//------------------------------// // The Tragic Art // Story: The King Is Dead, Long Live The Emperor! // by Bucking Nonsense //------------------------------// "Necromancy is known by many as 'The Tragic Art', and for good reason." A younger, more innocent Midnight Black listened to the elderly necromancer as he spoke, filled with the impatience of an idealistic youth who had a goal, but lacked the means of reaching it. It had taken her moons to find the necromancer in question, one well-versed in the art, willing to take on a student, and obscure enough to avoid the attention of the authorities. But before he'd begin her tutelage, he insisted that she listen to this speech without interruption... "It is an art based upon the defiance of death," he continued, his voice creaking, but less like the creak of a cemetery gate, and more like that of the hinges of a door, one that might seal the tomb of some great king of antiquity, the kind taller than five ponies and almost as wide, the kind that might require a team working together to open, and would do so ponderously and profoundly. It was old, but also filled with both power and meaning, and seemed to reverberate within the soul itself. "And to wish to defy death is to have experienced loss in some way. A lover, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a dear friend, a child, the population of a hometown or city, most necromancers have lost at least one, if not many." The elderly necromancer shrugged, causing his old, dusty and tattered robes to ripple, and he added, "But learning necromancy after someone has died is the worst time to learn the art: It takes moons, if not years, of diligent study to learn to revive the freshest corpse, and by the time one has reached that point, well, the corpses of their loved ones will be well beyond that point. It is only within the first few hours of death that one can truly bring someone back to life. Ideally, within the first few minutes are best, before any sort of decay has set in. The longer a corpse decays, the more difficult resurrection becomes. Within half a day, true revival becomes a work of monumental proportions, and often fails to bring back the dead, instead bringing back something... else. This is why those who wish to simply bring back a loved one would be better served learning the art beforehoof, rather than waiting until after tragedy has struck." With a dry chuckle, the black-robed figure added, "Better yet, they should have learned the healing arts instead: Healing spells are rare, precious, and difficult to perform, but a truly powerful healer can bring anyone back from even the brink of death, or up to within five minutes of the heart stopping. The healing arts are more readily accepted everywhere, and healers are looked upon with reverence, rather than disgust, if not outright hate. However, nopony believes that tragedy can strike until after it has, so nopony ever prepares for it, and thus, necromancy exists." Midnight Black listened with annoyance. Yes, there was certainly tragedy in her past, and recently as well, but she was practical enough to understand that those who'd been lost, she could not expect to have brought back. She wasn't looking to the past, but rather, towards the future... The future that she and the newfound Circle would create. "The undead," the necromancer continued, finally reaching a subject that interested the young mare, "are in many ways a perversion of the art, or perhaps a sign of the art's decay. Yes, decay. That is a word every necromancer should become familiar with. Everything rots, and decays. This decay has created the undead, just as decay bring maggots and pestilence. Many have tried to bring the dead back after that half-day mark, and the results are often... mixed. Zombies, ghouls, wights, vampires, liches, and other, even darker things, are brought back when the art is used on a corpse that has gone too long. While these creatures can be powerful, they are also an abomination, a thing that should not be, and nothing like what it was in life." Pacing, the necromancer began to explain, "A necromancer seeking from the outset to create and control the undead is rare, but they do exist. However, no matter how pure one's intentions may be, the truth is that handling such dark and corrupt magic is much like handling dung: There's no way you can do so without staining yourself in some way." And that was what Midnight Black wanted: The Black Feathers used the undead willingly, and to great excess, during the Black Feather War. She thought it ironic that the corpses she had taken great pains to procure would be the first wave of corpse soldiers that would be used to safeguard Equestria's safety for generations to come... The necromancy paused, then looked at Midnight. While his hooded robes obscured his features, a single green light glowed within, almost like an eye. "No matter how high your ideals, no matter how pure your purpose seems, you will be corrupted by the very arts you wield." He turned away and began pacing again. "Ideals, in necromancy, are much like the corpses we work with: At first, you have something simple, and pure, and for the most part unblemished. Then, like insects, reality creeps in, and lays the little eggs of compromise within the flesh. Those eggs eventually hatch, and become ever-growing maggots of greater and greater compromise, which devour our ideals from within, ultimately leaving us with something loathsome, disgusting, and utterly abhorrent, something that we can no longer even recognize. I warn you now, and I will warn you of it every day, from now until your tutelage with me ends: You are making a mistake, learning necromancy, and sooner or later, you will become a monster..." The necromancer pulled his hood back, revealing a skull completely devoid of flesh, with orbs of green fire glowing within the sockets. "...Just. Like. Me." ------------------------------------ Midnight Black catapulted awake, stifling a scream as she did so. Even now, years after, that nightmare still came to haunt her. She worked with corpses every day, some in far more loathsome condition than the old lich she had learned necromancy from, and yet that one moment, the moment when he had revealed the eventual fate of most necromancers, still haunted her. She did all she could to forestall that fate: Purification rituals and other, more potent arts, were worked upon her body daily, to cleanse her body of the taint of necrotic energy. She never handled the undead without some form of protection, and always wore the appropriate charms to hold off the dark magics that might cling to a reanimated corpse. However, sooner or later, she knew in her heart that she would begin to rot away, and become a lich. To reassure herself that she was safe, at least for now, she looked over at a nearby mirror that she kept at her bedside. She was not vain, or at least she did not think of herself as such, but it helped, knowing that she was completely devoid of any of the outward signs of necrotic energy exposure... But when she saw a skeletal figure with glowing orbs of green fire staring back at her, she could not help but to scream, even in a body that no longer had a throat. ------------------------------------ Midnight Black catapulted awake, and after a brief second, took a deep breath. That last part was new. She'd heard of nightmares that seemed to end, and then struck again, harder, but had never experienced one herself before. Thankful to be awake, she looked down at her hooves... And saw nothing but skeletal limbs before her. ------------------------------------- Midnight Black catapulted awake... again... and again... and again... And Princess Luna, with an expression that somehow managed to combine both loathing and pity, watched on. It was still two hours before dawn, and Midnight Black was going to spend those hours in a great deal of discomfort. According to Scarlet Wake's notes, this necromancer was, ironically, among the most idealistic of the members of The Circle, as well as one of the most zealous. However, he had theorized that she was also the most fragile member of the group because of that, and if the proper pressure were to be applied to her, it might cause her to break. The proper place to apply that pressure? Her health and her appearance. She was fastidious about maintaining proper safety procedures while using necromancy, since failing to do so could transform one into a lich accidentally... And in spite of everything else that she had done, Midnight Black still harbored hopes of being able to, after the Circle's work was done, finding a stallion and settling down, possibly with another certain member of The Circle. A lich, being a loathsome abomination, has little hope of doing so. The Circle had other necromancers, some of which were almost as powerful as this one, but without Midnight Black, they'd lose one of their most powerful magic users. While Luna disliked doing things this way, she had to admit, Pan was right: It was a lot easier, and safer, than trying to capture Midnight Black in person at the moment. If handled properly, she could be taken off of the playing field before the true battle had even begun...