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!"