Diary of the Dead

by AppleTank


4: Second Life

1153 years ago

“And .... nothing.”

I kept tabs on the first. The zero. Almost like a familiar, if I didn’t leave it to rot once I was done with it. I sat and meditated as I zealously followed through Zero’s eyes for the entire year, making sure there was absolutely nothing left of my most hated enemy.

Finally, after nearly seventeen years of my new life buried in work, my heart is free, my demons vanquished. I basked in the dim, winter sun that had become the new normal for the past decade, revelling.

And smiling.

And joyously.

And ... and... and... 

Now what?

The smile on my face slowly fell over the course of an hour, as I stared blankly out at the quiet snow. I had spent more time engineering the extinction of a species than growing up. Despite technically being twenty-seven years old, I knew about as much about life as the ten year old I still resembled. 

I never consciously noticed it, beyond always needing a stool to reach the higher shelves, but it only hit me after I stopped focusing on revenge that I could see how I had barely aged a day. 

Also for the first time in seventeen years, I had no unreachable goal to reach eternally for. I sat by the window for the rest of the day, lost to the world, oblivious to the beings moving by me. 

I still had my bag. It was a bit ratty and worn, but it was the only thing I had left of home that wouldn't give the waking nightmares a voice. The cloak was given to me by Gladas for the cold, and not exactly worth much anyhow. I glanced back at my bag now, at the small bundle of brochures I never opened. 

There was a short description of Appleton, along with a basic map of locations and history. Nothing about the lich. However, there was a brochure seemingly designed for a low security access of Plan P. It included a small, detailed map. 

I folded them up, placed them back into my bag, and went in search of the bar. 


The bar was in a small secluded corner of the building. It gave a nice, cozy feel. According to the guide, a griffon named Dimi Haneken. 

I poked my head in, and saw said griffon placing bottles into crates. She was the second shortest in this place, only barely taller than me. Her crest was a green one would find on a duck, though starting to grey, and had a tired look to her. According  to the brochure, she was a HummingBird Griffon. She was also one of the first to join this group, the other being Agatha the ‘Seer’, and Wally Falcowolf. Wally was apparently Gladas’s grandfather, and the technical founder of the place. 

The brochure had nothing on Dimi’s job. 

Eh. 

Whatever.

I shuffled over to the bar situated in the corner. It wasn’t really a bar, to be honest. It was more like a wine rack with table stuck in front of it. It could barely fit more than two persons standing there. 

I gazed over the racks, wondering if I was able to understand any of them when Dimi skidded to a stop in front of me. “Wait-wait-wait, no. Are you looking for something?”

I gazed blankly at her. “One of them,” I said, pointing at the racks.

“Not a problem.” She led me to one of the seats on the other side of the mini-table and deftly grabbed a bottle from the rack, a mug from underneath the table, and slid it into my hooves. She casually flipped her talon onto the cork of the bottle, and let gravity drag it off into her waiting talon. Said talon then filled my mug.

I gave a half-hearted shrug at the performance and took a sip.

I glanced at the mug. “This isn’t alcoholic.”

“That is correct,” Dimi agreed with a nod.

“I thought this was a bar.”

“It is. We still carry a few bottles of non-alcoholic drinks for colts.”

I grinded my hooves against the table. “I. Am not. A colt.”

She shrugged. “You look about ten, eleven to me.”

“Excuse me? I’ve been here for seventeen years. How have you not seen me?”

“Bar rules. Your biologics are less than sixteen, no drink.”

I glowered at her. “And what’s stopping me from taking it.

“I am the third oldest griffon alive. You sat in a room for seventeen years.” She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t use it, but I actually took some combat training.”

“Grrrr...” I nursed my ... drink unhappily.

Dimi leaned on the table, resting her arms beside me. “Also according to the rules, as your current barkeep I am obligated to ask you about your problems. So, what brought you here?”

I flinched and looked away, quickly accepting the juice and sipping. Dimi leaned in closer with a wide grin. “Weelllll?”

“Not thinking about it.” I replied tersely. 

“Perfectly valid, but you’re only going to be able to go so long without accidentally thinking about it again. You won’t lose anything if you air it to someone like, hmmm?” Her pointed talon wiggled in the air, as if choosing an invisible person, before it landed on herself “Oh right! Me! How ‘bout it?”

My ears folded back, teeth grinding. I tried to focus on my drink, but it was hard when I could almost feel Dimi’s gaze burning into my neck, and her quiet “Hmm?”s droning over and over.

I sighed. “I killed the ones that took my family from me. But they’re still dead.” Siiiip. Groan. “And if I tried to revive them, either your leader is going to kill me, or whatever abomination I summon will eat me. I can’t do anything but watch them all just ... rot away.”

Dimi nodded. “Indeed. You are the only one from, what was it?”

“Sunny Pines.”

“Yeah, the only one from Sunny Pines that got out. You’re probably the only being on the planet who still knows it exists, where it sits on a map, the ponies that lived there.”

“...yeah.”

“Heck, we could raze it, and nobody would notice--”

“NO!” I glared into her eyes, breathing heavily.

She smiled gently back. “Well, it looks like somebody needs to make sure Sunny Pines will be remembered.”

“What?”

“Oh, you know, a historian. Someone who writes about the history of a place or event, and records it for future generations. Someone like ...” she poked my chest. “You, perhaps?”

“...me?” My mind’s eye brought up pictures of my home, rebuilt, restored, and with me in the center of it all, its guardian. “Yes ... yes, I would very much like it.” I stood up. “I can do that, right? Yeah.”

I stood up, forgetting about my drink entirely. They wouldn’t be a frostbitten afterthought. They would live again. I wouldn’t be able to revive them, the library has warnings everywhere about it, but this would be the next best thing. Even if nopony else could touch them, I could bring them to life the best way I knew how. And they wouldn’t be forgotten.

Not on my watch.

“Say...”

I looked over my shoulder, confused. “Huh?”

Dimi scratched her chin. “You up for being a group historian?”

“Group ... historian?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “This entire mess was a hack job. We barely have enough ... bodies to handle everything. We would appreciate if you spent some time helping us organize our records. Knowledge is important. Too much blood has already been lost trying to protect what we have. You saw the results of that yourself. You in?”

To Dimi’s surprise, my coat seemed to brighten just by the barest of shades, with my Mark pulsing faintly, or so she told me. For the first time in over a decade, I felt a purpose slotting into my soul. Not despair driven revenge. I was creating again, and able to give back to those who had saved me.

Dimi watched my face and nodded. “Go talk to Gladas about it. She’ll probably be willing to start your training. Check Option P on that map of yours. If she isn’t there, just wait a bit. Oh, and Cycle?”

I paused, a hoof raised. “Hmm?”

She raised a new bottle. “When you’re done, I’ll save a bottle for ya. There ain’t no rules against drinking for a twenty-seven year old.”

“What?” I tilted my head to the side, confused by this sudden change in response.

“Welcome to the Honeycomb Club, brother.”

My eyes widened, and teared up a little. I tapped my hoof against my chest. “I won’t let y’all down,” and dashed off.


Dimi stared at the retreating colt's form, waiting for the sound of the door to slam, before slumping. Her smile turned frosty and tired. Agatha’s pepper’d crest rose from behind the counter and rested on the surface, a large grin on her face. 

Dimi grabbed her own face. “Don’t tell me to do that again, I don’t like acting.”

“Oh, but you were perfect!” Agatha gushed. “You made him live again. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

“And why weren’t you doing it?”

“I use strings, my dear. Plus, you were trained a barkeep. I know you are wanting for something.” Agatha patted her co-patriot’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I got something in the works. Think of it as training!.”

Agatha pushed out from the wine rack and limped away, leaving Dimi alone. 

“Screw it,” she muttered, and popped off a cork.


Dear Diary,

And, well, any reader who looks back at this in the future. Hopefully that includes me too. Hi me.

Well, I did it. Took me seventeen years to finally join them. And finally figure out what they were called. “Honeycomb Club”. Yeah, I was confused too. Apparently, it was part joke, part misdirection. The last group apparently had a far more ... “pretentious” name. Didn’t help them when they got exterminated to the last after less than a century.

My role is basically to act as a historian. Not sure what Dimi was doing, but eh, I enjoy it. It lets me bring Sunny Pines back in some way. 

I talked to Gladas today, to let her know that I wish to join. She’s going to help start planning my schedule tomorrow; haven’t been this excited in a while. I’m getting a front row seat to magic the planet has forgotten. And getting the chance to wield it. Who wouldn’t be excited?

As for my duties, whenever I’m not training, I’m going to be working on writing down my Home. Probably start setting dates to interview the rest of the Honeycomb Club. This place has been here for more than half a century, something has got to have happened to get them all together. 

What were they doing? Why does Dimi look a lot healthier than Boss, Wally Falcowolf? Who the heck is Agatha? What was Appleton like.

No history book is good without their origin story, after all. In a few hundred years or whatever, this will be the best account left. And I get to write it!

Oh, so many ideas; my friends just keep on hopping around yelling my ears. Gotta try to calm them down, see you next time.

-Cycle Garand Springfield.


Agatha poked her head around the corner of a hallway to stare at the back of the eager colt’s head. She observed him quietly for a few minutes, sighed quietly, and left him to his own devices.


How to stay being immortal.

1. Don’t piss off the populace. Never overestimate your ability to kill numerous individuals hellbent on killing you. It only takes one mistake on your part to end your life.
2. Don’t piss off the country. This comes from the first rule. The only thing worse than numerous individuals trying to kill you is numerous trained soldiers trying to kill you. In fact, you should only impress them if you are absolutely sure they aren’t pretending to be nice and just waiting to cut your head off when you aren’t paying attention.
3. Don’t present a target. People can’t hate what they can’t see. Act normal. Average. Hide everything. Trust no one you can’t control. Don’t make yourself a center of attention. Popularity breeds curiosity. Death magic was never a popular subject. Don’t let people know you know it.

-Wally Falcowolf