Equestria is gone.

In its place a barren and inhospitable wasteland, inhabited by the worst of ponykind's darkest nightmares. But some small remnants of the old ways survive, clinging to a harsh and unforgiving existence constantly on the edge of oblivion. These lucky few are the descendants of the nation of friendship, the survivors of magical cataclysm and the harshest punishments ponykind could levy upon itself. Some hid themselves away in great underground vaults called the Stables, sealed away until Equestria was habitable once more.

However, there were other things that weathered the storm. Things hidden in dark places beneath the earth, concealed by their creators for use in the great war, before the creators were themselves destroyed. And here we find one such thing. A weapon, a device for killing that fed off the lives of its victims, artificially filled with spite and malice.

This weapon had a name, but he can't remember. This weapon had a life, now torn asunder. This weapon had a love, irretrievably lost.

And now he wants payback.

When a Necromancer is hurled into the place between places then escapes to another world at the cost of his life it is not the end. Being a Necromancer he returns to life with ease, but is skirting the edges of consciousness, and unable to truly wake as a mysterious figure uses magic to put him on the back of a horse to carry him away into the night.

To make matters worse the phylactery he used to save his own life recreated him as a member of the dominant race with... some errors. His injuries are still present and he's now in a much smaller body with his magic drained to nothingness.

So now he's horribly injured, held captive by an unknown force, in an unfamiliar body, in an unfamiliar world and completely exhausted. He's had worse days. He just can't think of any off the top of his head. So familiar territory then, nothing to worry about.

(Thank you again Tulip for the amazing piece of artwork.)

On Hiatus due to Life. Sorry.