The Bright side of the Dark side

by monkeyXtypewriter

Chapter: 1

Ferris is what you'd call a quiet city.

It was a small community; no bigger than any of the other frontier towns outside equestrian borders, but still large and close enough to remain apart. It had a sizable marketplace with a steady merchant route, and a forge that made fine steel. Shops and eateries were aplenty, and the carefully maintained park was frequented to by many. It's main exports were grain and weapons.

At the end of Main Street was the chapel - the home to an order of paladins devote to the destruction of all things unholy, evil, and unjust. A place of zen, and tranquility where initiates train to combat the undead. An unshakable bastion of harmony.

So It goes without saying that, a necromancer, calmly trotting the campus, and not in fact laying siege, would be a peculiar sight, indeed.

The cloaked and hooded stallion, barded in comfortable robes, walked at a leisurely pace, bobbing his head to a tune only he could hear, and generally just going with the flow. A fiery amber colored muzzle stuck out from the hood, a lazy smile on his face, and a shock of straw colored mane bounced as he went. He wore the earth pony build well.

He walked with a jovial gait: not a self-centered swagger: but one of a pony who knew not to bet on sinking ships. Of one who could laugh at the fragility of life.

The courtyard terrace he walked was large - about the size of a hoof-ball stadium, and decorated with garden beds and delicate pots full of fragrant flowers. Climbing plants hung from the balcony that encircled the terrace, clinging to the pillars that held the walkways standing, and entwined the marble hoof-rails like cracks. Stained glass windows gleamed in the mid-morning sun.

The Necromancer regarded it all in passing, nonplussed by the dirty looks he was getting; mostly from the newer paladins - the veterans having come to tolerate his presence, if begrudgingly. They understood the advantages of having him there.

You fight fire with fire, after all.

The oak doors to the keep opened soundlessly and The Necromancer entered the hall. Banners with the chapter's glyph - a shinning war-hammer trimmed in ebony decorated the chiseled marble walls, and the occasional alfresco displayed busts of ponies long since passed.

Again, it was all spared nothing more than a passing glance, the majesty having worn off some time ago.

Apparently having arrived at his destination, The Necromancer cast a glance over his shoulder to the adjacent doors of the archives - where he spent the majority of most days. He returned to the door in front of him, and with a grin, threw them open with the same spontaneity that he had come to be known for.

"Mornin' everypony, sorry I'm late!" He said, sounding anything but sorry. His chipper tone had the last traces of an accent to it, but still gave his I's the whisper of a H to them, making an 'ah' sound when spoken.

Grin firmly in place, The Necromancer trot up to the stage of the lecture hall, where Elder Berry - The Elder and highest ranking, was waiting beside the podium. An almost imperceptible smile tugged The Elder's lips, but his face remained the same neutral look that he had come to be known for. The Elder was an Auburn coloured unicorn stallion with a greyish brown mane and a warhammer for his cutie mark. He regarded The Necromancer with old and wizened eyes that had no doubt seen a lot in his lifetime. "You're late." He said. "You where supposed to be here at dawn."

The Necromancer shrugged. "It's always dawn somewhere." He replied. While the remark was disrespectful, it carried nothing behind it - he respected the elder greatly. One does not entrust one's phylactery to just anypony, after all.

The Elder gave a gravelly huff of laughter. "That it is." He agreed. "Are you ready, lad?"

The Necromancer nodded. "Yep, let's get this show on the road." He agreed. "Newbloods to mess with, scrolls to read and all that." He said with a grin.

Rolling his eyes, The Elder said, "just don't traumatize them." And took his place to the left of the stage. The Necromancer trot up to the podium, using it to steady himself on his back hooves. He cleared his throat to get the attention of the 20 or so gathered in the room and they ceased their mutterings. He waved eccentrically.

"Hello, initiates! Welcome. For those of you that don't know, I am A necromancer - THE Necromancer." As expected, the room exploded into an uproar; somepony in the back even shouting "burn the witch!". It took 2 minutes and a commanding stomp from Elder Berry to calm them down. The Necromancer's grin couldn't have gotten bigger. That was always the best part.

He waited for the hushed whispering to lull, and continued. "I'm here today to talk to you about my part in the order, and what I," he placed a hoof on his barrel, then motioned to the crowd. "Can do for you. Now, you might be asking; 'wait, but, what can this dashing rogue do for me?'"

The elder rolled his eyes.

"We'll I'm glad you asked!" The Necromancer chirped.

"Healing of course." He continued energetically. "I can heal up to, and including death, but we'll come back to that in a moment. Now, in accordance with the chapters creedo written by Elder Berry," he motioned to said stallion, who nodded, "I have to ask permission first. ...So how about it?" He asked with a winning grin.

A stocky, broad shouldered earth pony stood up. "Why in the name of all that is holy would anypony want you to touch them with your filthy magic? I'd rather get shoed by Sizzle!" Accompanying 'yeah's' followed suite. A quite voice in the back asked what was wrong with his horseshoes, but no pony paid any attention.

The Necromancer's grin turned coy. "Very well. But let me ask you this; if you found yourself on the battlefield, moments from death, staring down some rapscallion's blade, would you change your mind? It's your choice in any case, but I'd personally like to get back up and watch the look on my enemy's face as I cut them down moments after they slew me. It's a barrel of laughs, trust me." There was murmuring from the crowd, ponies saying things like; "he has a point" and "seriously, guys, what's wrong with my shoes?" But there were still a good portion of neighsayers, worried that he'll 'taint their flesh and souls' or some such nonsense.

Their funerals, he thought, shrugging.

"Anyways," he said, gaining their attention, "back to the the topic at hoof. Now, in the event that I cannot heal you for whatever reason; separation from the group, being soul severed, whatever, I'd ask you to donate your body to the order. An undead paladin is... Heh." He trailed off with a drunken grin. They were one pony armies: even just one was worth 100 zombies, 50 skeletons, 25 ghouls or 10 lesser Demons.

'So... Much... Power.' He drooled at the thought.

"Lad, your catching flies."

Snapped from his reverie, The Necromancer cleared his throat and cast an apologetic look at The Elder. He mouthed the words 'heh. Sorry' and returned to the podium.

"Any questions?"

=====><=====

It was with a few hours of Q and A later, that saw The Necromancer in his unofficial dwelling. While he had quarters of his own where he slept, a large portion of his day was spent in the archives reading. The librarian, a lovely old mare by the name of Ruthless Slaughter (just Ruth, dearie), was nice enough to give him one of her triple platinum cards which granted full access.

It was an effective system, made redundant because apparently ponies forgot how to read, it would seem. On its best day, the archives would see 6 ponies max. Illiterate ruffians.

The Necromancer reclined lazily on one of the cushions, the light filtering in overhead warming and bright. Dust motes drifted with a laziness on par with his own, and the occasional flick of a turning page was the only sound in an otherwise quiet library.

Ruth still saw fit to 'shush' every other minute, but what are you gonna do?

The book, an excellent read, titled: My Grandma's A Were Pony - 101 ways to sew doggie jackets, was quite informative. Despite the deceptively queer tittle, it was the best abridged volume on wereponies available. Other titles are available, of course.

The Necromancer was flipping through the pages, occasionally stopping at an interesting bit, when his ears perked at the sound of hooves. He looked up to see a navy-blue earth pony stallion approaching.

"Hiya, I'm Converse Kicks, or just Kick, or just Converse for short. Are you the necromancer?" He asked rapidly. Despite looking to have gone through puberty some time ago, Kick's voice had a slight rasp to it. He had a smile on his face that reminded The Necromancer of his own.

"I am THE necromancer, yes." He replied.

"Great! Okay, So, I'm a new initiate here, and I saw your presentation this morning - interesting stuff, by the way - and just wanted to ask if you'd heal me if I get hurt, please?" He said energetically. The necromancer could already tell he would get along famously with kick.

"I can." He agreed, smiling.

"Great! Cheers, T.N! Can I call you T.N? Imma call you T.N." With that he turned with a speed that would have a Pegasus flustered, only to whip around on the spot again. "Oh, I almost forgot! Can you do me a favor, please?"

The Necromancer's interest piqued. He didn't get asked to many favors; apart from the occasional 'long walk off a small pier' shtick.

"What is it?"

Kick pawed at the desk contemplatively. "Well... a buddy of mine said that I had about as much of a chance as completing paladin training as I did of finding a green snake in a sugarcane field, mon. ...So I was wondering if you had any way of making me better!"

The Necromancer laughed amusedly. "AND you have a brain on you, too. You're gonna go far in this organization, kick. Oright, I can do that." He closed his eyes and channeled the magics.

As a necromancer, he drew from 2 separate energies - life and death; both of which came from the earth. So, as an earthpony, he merely acted as a conduit, unlike unicorns who had a fixed mana pool. Through strain and training, his ley lines - the channels that ran like veins throughout his body carrying the inherent magic that all earthponies have, and connecting them to the earth - had become the equivalent of an average unicorn's reserve. The larger the reserve, the more life or death magick that could be absorbed at a time. He was just a medium for it to flow through.

His hoof slid across the table, weaving life energy into a shaped form. It didn't come as readily as death energies to The Necromancer, for obvious reasons, but soon a small, deep-blue coloured ball coalesce atop his hoof. It churned like a calm ocean break, glowing aetherly and creating a whisper of air. When he was satisfied, he opened his eyes.

Kick was looking at the display like a kitty to yarn. If The Necromancer didn't know better, he'd say the navy stallion was about to ask if he could roll around on it - A look that was more often than not, the common to seeing life energy in its raw form. He laughed and flicked the ball at kick's chest.

It made contact, seeping into his barrel harmlessly. "Oh, tingly." he coed, rubbing at the spot. He looked up at The Necromancer after a beat.

"There. That'll take some of the strain off of your hooves. Your limits are increased and it'll help condition your body in weeks, rather than months," He elaborated. "Drink more juice, ya hear?"

"Thanks! I-"

"Heh, of course the mouthy one would find the fool." A snobbish voice said from an aisle. It was one of the more stubborn initiates from the briefing that morning.

Everypony was silent.

"How many stories would you say you could survive falling?"

Author's Note:

Be advised: I'm writing this on an ipad with no spellcheck and no editors. I also cut my foot. Written for the sake of writing.

Comments

[Orion 141]

Well well well... I may just enjoy this...

[RobertPooner]

Interesting.