuuge mountain at the center of the planes, even though the Outlands are supposed to be infinite, making me wonder sometimes if it's not really in the center, just sort of in the center. Or not at all in the center, but that makes everything really confusing."

"It's impossible," you say flatly, and that catches Pinkie's attention. She slaps a hoof over your mouth.

"Don't let anyone hear you say that," she growls, sending suspicious glares in every direction. "Especially not the zebras."

"Why?" you demand. "And wait - zebras?"

Pinkie rolls her eyes. "In the planes, if enough people believe something, it comes true. So if enough people believe Canterlot is impossible...poof!" She emphasizes this by slamming her front hooves together.

"Poof?"

"Poof," Pinkie confirms with a sharp nod. "Anyway, the zebras are the Lady's special servants. They don't talk much, but they keep the place running. You don't want to mess with them, or you'll be in big trouble."

You nod absent-mindedly, uncertain exactly how things could get worse for you. In the corner of your eye, something catches your attention. An earth pony mare, pale blue with greying hair and wild eyes, gallops past you. In a few moments she gallops past the other way. People, ponies, and creatures alike stay clear of her as she passes, and none make eye contact.

“Who is that?”

Pinkie frowns as the mare passes. “I’m not sure, and I know everyone around here.”

You’re not certain what impulse sends you after her, but it takes a few moments to catch up. “Miss?”

She whirls, kicking wildly behind her. You barely avoid contact, and think you hear a snigger behind you. The mare, however, slumps once her kick misses. “Be quick,” she pleads.

“What?”

“I don’t care anymore,” she whispers. “Killing me would be a favor, anyway.”

“Kill you?” You want to feel shocked, but there is a flash of thought, or memory. You could crush her throat, bring an end to her suffering. It would be a mercy, wouldn’t it?

No. You shake your head to clear it of the thought. “I don’t think I want to do that.”

“Yeah, running around killing people is majorly evil; if it doesn’t drop you to the south side of the alignment grid, the Lady’ll send you straight to the moon!”

You’ve begun to realize the value in letting Pinkie’s words just wash over you, but the mention of a moon in a sky that’s just more cityscape gives you pause. “The...moon?”

Pinkie bounces barely an inch from your face, smiling widely. “Oh, yeah! No one knows where she really sends people, but everyone knows they’re stuck there FOREVER!”

The bale blue pony shivers. “Oh, no, nowhere’s forever. You find the right door and you’re somewhere else entirely. And the worst part is...a door can be anything. And anything can be a key!” You try to look at Pinkie for confirmation, but the blue mare draws close, eyes wild as she meets your gaze. “I found a door so long ago, and I thought this city was full of wonders. But I couldn’t find the door home. Every door I find goes somewhere terrible.” She shivers and draws back. “I daren’t step through another portal. Nowhere bounded on all four sides…”

She shivers and darts away before you can reply, leaving you staring after her galloping form.

“Jeez, some people just don’t know how to appreciate the wonders of the planes,” Pinkie says. “I love going through portals! You’ll be wandering along, singing a song or juggling, and bam! A whole new world!"

"Well, if you go frightening places, I suppose it would be more of a problem," you allow. You look after the mare, but she's run out of sight. You're not certain what help you could offer, besides putting her out of her misery. "Well, now what?"

Pinkie tips her head, absently reaching up to scratch an ear lime a dog. "Well, we're on an adventure. So it seems the best place to start is in a bar. There are always brave and loyal companions you find in a bar. Not to mention sidequests!"

"A...bar." Naturally, you don't really know much about this place, but you're skeptical of Pinkie's claim. Bars don't seem like they'd be much help in finding your memory. They'd be better for forgetting, you'd bet.

"I doubt it's even a real adventure if you don't start in a bar."

There's a tone in Pinkie's voice; you're certain she won't drop the subject until you head into a bar. So you offer a quick glance, and, luckily, catch sight of a sign. "There's a bar over here. The Gathering Dust-"

"No no no, that's a dumb place to go. It's full of Dustmen."

"But aren't you a-"

Pinkie begins to shove you forward past the Gathering Dust bar, ignoring your question as you slide through the crowds, who seem to be largely ignoring the spectacle you make, although you do catch sight of a unicorn mare, delicate and colored white, almost a pale purple, giving the two of you a stern look.

Pinkie pushes you past large rows of thorn-tipped leaves clinging to the walls of the city, a horde of men, women, ponies, and other strange creatures barking and howling at the sky (such as it is), at last pausing outside a large domed building with a central chimney sending up dark, foul-smelling smoke. You glance at the sign, which bears the shape of a pony smeared in charcoal and-

"The Smouldering Corpse?" You're beginning to wonder if it was a mistake going along with this pony.

Pinkie snorts in amusement. "It's just a name, silly. Come on, let's go in!"

So reassured, you follow Pinkie it.

What dominates your attention on entering is a huge brazier glowing red-hot and setting off waves of heat that are, by the door and where most of the patrons are standing, a comfortable warmth, but are likely blazing near the brazier. Suspended over the brazier, however, is the form of a unicorn, scorched and blackened beyond recognition, and still, inexplicably, burning. Whatever flesh was there must be burned away, however, for the smell, though unpleasant, is not the roasting of meat, but something drier.

It turns your stomach, even as something in the scene tugs at your memory. You turn on Pinkie, though. "You said it was just a name!" you hiss.

"It is! She's not dead; I guess they thought Smouldering Corpse sounded better than Sort of Alive Person Who's On Fire." She offers you a guileless smile, and you don't know if it's better to think she's that naive, or just a good liar.

"Well..." You sigh, unwilling right now to argue. "I wish you'd warned me about this."

"But - oh! I'm sorry. Well, come on! Let's look for plot hooks!"

She bounces toward the bar. You, though, take a look around. There are weird, scaled creatures with bat wings laughing in the back, knots of humanoids, equines, and things indescribable. Nearby is something like the shade of a man standing next to a table. You wonder how he can eat. A yelp draws your gaze to the right, where a flash of rainbow alerts you to a pegasus, sky blue with a mane of many colors; her wings seem tipped with silver, and she wears a harness of worn metal. She appears to be hiding behind a humanoid dressed in a drab grey tunic, an unfortunate contrast that just makes her stand out more. You decide to talk to her first, trotting up to her, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

"Hi! My name is..." It suddenly strikes you that you have no idea how to introduce yourself! "I..."

"Do I know you?" the pegasus said sharply in a rough, female voice. She gives you a narrow-eyed glare.

Shaken, you take a step away. "I guess not. i was just-"

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"Sorry." You flee the imperious pegasus, cheeks flooded with color, ignoring competing flares of thought, alternatively to kill the pegasus lest she become a threat or demand her obeissance. When you stop, you are standing near the strange, shade-like man, translucent and apparently engaged in watching the bar in its entirety.

"Not lucky with the ladies, are you?" he asks.

The flush returns in full force. "I wasn't - I just wanted to talk."

The man chuckles. "Well, no luck there, either. Terrible shame. She could use some friends."

"A charming pony like her?" The words sound harsh, but you suppose you have reason to feel bitter.

"Don't presume. The planes leave their mark on all of us. Even you, I see. Is there a story behind these scars?"

"Probably, but I don't know it." You offer the man a shrug.

He chuckles. "Very well. My name is Candrian."

"Um...Faust." You're proud of the fast thinking, even as you reach your hoof to shake. "So what are you doing here?"

"Learning about the people of the planes. I've already seen so much of the planes themselves, I thought I'd take a spell to people-watch."

"People have mentioned the planes to me before, but I'm still not clear what they mean."

Candrian's chest puffs out and he stands a little taller. "Then you've come to the right place. The planes are worlds, interlocking and forever entwined. There are planes to represent the four elements - earth, air, fire, and water, and planes of nothingness to bind them together. Outside of them is a ring of planes representing the great alignments - law and chaos, good and evil, and neutrality between all of them. I myself have come back from the plane of negation itself."

"Negation?"

"There is such a thing of life force, the energy of living things. But then there must also be an opposite. I see you arrived with a Dustman; their servants are animated by this opposite, rather than by life. It is poisonous to us, though. That's why I took this." He holds up a charm, which looks like nothing more than a disk of perfect darkness. "It protects me from the shadows."

An echo whispers through your mind, a worry at the mention of shadows. "I don't suppose there's a way I can convince you to part with that, is there?"

He tosses it toward you; you catch it with fumbling hooves. "Take it. I think I'm quite done with the Negative Energy Plane. Besides, it's nice having someone willing to listen to me prattle on about the planes and portals."

"Wait. Portals?" Pinkie and that poor woman had said something about portals.

The man gives you a kind smile. "Tricky things. Yes, portals. They are how I travel the planes. They are how most creatures do it. There are countless doorways between these worlds. Always they are bounded on all four sides, and always is there a key. But what those boundaries are, and what the key is, are infinite in variety." He winks. "I know more about identifying such portals than any living creature, barring the Lady herself."

"The Lady?"

"The Lady of Doors, the Princess of Canterlot. Doorways open and close at her command, and she rules this place. It's well enough; Canterlot is a powerful place, and she keeps the gods from interfering too much."

With that question answered, you're left to wonder about Candrian's claim to know more about portals than anyone else...

"If someone were lost, could you help them find a doorway back home?"

Candrian's expression shifts to one of thoughtfulness. "Possibly. Probably. It'd take a few jumps, but I'm almost certain I could."

"So if I brought someone here, you could get her home?"

"Oh, yes. It would be a marvelous challenge. A nice bit of philanthropy, too. It's good to do your part to stay out of the Blood War."

That...does not sound promising. "Blood War?"

"Among those of evil, there are those who pursue evil as a means to achieve their ends, a sort of lawful, regular evil, and those who pursue evil for the freedom it gives them to indulge in their darker whims. They do not get along. And, being evil, they have engaged in a war that has lasted for ages. The Blood War. Those who die in a state of sin or evil are drawn to it, so it's good to do one's part to keep out of it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Something about the mention of the Blood War chills you. You're not certain if it is merely the fear of an unending war between two types of evil, or some sense of unconscious familiarity...

You find Pinkie Pie near the rainbow-maned pegasus, being shouted at.

"And if you say one more word, I'll pop your empty little head off of your body and use it as a balloon!"

Pinkie opens her mouth to reply, and you slam your hoof over it. "So sorry about her, Miss. She's just trying to be friendly."

"Friendly, my flank," the pegasus mutters.

"We'll just leave you alone now," you say. You drag Pinkie out of danger, waiting until you're out of the bar to start talking. "You should have left her alone, Pinkie."

"But she's destined to help us on our quest!"

"I don't think she agrees, Pinkie. Besides, she was going to pop your head off."

"Pfft. Tht was all talk. So, any idea where we're going?"

"Back to find that mare. I think I found a way to help her."

Pinkie bounces after you. "Ooh! A sidequest. I love those. Do you think we'll get a great reward?"

"I'm not doing this for a reward," you protest. "She just looked so miserable - hey, Miss!" You cut off your words at the sight of the mare uneasily cantering around the wide square near the Mortuary. She pauses, looking back at you, and freezes. You think she might still be convinced you've come to kill her. "Miss," you say as you trot to her side. "I think I found a man who can help you. He's an expert on portals, and he thinks he can get you home."

"Home?" Her eyes, still wary, wild, widen at the word. "What do you...home?"

You nod eagerly. "He thinks he can do it. He works down this way; I can show you."

Uncertainly, the mare follows as you lead her, but at the door to the Smouldering Corpse, she stops, hooves rooted on the ground. "No. I won't go through another door. Not another portal. Not another world, sucking and bleeding..."

Pinkie rolls her eyes, but you step close. "Miss. No one's ever found a portal here. But I know you're scared. I...we can go together, if you're frightened."

"Together?" Her eyes water at the corners. She looks so lost, but hopeful at your words.

"If it's a portal to anywhere other than the Smouldering Corpse Bar, we'll deal with it together."

The mare took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go."

And the two of you step through the doorway.

So You Want To Be A Wizard

"That was nice what you did for that mare."

You keep walking, hoping Pinkie will drop the point. After meeting Candrian, the panicked mare had been effusive in her gratefulness, something that leaves you feeling on edge. It makes you worry. What sort of being would feel uncomfortable doing something nice for someone?

"Well like you said, that was a diversion. I'm more concerned about finding this Blueblood. Do you have any idea where to find him?"

"Nooooooooo..."

You give Pinkie a long look. She's refusing to meet your eyes, and shifting nervously from hoof to hoof. You could force it, but...well, it'll come out eventually.

Or you could go about it sneakily, you think, catching sight of the Gathering Dust Bar. Iggy had said Blueblood brought the Dustmen corpses, so someone might know about him.

"Well, I think we might check in to see if your friends know about him."

"Nonono, they won't know anything." Pinkie drops and wraps her hooves around your legs, entangling you and slowing your movements. At your continued gaze, she sighs. "Look, they don't like me much. Say I don't have the right attitude. I do, you know. I think it's important for people to move on. But...why can't we have fun here first?"

Her eyes widen as she explains, bright blue irises seeming to make the plea for her. Don't take me in there. You sigh.

"Look, I think I do need to go in there. I'm sure someone would know about Blueblood. But you can wait out here and stay out of trouble."

Pinkie shoots to her hooves and raises one in a salute. "Can do!"

You approach the door to the bar slowly. The bar is built solidly, like the Mortuary itself, with a heavy wood door that very definitely divides the inside from the outside. The Dustmen, it seems, like good metaphors.

A hand on your shoulder arrests your movement. You pause and turn. The woman, a human or something like it, offers you a pleading gaze, even and green and framed by matted greying hair. "Please, ma'am, can you help me?"

You take a step away. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me."

She laughs in response. It is a bitter sound. "Money enough we have, but I'd see it gone. It's my husband, Angyar. He sold his body to the Dustmen after his death, but he can't bear the thought of it any longer. They won't take the money back, and it's driving him mad."

"And what do you think I can do?"

"I saw you with that Dustman," the woman says, pointing back at Pinkie Pie, who has managed to get into an argument with a unicorn with striking purple hair. "Surely you can beg some favor from them..."

You're aware of tugs of thought at the woman's plea. What can she give you for it? Why should you help her? She's told you of gold she has; you could kill her and take it. Why should you risk the ire of the Dustmen when you need a favor from them?

You struggle and force the thoughts away. What has she done to deserve violence, selfishness, in response to her plea? And if the Dustmen see you poorly for helping her, maybe Pinkie's right.

"I can try," you say.

The bar is uniformly lit, furnished with sturdy tables and serviceable chairs. Everything has the patina of age, but also of great care. You suppose it’s to be expected from people who embalm and reanimate the dead. Everyone within, whatever species, is dressed in shapeless grey robes. Before you can scan the inhabitants for some sign of who might be able to help you, a slender, dark-skinned human in the common grey cloak approaches.

“Hello, stranger. Are you one of the Dustmen?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head. “The Dustmen welcome all people, because the journey to True Death is one all living things follow. Are you familiar with our philosophy?”

You offer him what you hope is a friendly smile. “Some of it. You think people need to embrace death?”

“Not exactly. People must learn to accept the inevitability of death, so that they can pass from this world with a sense of peace. Have you given thought to the importance of seeking a peaceful death?”

“It’s an attractive concept, but one...I’m having trouble with.” The message on your back warned you not to tell anyone about your fate. But as long as you don’t tell him you can’t die, it should be alright. “But then...so does someone else I met. He signed a contract with you, but he’s regretting it now.”

“We really don’t renege on our contracts,” the man says. “Quite a few people have used them as a means of a short-term loan-”

“But what if a man dies when driven to complete distraction by a contract he regrets? What happens to him then?”

The man’s demeanor slips; he frowns momentarily. “Are you saying this man’s peace is disturbed by his contract?”

“He’d never achieve the rest of True Death,” you add. “I don’t think that’s the sort of thing you should be doing here.”

He gives you a long, speculative look. “Are you certain you are not one of us?”

There is a brief moment of disconnect from the present.

“And in conclusion, you do not exist.”

The man standing across from you pales. “But if that’s right, I can’t be standing-”

He vanishes without further fanfare, and the spectators explode into applause.

“I...am a student of philosophy,” you reply shakily.

“I would not wish to debate you where the stakes were higher,” he says. “Fine. What is the man’s name?”

“Angyar.”

He produces a piece of paper. “Take this, then. Tear it up, do what you like with it. And if you are ever ready to learn more about True Death-”

“I’ll come back here.” You start to turn, but then pause, remembering your original mission. “Look, do you know anyone in here who knows anything about Blueblood?”

“King of Thieves?” he asks. “Talk to Emoric; he might be willing to offer you some help.” He points to a stocky pale, hairless human man sitting at a table by the far end of the bar.

The man doesn’t look up until you’re by his side, and then does with an even, unimpressed expression. “Ma’am?”

“Hi. My name is...Faust. I’ve been trying to track down someone, and I wanted to know if you could help.”

“I am not a town crier,” he replies. “I’m not in the mood to dispense information to every berk who wanders through my bar.”

You glance at his tabletop, and catch sight of Blueblood’s name, and an official-looking signature. “I’ve heard you’ve been having problems with him…”

The man glares at you, and then, with a glance down to his workspace, shuffles the papers together and away from you. “Well, that may be. But unless you’re offering to spy on him for me, I’m not seeing how you knowing that is relevant.”

“I could. What’s the problem?”

He gives you a long look before sighing. “He’s been providing us a steady stream of bodies. Most of the time, we don’t worry overmuch about that, but he has provided us with...quite a lot of bodies. I need someone to find out how and where before the Lady shows up asking who’s been committing mass murder.”

"And where would I find him?"

"Ragpicker's Square," the man replies. "It's somewhere beyond the northeast of the Hive. Come back when you have some useful information."

When you step back outside, it's to see a unicorn mare with an elegant purple mane slapping Pinkie. "And if I see you again, it'll be more than a slap you get!" she snaps.

Pinkie is grinning at the retreating mare as you approach. "What did you do?"

Pinkie shrugged. "Some ponies just can't take a joke."

"Well come on, we've got to find Blueblood."

"Ooh! I bet you got a lead in the bar! Did you get any sidequests?"

Pinkie's strange enthusiasm makes you smile. "Sort of. We're supposed to find out where Blueblod gets his bodies. I figured we'd take a look."

Pinkie lets out a dismissive grunt. It's unusually taciturn, so you take notice. "What is it?"

"This sounds like a big quest. We might need companions...anyway, what class are you?"

"Class?"

Pinkie rolls her eyes. "A lot of unicorns are magic users. But I haven't seen a spark out of you."

Magic...the word sends shivers down your spine, even though you've no idea how you'd go about magic. "You think anyone would teach me?"

Pinkie bounced up, grinning. "You could see my old teacher. I think she lives around here, but be warned: she's crazy."

You pause mid-step, seriously considering the statement. But the allure of power...true power...proves too much. “All right. I’ll bite.”

“Not on the first date, silly!”

“Anyway, where’s this teacher of yours?”

Pinkie shrugs. “Who knows? Witches are really mysterious - off to Mars, the Astral Plane, whatever, whenever they want. Lucky I’m a bard, right?”

You let that go for the sake of your sanity. But you do wonder if there’s a way to forcibly drain the knowledge you need out of Pinkie’s head. You let that thought go at the suspicion that thinking too hard about it might release a memory of having used such a spell on someone in the past. You’re beginning to seriously worry about what sort of person - well, pony - you were before you lost your memory.

“Well, if we can’t find her, I can’t learn magic. What’s next?”

“Pfft, can’t find her? What are you talking about?” Pinkie raps a hoof against a nearby door, causing it to swing open with an ominous creak to reveal a dimly-lit, smoky void. “Hilllda!”

“Is that you, Pinkie?” A blond woman with wild hair appears within the darkness, shrouded in dark cloth. She blinks at the pink pony before glancing at you.

Her eyes widen and she recoils. “Whoa! Pinkie, I told you: no zombies! Sure, they seem fun at first, but then they start shedding body parts into the punch at parties, forget what they’re doing when they enter a room, and it all goes downhill from there. I swore I’d never do that again, and wouldn’t let my students do it, either. Unless it seems like it’ll be really funny.”

Pinkie giggles, shaking her head. “Oh, she’s not a zombie. I think. Or she’s not my zombie. Plus she hasn’t tried to eat my brain or anything. Or am I thinking of those squid-thingies?”

“I’m not a zombie,” you say. “I think. Look, the point is, Pinkie said you can teach me magic.”

Hilda sniffs and grabs you, holding you at arms’ length. “Well, it’s a possibility. You’re a unicorn, which is a good start. But I’ve gotta see you’ve got the stuff. I’ve three mystical tasks to send you on. First, find a guy named Giscorl and pick up my laundry.”

“What.”

“Okie dokie lokie!” Pinkie grabs your tail in her mouth and bounces away, forcing you to follow rather than have your tail ripped off. Once out of earshot, you whirl on her.

“Can you explain why we’re following the insane ramblings of that woman?” you demand. “She’s asking us to do laundry!”

Pinkie shrugs. “If Hilda asked you to do something, she’s got a good reason for it. Or she thinks it’s funny. Or she forgot to do her laundry. Or she-”

“I get the point,” you growl back. “Let’s find this guy.”

“Ooh! Let me!” Pinkie bounces elastically on her hooves, grinning ear-to-ear. “I’ve got bonuses to my Bardic Knowledge in Canterlot. Plus, I know everybody!”

Given that you don’t even know yourself, this seems like it might be a marginally better idea than trying it on your own. Several hours later, during which Pinkie drags you through the two bars in the immediate vicinity, a marketplace, and back through the Mortuary (you have to talk to everyone, silly!, she explains), you finally find a wild-eyed man sitting before a clothes washer, obsessively scrubbing some grey cloth up and down.

“Um, hi?” He barely offers you a glance as he continues scrubbing. “Hilda sent us?” The man doesn’t give notice. “Hey? Hey!”

He still doesn’t respond. You grab the cloth away from him, but he still doesn’t notice, continuing to absent-mindedly scrub his hands.

You turn to Pinkie. “Can you do anything?”

She shrugs. “Already tried a Charisma check. He’s pretty out there.” But at a pleading glance from you, she crouches down, takes a deep breath, and you realize you should have covered your ears.

“HEY! WE’RE HERE FOR HILDA’S LAUNDRY!”

The man pauses, looking up at Pinkie. “I washed it and scrubbed it,” he says. “Wash and scrub every five days. Wash and scrub. Wash and scrub.”

“That’s nice, but we really need Hilda’s laundry.”

The man fixes you with a long stare. “I’ll go get it.” He slips into a small tent, returning a moment later with a stack of cloth that is heavy and stiff with repeated washing. “Now got to get back to work,” he mumbles, sitting back at the washer and returning to intense scrubbing.

You stare down at the board-stiff cloth, wondering if Hilda will mark you down for the condition of the cloth. But still, all she did was ask you to get it.

But you can’t help but look back at Giscorl, wondering what made him so weird, and what Hilda’s doing asking him for help.

Her house is easier to find this time, and she accepts the cloth without a comment about it. But she does wink at you and say, “Now I’ve got a thing I’d like you to get for me.” She produces a small, thorned seed, and hands it to you. “Can you see if anyone can get you the plant this seed grows from?”

Two hours later, you still have no idea. The herb sellers tell you to ask the fruit sellers, and the fruit sellers tell you to ask the flower sellers, and the flower sellers send you to the vegetable sellers, who suggest you talk to the herb sellers…

You slam into the Smouldering Corpse Bar an hour after that because learning magic isn’t teaching you anything except that you need a drink.

The inside is much the same as before. Your eyes drift across it, resting briefly on the pegasus who Pinkie had offended. Recalling Candrian’s words, you wonder why he called her lonely. She watches the bar with a distant impassiveness, no, disinterest. She doesn’t care about any creature in it. You don’t imagine those magenta eyes can reflect any emotion as mundane as affection.

A surge of something pushes you in her direction, a sense of empathy or deja vu, you’re not sure. No memory overwhelms you, but there is something familiar about the sharp-edged magenta glare you get as you approach.

“What the hay are you doing here?”

Old Friends, New Friends

You struggle for words. You imagine that some forgotten memory contains someone who could weave an elegant response, but such eloquence is beyond you. “I just...thought you looked lonely.”

She lets out a bark of laughter. “Misery may love company, but I don’t. Look, unless you know me, there’s nothing we have to talk about.”

“Isn’t that how people get to know each other?”

The pegasus rolls her eyes. “Jeez. I do not have time for this.”

“You don’t look busy.”

“That’s because you don’t know what I’m doing.”

There it is again, the strange emphasis on the word ‘know’. You take a step closer, giving the pegasus a closer look. “What does that mean? To ‘know’?”

The pegasus sighs. “You might as well ask me what’s ‘cool’. Look, unless you’re born a pegasus, you’re not going to get it.”

“Try me.”

The pegasus starts at the iron in your voice. Her ears go back, fearful or uncertain. Then she sets her stance and stares evenly back at you.

“Fine.” She tugs a strange metal stone from some pack cleverly set against her side. With a few neat manipulations, she opens it into a simple ring, on which are written words. “This is the First Circle of Pansy. It’s...sort of a story.”

As you take ahold of the circle, you reply, “Is it a racial myth?”

In a moment, the pegasus is in your face, eyes narrow and fierce. “This isn’t a myth. This is the story of Pansy. It’s the story of our people! You want to know anything about me, you need to read this.”

“Okay.” You take it, staring at the words inscribed on it.

"Know that we are the First People.

Once all was chaos. The First People looked within themselves to know what was there, and they were chaos no longer.

With their thoughts and knowing of matter, the People shaped the First World and dwelled there.

Yet flesh was new, and the People’s thoughts were consumed by strange passions. Greeds and hates, pains and joys, jealousies and doubts. All these fed on each other and the minds of the People were divided. In their division, the People were punished.

The emotions were strong. The greed and hates, the pains and joys, the jealousies and doubts, all of these served as a guiding stone to enemies. In embracing these emotions, the First People became enslaved to those who knew emotions only as tools for their will. Know these beasts were the changelings.

The changelings were a race that had come not to know themselves. They had learned how to make other races not know themselves.

They were the chitinous ones. They lived in emotions and saw emotions as tools for their will. Their blood was as water and they drank minds. When the changelings came upon the People, the People were a people no more. The People became slaves.

The changelings took the People from the First World and brought them to the False Worlds. They chained their wings and the People labored upon the False Worlds. The changelings taught them the Way of the Heart. Through them, the People came to know loss. They came to know suffering. They came to know death, both of the body and the mind. They came to know what it is to be the herd of another and have their thoughts drank like water. They came to know the horror of being made to feel joy in such things.

The Unbroken Circle is in the knowing of how the People lost themselves. And how they came to know themselves again."

“So?” You look up to meet the pegasus’ gaze almost before you can finish reading.

“What?”

“What does it mean?”

“I…” A flicker of thought dances through your mind. When you speak, it is as if someone else is using your tongue. “Strength lies in knowing oneself. I learned that once someone does not know themselves, they are lost. They become a tool for others.”

The pegasus sighs, deflates, at your words. “Sounds about right.”

There is something exhilarating about the rush of discovery of the Unbroken Circle. “I want to learn more about the Unbroken Circle. Come with me; tell me more about it. Please?”

Something shudders through the pegasus’ form at your words. Her head drops to her chest. “...Fine.”

You wish she were more enthusiastic, but since she’s agreeing, you can’t quite feel disappointed. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Rainbow Dash,” she says softly, still staring at the floor.

“Well, Rainbow, I hope we’ll be friends.”

Rainbow snorts.

You decide to ignore the response. "Now come on, we've got things to do."

"Let me guess: off on an epic quest to get yourself killed?"

You pause mid-step. "No..." Liar! You promised Spike to bring an end to this. But something inside you quails at anyone who can so easily divine your intentions. The urge to lie, to run, to kill...

Stop it! You wonder if other people's heads are so full of arguments.

"I'm trying to restore my memory," you say. "Although at the moment, we're in a bit of a side-quest. Do you know who might be good with plants, and might be able to recognize this?" You hold up the seed. Rainbow snorts and grabs at your tail, tugging you along as she walks. Pinkie, although apparently engrossed in conversation with the bartender, glances up and trots after you as you leave the bar.

Once outside, Rainbow spits out your tail and takes a look around. "She should be lurking around here somewhere..."

"Who are we looking for? Is it another witch? Or some mystical artifact? Ooh! Are we looking for the Head of Vecneigh?"

Rainbow gives you a sharp, disbelieving look. "Please tell me she's not coming with us."

"Sorry."

Rainbow rolls her eyes. "Well, you want somebody who knows trees. And there's only one pony around here who does - ah!"

She trots in the direction of an elderly green pony, not winged or horned, who is staring at a shriveled vine with a look of concentration on her wizened face. At your approach, she glances up, offering all three of you a wide smile.

"Why hello, young'ns. What brings you here?"

Rainbow nudges your shoulder with her own. "Uh, ma'am-"

"Ha! I'm not so old I need to be called ma'am. Call me Granny, or, Mourns-For-Trees, if you need that pretentious horseapples everypony around here likes. Now spit it out."

You look to Rainbow for help, but she seems to be fighting back a grin. You suspect she knew exactly what you were getting into here. An answering grin flickers on your face. It is a bit funny, you guess.

"My name...isn't important. But I'm trying to find the plant that would grow from this seed."

Granny takes the seed and stares at it, squinting her eyes, biting the seed, licking it...After a few long minutes, she spits to the side and shakes her head. "I ain't never heard of a plant like this. Although...mayhap there is something you can do."

"What is it?"

"Grow it yourself."

"I can't wait that long-"

"Hush, child. I know that. Look at these vines."

You take another look at the vines, which are as withered and dead as they were when you arrived. "They're dying."

"Aye. I've been trying to find people to care about the vines."

"Care for?"

The elderly pony smacks your nose. "I meant what I said. I said care about. I've been tending to these vines for years, but they're dying because there ain't nopony to care about them. Shoot, child, it's one of the rules of the planes. Wherever you are, that's the center of things." At your blank look, she sighs. "It matters what you care about, what you believe. I've been asking people to care about these plants, and nopony ever does." Granny seems to briefly shrink in stature before squaring her shoulders and standing straight up. "But nopony ever said anything worth doing was easy. But there you go. If you've got will enough, I reckon you could make that seed grow."

You want to go off immediately to try, but you're held in place by Granny's plight. You can't imagine someone standing here for years, trying and failing to get anyone else to care.

You turn to Pinkie. "Pinkie, do you think you could care about these vines?"

The pink pony giggles. "I care about everyone, silly! But I guess I can do a little more for these vines." She closes one eye grits her teeth, still grinning wildly as she does so.

You then glance at Rainbow. "Do you think you could care for the vines?"

"Why? What's your angle?"

"I don't-" You look helplessly at the withered vines. "She's been trying so hard to save them. It's sad no one else would help her. And she's already tried her best to help us without asking anything in return. You don't have to, Rainbow Dash." The pegasus' head swivels back to you, eyes wide. "I just...think it would be a nice thing to do."

She narrows her eyes as she glares at you, silent and still for a long moment. At last she sighs, turning back to the vines. "Fine, I'll try. But not because you asked me to." Rainbow closes her eyes. As she stands quietly, the coverings on her wings take on a green tint, and something of the same color seeps into the leaves of the vines. They still look weak, but more like they're a little dry than being on the edge of death.

"Wow, Rainbow Dash, you're good at that!"

You don't hear Rainbow's reaction, because you're taking your turn. You close your eyes and focus your mind on the vines before you, the growing things struggling against the press of the city. They deserve to grow and flourish and flower. You wish them only the best. You want them to-

"Whoa." Your eyes snap open. Rainbow is staring upward, something of awe and admiration in her face.

"Wooooooooow," Pinkie says.

You glance at Granny, who is staring upward with tears in her eyes. You follow hers and Rainbow's gaze to see...

Green vines edged with purple curl up the height of this wall, spreading and branching to cross to other walls. You can see flashes of green and purple throughout the neighborhood, where you had seen and ignored the withering vines before.

You take a hesitant step forward, only to feel a strange pressure on your left forehoof. You look down; a black vine covered in thorns is wrapped around your leg. The seed is nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you," Granny murmurs. "I never could imagine - but thank you."

"I don't..." You shift uneasily from foot to foot. "I just thought you deserved better."

Granny looks away, perhaps to hide further tears. "You've already done so much, and I ain't one to ask for charity-"

"I don't have much money myself."

Granny laughs. "Land sakes, child, I'm not that down on my luck. You seem the type to travel, and so I wanted to know...my granddaughter went off to join the Mercykillers ages ago and I haven't seen her since. I wondered...if you see her, could you tell her Granny would like to see her one last time?"

"What's her name?" Pinkie seems thrilled by your casual question, but Rainbow seems uneasy, still. You wonder what person so hurt Rainbow that the thought of doing something nice for someone is so unnerving to her.

"Applejack," Granny says. "And you'll know her by being the stubbornest, rashest, most bullheaded pony you'll ever meet. I don't know what I can do to repay you-"

"You've done more than enough, thank you. I hope you can keep on helping your plants. Come on, girls."

Hilda is waiting for you when you return to her home. She grins at the sight of the vines wrapped around your leg.

"I can see one or two problems with the vine you've got," she says.

You wave your hoof a few times, and the vine doesn't shift. "It's not like I planned for it to get wrapped up like this."

Hilda snorted. "Well, you made it grow. I don't see why you can't make it do whatever you want.”

You sigh at the non-answer, and focus on your hoof. In a moment, the plant twists away, falling from your flesh. Hilda grabs it, frowning. “Doesn’t look useful, though. Actually, now that I see it, I think it’d make a good picture frame. Would you mind?”

You sigh and close your eyes. In a moment, the thorns are in the shape of a frame, and Hilda gives you a bright smile.

“Great!”

“Now can we-”

“Anyway, I’ve got one last thing for you to do.”

“I swear, if it involves going back to that market-”

“I need some ink from fish in the marketplace. Talk to Kossah-Jai. Now, scoot!”

Author's Note

The text of the Unbroken Circle of Pansy contains a great deal drawn directly from the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, which is copyrighted by Black Isle Studios.