The Life and Adventures Of A Necromancer

Blue Syringe

I fumbled through my saddlebags with my telekinesis and found my keys at the bottom. I withdrew them with little effort and inserted them into the door in front of me before I walked into my small house.

I put my saddlebags into the corner and then went to turn on the lamps by hoof, as I always found it strangely relaxing to not just rely on my horn. That doesn’t mean I didn’t levitate the letters that were sitting by the doorstep over to me, though.

I flicked through them, distractedly noticing that most of them were energy and water bills, which I knew I could have a discussion with an old acquaintance to take off, when I saw a distinctive letter. I almost squealed with excitement as I saw it and recognised the magical signature, which was smothered all over it.

I sat down on my couch next to a lamp I had just for reading and opened the seal on the envelope before reading the letter.

There has been an issue that has been troubling me since I was about eight years old. The restoration of nerve fibre is considered an impossible task since the brain will not accept any alternatives, and therefore other ponies gave up.

I was not, however, an ordinary pony, and I knew I could do it, and after I swiftly departed from my home because of circumstances I do not want to think of.

I looked for anything that even attempted to regenerate the tissue, and I found nothing. None of the races even had an idea how to fix the damned things, and I was utterly trumped. Until about three months ago.

I went to help a family near the southern border of Equestria in a quaint little town named Hot Hoof (to be honest, I thought the inhabitants were messing around with me, but apparently the creator of the town stood in a hot patch of sand when deciding the town's name), and to my utter surprise, I discovered the family was composed solely of changelings.

After a tense moment and a tense-er discussion, I discovered the changelings were on the run from their own hive and just wanted to settle into the town. I described my own forced banishment from society, and we started talking in friendlier terms.

It was basic conversation at first, and coincidentally, we got into the discussion of pony conversion.

Apparently, the changelings could convert a pony, if it was willing, into a changeling as long as they had the right chemicals. This meant that all ailments of the pony would not be transferred into the new body, as it was effectively creating a new body.

I knew that I finally had my answer, but I also knew that a lot of work had to be done to make sure that the pony wasn't actually turned into a changeling. Therefore, I needed data.

The changelings and I arranged a deal: if I resurrected their fallen companions, then they would try to find all the information they could get their hooves on about the conversion process and the biology of the changelings.

In their last letter, they had mentioned that they had found a potential source, which should allow me to get all the information I needed to try to create an apparatus and cure.

They had come through.

I looked through the huge amount of data and planned the plan in my mind about how I could even attempt to implement the spells and get enough data to consider making this a viable option.

I even considered pulling out my legal identity of Doctor Mia Grain (although it was a risk using this name, considering it was a pun for a medical issue). I just couldn't resist myself and sending the blueprints and data over to the University of Trussville and letting them do it without threatening myself when suddenly I heard a short but high-pitched noise hum through the air.

The average pony might’ve ignored the sound, but I immediately recognised it and put the documents down on the table while walking into my bedroom to put a hoof down behind my wardrobe to retrieve the book resting behind it.

I looked at the leather tome as I pulled it out and almost got tingles feeling the texture.

It was interesting that I got shivers holding a dead object considering the time I had spent around dead ponies on a nearly daily basis, but maybe it was because of the way the body was disfigured, or perhaps it was just a product of how I was brought up. I opened it to land on the page, which was alerting my presence.

While I had been working on medical magic during my time under Celestia, I made sure that I had read on the other schools of magic that were available to me (even though I didn't look into depth about them), which led me to find out that with telepathic spells, it was possible to intercept them if you had an adept unicorn who just found the line between the two ponies.

After I left home, I realised those I had saved could send me information about others who had fallen to their own mortality, but I had to let them communicate with me, and I couldn't use telepathy for the reason of being able to easily find them, and also telepathy required a high-level unicorn to cast.

I went north and found the reindeer, as I knew they used runic magic because ley lines would pull it in. After convincing them that my reasons were pure, even if they disliked my methods, they gave me the tome and said that any being that had a certain rune could use this as communication, and as virtually zero ponies in Equestria actually used runes, then the communication channels were entirely clear.

I saw a message being written on the last page:

“Dear Ms. Bones,

I had hoped that I wouldn't require your assistance again, but due to the tightened political circumstances, my family had been attacked, leaving my son gravely injured, as well as my daughter. I had hoped that you might treat their injuries.

If you could arrive here as speedily as you can and assist us, I guarantee a sum of five thousand bits will be paid to you, not to mention any travel expenses that appear on your way here.

Yours Truly,

Lord Sunfeather.”

I almost giggled at my old identity of Baroness Bones being mentioned and remembered that it almost had been five years since I had last seen Sunfeather.

I looked at the book again and sighed, knowing that I wouldn't have any time to work on the nerve project before I went to my bathroom to go grab some black mane dye.

It took me almost two days of travelling to reach the borders of Griffonstone since I took a pony-drawn carriage. The last time I attempted to take the train, I forgot to put a disguise on and almost got spotted by some guards. Even though I knew I was disguised, the experience reminded me I couldn’t be too careful.

I arrived at Lord Sunfeather's and mine’s pre-arranged meeting spot, where I met a group of griffon guards waiting for me.

"Good evening, gentlegriffs," I said courteously, giving a small bow of my head.

"Baroness Bones, right?" one guard asked with that tone of rushed annoyance that could only be achieved while standing still by a griffon.

"Yes, I’m glad to see I am recognised this time. The last time was such a hassle," I said with a huff at the end.

"Please show us your Cutie Mark for identification," the guard asked with indifference to my statement.

I lifted the backside of my robe to show them my Cutie Mark in an act that would make proper Canterlot mares faint and made the guards nod at each other.

"Alright, come this way, Ms. Bones; we have a chariot waiting for you," the guard said.

I followed the guards across the border of Griffonstone and mounted a griffon-drawn chariot, which quickly took me to the city of Griffonstone, which was named the same as the country in a clear showing of why it’s a bad idea to ask a griffon to name your child. I watched the griffons below watch me with varying looks of emotion as I headed towards the mansion. Some were afraid; most looked distrustful.

“After the attack, we’re pretty worried about strangers,” one guard answered before I could ask.

“Lord Sunfeather mentioned something about political tensions in his message. What is happening, if I may ask?” I asked.

“A new group of radicals has risen in Griffonstone, who are attempting to overthrow the lords and instate a new political system or some crock like that,” the guard says with a hint of venom showing through his calm demeanour.

I make sure to not mention anything else. I make sure to always remain neutral with these situations; I really can't afford to lose any potential allies while also making sure that I don't work with a biased mind when I’m trying to heal my patients and therefore don't accidentally harm them.

We eventually landed after another five minutes, which led to us walking over to the doors of the large mansion, where one guard tapped on the door with one of his claws.

After about thirty seconds a griffon answers the door and says to us, "Good evening, gentlegriffs. I am afraid my master is indisposed at the moment, so if you might wait until he gets his affairs in order," he spoke in a monotone yet fluent voice.

“We are here by request of your master; we have a pony by the name of Baroness Bones,” the guard said, his gruff voice marking a contrast against the servant.

The butler looked down at me for a few moments before speaking. "Welcome back, Ms. Bones. I shall take her off your claws. And guards? I apologise for my impolite behaviour.”

The butler led me through the mansion. After a small and slightly awkward silence formed between us, he spoke to me again. "Ms. Bones, it is wonderful to see you again. Although I wish it were under better circumstances."

“A doctor is only needed under negative circumstances, and my line of work is the most negative of the lot,” I replied with a sigh.

Some days I wonder if I could have been content with simply curing cancer, but nooooo! I just had to go further and cure death!

“Considering that you are the only individual in your line of work, it must be difficult to keep up,” the butler replied.

“It was tiring at first, but you do it for a few years, and you just get used to it.”

“When was the last time you took a break?” the butler asked, cracks of concern showing through his calm shell. Say whatever you want about ninety percent of griffons everywhere, but this one was a saint.

“I think it was when I was about twelve. I can't really afford to allow for a break, considering…” I replied with a calm shrug, leaving the last word floating between us.

Eventually, the butler went into a room. A few moments later, he returned.

"My master offers his sincerest apologies that he cannot meet you at this second as he is about to have an unplanned meeting with the rest of the lords,” the butler dipped his head apologetically. “He says that he is having the patients brought here tomorrow, and you can stay in one room of the manor.”

I was then led to a mostly empty room, where I bid the butler goodbye, and I settled in for a night with my other work.