The Bane of Daring Doo

A single drop of blood contains more living organisms than Manehattan does ponies. One drop of blood is enough to taint litres of clean water, enough to clone a whole animal, enough to blast a consciousness into oblivion. One particular drop of blood fell to the dust-covered concrete ground in an apartment. It had fallen from the tip of a particularly sharp blade that seemed to be made from an otherworldly glass-like substance. The blade seemed to sap the life from the room, and anypony who walked in would be able to immediately identify it as evil. Ancient runes played across the blade, now burning with an eldritch fire, now glowing with soul-rending ice. It exuded death. It was being held to the neck of an old stallion, at least 80 years old, who had gulped, pushing his skin against the burning cold edge of the blade. The drop of blood hit the floor; the room was mirrored in his wide eyes. He was concussed, and had been forcefully been made to come to his senses with magic - not a plea sent process by any means. The room was looking a little worse for the wear - the carpet lay shredded around by the base of the walls, ripped from the concrete floor by the force of the blast that had erupted in the centre of the apartment. A fine layer of grey dust had settled on everything, the powdered remains of about 3 cubic metres of concrete. A single foreleg, torn from its body at the knee, was all that remained of the stallions wife. Before the aged stallion stood a younger one, flanked by a mare. A much larger brute was holding him in place.

"Alright then, Mr. Tomes - or may I call you Dusty? Yes, I believe I will." The stallion facing him spoke. He had a lemon-yellow coat, with a Cutie-mark of a dictionary. His mane was black and glossy, and a thick handlebar moustache dominated his face. He wore a top hat, so he could be either an earth-pony or a unicorn. "My name is Inky Scribbler. I believe, Dusty, that we need to talk. About the good old days - back when you were a strapping young stallion, and Flowing Scroll here," he gestured at the severed limb lying on the ground "was a little more... shapely." Anger flashed in the eyes of Dusty Tomes. "Let's get straight to business - where are the journals?"

"Buck off!"

"No need to be rude, Dusty. All I want is a simple answer."

"You just killed my wife. You, your friends, and your answer can all go and buck yourselves."

"Now now Dusty. I know that you're no stranger to danger, considering who you followed around for half your life, but take it from me - cooperation is in your best interest. We both know there is one way for this to end; but how we get to that point is your decision. I just don't want to have to make Velvet Thorn here do any more work than she has to. She and I have a long journey ahead of us you know, and I'm trying to save her energy."

Dusty Tomes flicked a glance at the mare's Cutie-mark. A ritualistic circle drawn in red, standing out against her deep purple coat and silver mane. Magical circles were not uncommon for focusing magic, particularly larger spells, but this was not a normal circle. He had seen circles like that before, in the slums of Marexico City. He did not want to relive any of the sights, sounds or emotions related to that particular type of circle. Dusty knew he was going to die - everypony in the room did - but he also knew they still needed him, for a little while at least. Until he gave them the information they needed, or told them where it was. He made up his mind. He wasn't scared of death; a side effect of the adventures of his youth, he supposed. By now most ponies he had ever considered friends were dead, including his wife. He was going to go soon enough anyway - why not go on his own terms? It would save him plenty of pain, and delay this Inky Scribbler for a few days. That must be enough time for somepony to notice, right? To do something? Maybe. Gritting his teeth, and thinking of his wife, Dusty Tomes spoke his last words - "Buck you!" - as he thrust himself forward onto the blade held to his neck. The solitary drop of blood that had landed on the floor earlier was swiftly joined by much, much more.

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Dear Twilight Sparkle,

I must ask you and your friends to come to Canterlot immediately; there is a matter of great urgency that we must discuss. Make sure you leave a note cancelling any prior engagements for an indefinite amount of time. We have a great deal of things to discuss, and we must be quick if we are to succeed. Tell no-one why you are leaving; secrecy is of the utmost importance.  I apologise for the lack of details, but all will become clear soon enough.

Princess Celestia

"Well," said Twilight Sparkle to no pony in particular "this can't be good."