Death Valley

by Rambling Writer

17 - Keep it Together

Tratonmane was cold. Frost and frigid air clawed Amanita, worming their way through all the hairs of her coat to bite at her neck and steal the warmth from her very blood. She felt like if she didn’t keep blinking, her eyes would freeze over. When she breathed, daggers poked at the inside of her mouth. A little bit more of the chill managed to get through her furs to her hooves with every step.

Tratonmane was cold. Word must have spread, because whenever Amanita passed someone, they glared daggers at her and moved to the other side of the street. At best. Sometimes, she heard mutters in a thick mountain accent she didn’t bother deciphering because she already got the gist. One pony marched into the nearest building and slammed the door. Amanita could almost hear the conversations that were undoubtedly going on behind other closed doors. It made her stomach churn.

She walked. Somehow, she didn’t turn around. Fortunately, she remembered where Arrastra’s house was. It was as unassuming as any other, but the weight of anticipation made it loom large. She heard voices inside, ponies talking heatedly with each other. No yelling, though.

Amanita raised a hoof to knock on the door. The cold finally reached her heart and she froze. What would she say that she hadn’t already? Why would Arrastra or Crosscut or anyone listen to her now? How could she fix this? What could she possibly do?

She could try.

Knock knock.

The second before the door opened was stretched into an eternity. Amanita felt tired by the time she heard footsteps approaching. Finally, the door was opened by Arrastra.

Amanita opened her mouth.

Arrastra slammed the door in her face.

No curses or invectives. Better than she’d expected. Amanita took a deep breath and knocked again.

No answer. Ponies were talking on the other side of the door. Amanita waited. And waited. And waited.

When she thought she’d waited long enough, she knocked again. More talking. Still no answer. She waited.

At some point, Arrastra pulled the door open. She was breathing heavily and her eye was bloodshot. “S-say yer piece an’ leave,” she snarled.

“I’m sorry,” Amanita said immediately.

Arrastra glared at her. But she didn’t push her away.

“I, I swear,” Amanita said. “It’s- I know the feeling. How, how you’d do anything to get them back, if only for a little while. And- It’s- I am just so, so sorry that I- that I couldn’t give you what I promised. I- I don’t blame you for… feeling what you’re feeling.” Now that she was talking, the words came easily. So easily she sometimes tripped over them. That didn’t matter.

Arrastra’s anger didn’t lessen, but it started feeling forced.

Part of Amanita wanted to take that little scrap as a win and leave. Maybe it’d even be the right idea, let Arrastra cool off for a while. But there were more things she needed. She kept talking before she could think about it. “But I- My ritual should’ve worked. I-”

Arrastra’s anger snapped back into full force. “Dinnae make excuses,” she said. “That-”

“No, listen, Pyrita went into the mine eight days ago,” said Amanita hastily. “And, and there’s always the possibility that something in the mine interfered with-”

“Dear land, ye’re still thinkin’ ’bout that? I already named ye-”

“We triangulated it and that’s where the ley line starts, she was there when it turned-”

“Stop whinnelin’ an’ dinnae say another word, ’cause there ain’t a thing in the mine, ye caitiff scapegrace!” screamed Arrastra, her wings flaring. “Not! One! Thing!”

Amanita flinched back from her intensity and tried not to think about how bashing Arrastra’s head against the doorframe until her skull cracked open would make her quiet.

“Ye failed. Ye lost yer taffy,” spat Arrastra. “But ye deny it. It’s allas somethin’ else wi’ ye. It’s the mount, it’s the ley line, it’s somethin’ in the mine. Ain’t never yer fault. Nay. Ye’d rather break an ageable mare than admit y’ain’t a necromancer. Pfeh.”

Amanita realized her head was twitching up and down. After the last week, it was easy to believe, especially in a tone she’d often heard from Circe. If she’d believed it a few hours ago, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She’d’ve been able to offer some kind words and get right back to work without needing to play hero. Doing necromancer things.

Yet, grasping at straws, she asked one more question. “Can I at least see the body?”

Arrastra’s ear twitched.

And then Amanita was sprawled in the snow in front of the house, blood dripping from her throbbing nose and making impossible-to-miss stains in the snow. She sneezed; crimson mucus splattered down her muzzle. She raised her head only to see that the door was already closed.

Then it was yanked open and Crosscut scrambled down into the snow. “Y’alright?” she asked Amanita. She nudged a hoof under her body to start lifting her up. “She hit ye right hard.”

“I’ve had worse.” Her speech was clear. Huh. Leaning against Crosscut to minimize the way the world was spinning, Amanita managed to get back on her hooves. She blinked a few times, thought of something to say, decided it was calloused, and waited for Crosscut to speak.

Thankfully, she didn’t need to wait long. Unthankfully, she didn’t like what she heard. “I dinnae ken what ye’re a-thinkin’,” Crosscut mumbled, “comin’ here after what ye pulled-”

“I was just trying to explain myself,” Amanita said.

“So ye were, ye blatherskite,” said Crosscut darkly. “But then ye kept a-talkin’.”

“There’s more-”

“Ma ain’t right tae hit ye like that. But-” Crosscut’s speech came to a halt. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Ye ought tae leave,” she said quietly.

Amanita almost protested on reflex. If she could just explain herself- But this was why she’d kept being a necromancer a secret, right? Ponies not understanding and rejecting her out of hoof, even if she understood their reasons. Just from the opposite direction.

“You’un an’- that other pony-”

“Restricted Code.”

“Right. Her. The two o’ you’uns- Ye said ye’d heal my aunt. An’ a day after, she’s killed herself. Then ye-” Crosscut bit her lip and looked away. Her tail flicked as she pawed at the ground.

Social awareness hit Amanita like a club. “I, I’m gone,” she said quietly. “Sorry.” She immediately turned around and started walking away. Crosscut didn’t say anything; Amanita heard a door close behind her.

She kept walking. Her muzzle kept bleeding. She’d done what she could, said what she’d could. Maybe she’d asked for too much. But it was done, and although it was a small fraction of the weight on her shoulders, it was now gone. Code ought to-

“Ai! Amanita!”

Amanita couldn’t keep herself from tensing up as she turned around. The pony who came galloping out of the darkness was Whippletree. He looked strange out of his armor. He flared his wings to come to a stop quickly. “I believe ye,” he said. “Fer what that’s worth.”

Amanita’s eyes went wide and her shoulders grew a little lighter again. That was worth more than he thought. “Why?” she found herself asking. She quickly wiped her muzzle as clean of blood as she could.

“I dinnae ken much about ye,” Whippletree replied, “but that firs’ night, ye said ye were a blood doctor an’ healed Timberjack.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Persactly. Somepony ’oo daes somethin’ like that ain’t one tae… dae what ye did wi’ Pyrita fer fun. Sae I believe ye. An’ what my family’s daein’ ain’t right.”

“They’re people. They’re grieving. Death can…” Amanita shivered as a particularly cold gust of wind caught her. “…make people do weird things.”

Whippletree nodded. “Aye. That it can.”

The wind howled and snow curled around them.

“Are ye purely a… necromancer?” he asked quietly.

Debatable. “Yeah. That spell I performed in the forest? That was necromancy.”

Whippletree’s tail flicked. “An’ Bitterroot said she’d died twice. And ye had…”

“She did and I did.” Amanita didn’t add that she’d killed Bitterroot one of those times.

“Huh.” Another tail-flick.

A jolt of lightning suddenly struck Amanita. How had she forgotten this? “And I can call up her spirit,” she said quickly. Whippletree pulled his head back and nickered; Amanita kept talking. “Pyrita’s, I mean. It’s, that doesn’t have a limit. It’ll at least- let them- say goodbye.”

Whippletree’s ears and wings began twitching. He looked back the way he’d come, one of his hooves tapping at the ground. “D’ye swear it?” he asked.

“I swear it,” said Amanita. “I-” She raised a hoof, ready to start walking back. But she quickly put it back down. The last thing Arrastra and Crosscut needed was to see her again. “Would you- Can you- mention it to them? So they at least know.”

“I’ll find the time tae let ’em ken,” Whippletree said. “But… it might be some time afore it comes up.” He laughed nervously.

“Good thing time doesn’t matter for this spell, then, right?”

Whippletree laughed again, more warmly. “I reckon so.” Another look back. “Ah, beg yer pardon, my family has need o’ me, an’-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Be seeing you,” Amanita said. “And thank you for-”

Her eyes suddenly grew wet. She clenched her jaw as she wiped them. “Thanks for believing me,” she gasped quietly.

Whippletree nodded, watching her intently. Then he bowed loosely and winged away.

Once the darkness had swallowed him up, Amanita continued heading for the inn. She was in that state of tired where her thoughts just sort of drained out of her. She would be just fine lying in bed for a while. At least, once she cleared her nose of her clotted blo-

“You said you were a necromancer?”

Amanita flinched and spun around. Carnelian had melted out of the dark and was looking at her like she wanted to eat her throat out. Taking a step back, Amanita babbled, “I, I am.” Probably.

Carnelian’s eyes narrowed. They were the only part of her that seemed to be moving. “Are you,” she muttered.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t bring Pyrita back,” said Amanita. How many times would she be saying that in the next few days? A lot. “I just- The ritual’s worked before. I don’t know why it didn’t now. What more do you want me to say? Do you want a step-by-step demonstration of it? Maybe one for calling up spirits of the dead. Or how about seeing the moment of someone’s death? The militia knows what I’m talking about, even if they didn’t know it was necromancy.”

Carnelian tilted her head. She licked her lips in the chilly wind. Her gaze was oddly intent. She didn’t say anything.

Somehow, that lack of response pushed Amanita closer to the edge. “What more do you want?” she snapped. “That’s the truth. All of it. I don’t know what’s going on here. I probably wouldn’t know if it introduced itself by name. So if you want to talk to me, say something, because otherwise, I’d like to go back home, please.”

Home.

She’d meant her room at the inn. “Home” had just slipped out. But after the cold, the dark, the hostility, the clueless running around, the utter failure of what ought to be her greatest skill? Yeah. She wanted to go home. It was only, what, a few hundred miles of frozen mountains between here and the greener pastures of easy travel? She could manage that, sure. She’d done it before, and with a lich on her tail. She just needed to leave Code and Charcoal in the lurch.

She tried telling herself she’d never abandon her team like that. It was mostly convincing. Mostly.

At her slip, one of Carnelian’s ears twitched and she suppressed a smirk. She shook her head, flared her wings, and took off.

Amanita muttered something uncouth and kept walking, perhaps stomping a little more than usual. But her brief spout of anger had bubbled away by the time she reached the Watering Cave and she kept her head low as she pushed open the door. The quiet creak of the hinges felt like a cannon blast. She swallowed and forced her feelings down. Just for the moment.

It was crowded in the common room. Was it dinner time already? Apparently. Sound had blurred into that indistinct muck of overlapping conversation, but Amanita somehow picked out a few words here and there. Pyrita. Necromancer. Liar. Fraud. Her hooves trembled as she kept walking through the crowd and the flickering lamplight. Occasionally, ponies noticed her. Sometimes they made sure she saw them turning their backs to her. Sometimes they hissed insults as she passed, so she wouldn’t know who said what. Once she was hit in the head with a turnip. Whatever the case, conversation died around her.

Up the stairs. Amanita took a quick stop at the bathroom to clear her nose and wipe her eyes. Her reflection wasn’t withering yet, but it looked like it was about to. Into her room. Bitterroot was back. Code was pacing. Charcoal was writing something on a scroll. They all looked up as she entered. Bitterroot immediately asked, “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Amanita said. “It was- fine.”

“Define ‘fine’.”

“Fine enough to make me hungry,” Amanita said. Indeed, her stomach was rumbling. “I’m already up. You all tell me what you want and I’ll bring it back up.”

Bitterroot nearly glared at her, but the group compiled a list and wrote it down on a scroll. Amanita almost stumbled down the stairs as the day threatened to catch up with her. She reached the bar, where ponies left their stools to get away from her, and walked up to Cabin. “Could I get some food to take up to my room?” she asked.

“I thought necromancers ate hearts,” Cabin grunted. She looked Amanita in the eye. “An’ ye’re a necromancer, ain’t ye?”

“Eating hearts is impractical,” Amanita said, almost without thinking. “They’re hard to get at. Protecting them’s what the ribcage is for. So you need to either hack through all the cartilage holding it together or break all the ribs individually. And besides, it’s a very tough muscle. Barely chewable at all.”

Cabin tried to remain stonefaced, but Amanita saw a minor twitch.

“If life force is what you’re after, blood’s much easier to get,” Amanita continued. “It’s probably cleaner in the aggregate, too.” She squinted at Cabin’s neck. If you knew where to look, you could almost spot a pony’s pulse. “I could use a butter knife. I’d need to get less than an inch deep. Right there, right on your carotid.” She pointed. “You’d be dead in moments.”

Not only did Cabin twitch, but her pupils contracted.

“And yes, I’m a necromancer, but I’d much prefer whiskey and vegetables,” Amanita said. “So if you can please just give me some stupid sunblasted whiskey and vegetables so we can get away from each other, that’d be nice.”

Amanita and Cabin looked at each other. Then Cabin pulled a tray and some plates out and set them on the bartop. “What farm stuff dae ye want?” she grunted.

Something nagged at the back of Amanita’s head and she asked, “We still have money on our tab, right?”

Cabin tilted her head, just a little. “…Aye,” she grunted. “What farm stuff dae ye want?”

Good. Amanita pulled out her list and started reading from it. Cabin immediately yanked it away and read it herself, skimming the items with ease. She nodded, set it on the bartop, and started gathering food. Slowly. Amanita sat and waited.

The light behind her darkened as someone, probably an earth pony, loomed over her. “Ye say ye’re a necromancer,” the pony said. Stallion.

Amanita pulled into herself and started examining the wood grain of the bar. She’d revealed a risky part of herself to do the right thing; all this felt like some kind of messed-up reversed justice.

“Guess I’m supposed tae be scarified o’ ye, eh? Heh. Didnae work out the way ye planned it.”

Her gaze wandered to the tray, to one of the plates. She could break it into shards-

“I’m tellin’ ye, I ain’t seen a more pathetic lie in my life. Mebbe it works in Canterlot.”

-take the largest one-

“Ach, but y’ain’t in Canterlot, are ye? Naw, it’s dangerous out ’ere.”

-and stab that loudmouth right in his jugular. Deep.

“Bet ye’ve never had arythin’ worser’n a scraped knee in yer life.”

He’d never see it coming. He’d be quiet. And she’d feel good.

“…Say somethin’, ye loathly muff!”

Stabby stab stab.

“Yer vittles,” grunted Cabin.

Amanita flinched and refocused. Her plates had been filled with her list, cups of whiskey had been placed, and Cabin was looking at her like she was some kind of disease. “Thank you,” Amanita said. She grabbed the tray in her magic and slid it across the bartop so that if the stallion behind her hit her, she wouldn’t drop anything.

She wasn’t hit. She didn’t look behind her for any suspicious ponies. She climbed the stairs unopposed. By the time she reached their room, the desk in the corner had been dragged into the center of the room as a makeshift table. Amanita wordlessly dropped the tray on the desk and grabbed a cup and plate.

After relocking the door, Bitterroot took a sip of her whiskey and coughed. “Splo,” she muttered. “Definitely splo.”

Amanita tried it and immediately knew what Bitterroot meant by that. She took a long drink of the alcohol anyway. No one else objected.

There were several long minutes where no one so much as looked at each other. The only sounds were chewing, drinking, and the wind outside. But, eventually, Code set her plate aside and stood up. “Amanita. Charcoal. What do you think we should do?” she asked. She sounded strong in a way that could weather the harshest storms, but a single poke in exactly the wrong place would get her tumbling down.

Amanita opened her mouth, but before she could get any sound out, Charcoal stood up and said with an odd confidence, “We should leave the next time Tallbush takes the drain to- takes the train to Waypoint.”

Everyone turned to look at her. Charcoal had her legs pulled tightly together, but her head was high and her ears were up. And she stayed that way as everyone kept looking. Code coughed and flatly said, “Leave.”

“Yeah.” Charcoal gave little, jerky nods. “If, if nothing changes. Leave.”

“Even if we can’t figure out what’s wrong with the ley line?”

More nods. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

Code breathed in. Code breathed out. Code enunciated, “Expand.”

Charcoal blinked and started shuffling her hooves. “Well, i-it’s…” She twisted a particularly curly lock of her mane around a hoof. Then she took a deep breath and said, “You know the big, uh, problem that the kirins had?”

“You burst into flames when you’re peeved?” Bitterroot asked.

“The other one.” Charcoal pawed at the ground, her ears back. “Well, it’s, you know, we had this… whole big country outside the grove filled with other magical creatures and, and we… When we were having our… fiery anger problems, we… never went outside the grove. It’s, it’s, it’s… I don’t know what it is. We fought- thought we were the only ones who could handle our problems, but we couldn’t handle our problems, and we’d rather suppress our emotions and speech rather than handle our problems, so way to go on handling our problems, am I right?” She giggled nervously, flicking her tail. “It wasn’t even a… speciesiesist thing, we were just too fired up to think of anything else. Um, no pun intended. Other things hadn’t worked, and the Stream of Silence was easy and it was there, so… once Rain Shine proposed it, it’s… To be honest, I don’t think anyone really wanted to do it, but everyone thought everyone else wanted to do it, so we did it. So there we all were, pretending we weren’t dying inside because we thought everyone else was fine, just because we didn’t look outside the grove. It was…” She shivered and quickly changed the subject. “Then you ponies come, and you bring anger management classes, and boom: within a week, ninety percent less accidental arson than before the Stream.”

Charcoal looked between the ponies in turn. “I know we all… want to accomplish something, but… we’re not alone here. Well, it’s, I mean, we’re alone here, but- There’s a whole kingdom outside. We’re just three or four mares with some light equipment. If we need help, we need help. When did that become a bad thing?”

“But,” said Code, “the ley line-”

“-will be fixed by somepony else. It sucks. I know. I wanted to solve this. Maybe even more than any of you. But we locked the door to keep people out. Just, just, just forget about protocol for a moment. Does staying here feel right to any of you?”

“Well-” Amanita clamped her mouth shut. If she was being honest, if she was being really honest… it didn’t. Getting the ley line issue sorted out was the right thing to do, certainly, but it’d feel forced beyond belief. Even if Tratonmane treated a new group the same way, they wouldn’t have the same history, so it wouldn’t feel as biting. Just about anyone would be better than the three of them.

Before she could say anything, Code sighed and rubbed her face. “I’d rather slit my own throat than leave a job unfinished-” (Bitterroot flinched and put a hoof to her neck.) “-but you’re right. We’re not welcome here. Perhaps somebody else will be.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Charcoal glumly.

Code shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps not. But for now…” Sigh. “That still leaves us with…” She tapped the ground a few times. “…five days before the train leaves again. What until then?”

“I…” Charcoal swallowed and her tail flicked. “I don’t know. Crunch numbers? We still need to look at the data from the river…”

“And we’re running out of field operations to even do,” muttered Code. “It’s a start, if nothing else.”

Amanita coughed; Code and Charcoal both flinched. “I apologize,” Code said quickly, “but if you have any objections-”

“I don’t, actually,” Amanita said. “Charcoal was… very persuasive. I just wanted to say that. And, uh, Bitterroot? You can-” Swallow. “You can go home.”

“No,” Bitterroot said, her wings flaring. “No, no, definitely no.”

“The town hates us and you’re- You’re not doing anything. What’s the point in you staying?”

“Friendship. I came up here to provide moral support, and by gum, I’m going to provide moral support. Don’t even think about trying to talk me out of it. Oh, and you two?” She pointed at Code and Charcoal. “I’m not that good at magical theory, but I’m a good listener. You can come to me if you want to vent.”

It was stupid, pointless, self-sacrificing heroics, but Amanita found herself smiling anyway. “Thanks.”

For a moment, silence. Code took a sip of her whiskey and made a face at it. “Bitterroot, you know some of the names of the whiskey varieties, yes? This one is awful.”

“Sorry,” Amanita said.

“Not your fault,” Code said. “We just asked for whiskey, and…”

“Splo tastes pretty awful,” said Bitterroot. “And I never did try high life. Let’s see if we can get some of that.”

Once they were gone, Amanita glanced at Charcoal. She was already eating again, chewing her food with the slow deliberation of savoring it. When she noticed Amanita looking at her, she swallowed and said, “Did you know that some mages think the taste of ley fruits and vegetables is partly because of magic itself?”

…Even as a “let’s talk about something else” topic, that was out of left field. But once Amanita gave it the slightest bit of thought, she found herself naturally intrigued by it. “Really? How come?” She started chewing on a leek, paying extra attention to the taste. If only she’d known what leeks tasted like normally to compare…

“Well, it’s, you can see magic, you can hear magic, so why not the other senses, too? If the theory is right, continual growth on the ley concentrates the magic, so…”

---

She wasn’t hurting. She’d been given a sunblasted brand and she wasn’t hurting.

Night had come (not that it was easy to tell), everyone had turned in, and Bitterroot lay on her back in bed, looking up but not really seeing anything as her thoughts consumed her attention. She’d utterly forgotten about it after hearing of Pyrita’s death. She’d lifted her head to show her other scar to Arrastra, and yet her third-degree burn hadn’t caused her any pain. Even though it had just a few minutes earlier. No one else had even seen it. And when Code’s comment had jogged her memory, she hadn’t felt any pain when she’d rubbed her neck. Or any scar at all.

Another rub. Still nothing.

A quick glance in the mirror before bed had yielded similar results. No burns, no scarring, not so much as a discolored strand of hair. Nothing remained of that crossed circle. The one she’d also seen on the sign. The one Bitterroot couldn’t shake the feeling hadn’t been there on their way in. Was she seeing things?

Amanita’s team would need to know. Maybe it was a clue, maybe not. Either way, the only reason Bitterroot hadn’t already told them was because they had quite enough on their plate at the moment. But she couldn’t wait long. Tomorrow. Before noon, if she was lucky, ha ha.

Tartarus, even if she was unlucky, she’d at least try.

The darkness twisted before her eyes, making strange curves of black on black. Sighing, closing her eyes, she pulled the blankets tight around her. Although she tried to rest, she couldn’t get to sleep. And from the way everyone else was turning, she wasn’t the only one.

Comments

[Durnstaros]

Please tell me they aren't using thralls in the mine.

[redmar]

Bitterroot’s suspicions about the sign are certainly correct and it’s absolutely important.

[FanOfMostEverything]

“Stop whinnelin’ an’ dinnae say another word, ’cause there ain’t a thing in the mine, ye caitiff scapegrace!” screamed Arrastra, her wings flaring. “Not! One! Thing!”

The question, of course, is why nopony will let them confirm that.

A jolt of lightning suddenly struck Amanita. How had she forgotten this? “And I can call up her spirit,” she said quickly.

I was wondering when she'd remember that. Though given the previous issues, she should really test that. It's rude to tear a pony from the afterlife, yes, but even worse to dangle hope in front of their family only for unknown circumstances to tear it away twice.

I don’t know what’s going on here. I probably wouldn’t know if it introduced itself by name.

Why do I get the feeling that that's already happened?

Ah, and the brand's invisible. That's never a good sign. Letting another team tackle the problem is probably wise—maybe even throw in an alicorn in with the interested parties to override local authorities given the increasingly pressing issue, though that may be hasty escalation—but with five days left, there's still plenty of opportunity to uncover what's actually going on. Especially once Bitterroot reveals the crossed circle... assuming she can. We'll see how it goes.

[Thought Prism]

Well that went better than expected. I was expecting an attempted lynch mob the second Amanita stepped outside by herself.

Also, if it wasn't for the fact that this is a narrative, I would totally be behind the sentiment of just leaving immediately. It's clear nobody in Tratonmane really wants their help at all, so until whatever is happening starts killing ponies en masse, there's no issues with that. And even then, it's tied to the leyline, so any survivors can just also leave.

[Raugos]

“You said you were a necromancer?”

Carnelian’s eyes narrowed. They were the only part of her that seemed to be moving. “Are you,” she muttered.

Carnelian tilted her head. She licked her lips in the chilly wind. Her gaze was oddly intent. She didn’t say anything.

At her slip, one of Carnelian’s ears twitched and she suppressed a smirk. She shook her head, flared her wings, and took off.

Red flags. Red flags!

I'm pretty sure at this point that all the players have been introduced, and unless the villain is a force of nature, Carnelian's the most suspicious of the lot. Her little chat with Amanita seemed more than mere curiosity or smug satisfaction at kicking a downed mare.

She could've been assessing her potential threat as a rival necromancer, and now that Amanita's way off balance, it might be the time to strike.

Either that, or she's the reddest herring ever.

Amanita’s team would need to know. Maybe it was a clue, maybe not. Either way, the only reason Bitterroot hadn’t already told them was because they had quite enough on their plate at the moment.

Oh no, Bitterroot, nooo. You guys probably don't have the time to spare feelings.

I feel like this little delay is going to bite her in the flank...

[AppleTank]

I dunno about you, but i feel like getting an invisible brand by a possible zombie may be important information to get out as soon as possible.

[RoboRed]

Whatever that malevolent something is that's going on in town, I feel like it's getting a stronger grip on our heroes. Everyone's getting worn down, and those internal thoughts of Amanita were starting to become a bit worrying.

Speaking of whom, that trip through town went a bit better than expected. At least she didn't get lynched or anything for the sort but uh...yeah the ponies in Tratonmane are very much not happy with her.

Anyways, even if the group is feeling like bailing town come the next few days, I get the feeling that the next big thing™ is about to happen real soon.

Also, darn near everything in that interaction with Carnelian felt suspicious as all hell.

[Glow Haze]

11911071
Maybe they're using the corpses?

[Raugos]

11911536
Can't get black lung if they're all already dead...

[NorrisThePony]

Fascinating how this fic feels significantly more grim and oppressive in tone than the other two, despite the body count being significantly lesser by comparison, even now as shit has begun to make contact with the fan.

[Lurks-no-More]

Charcoal talks sense.

Also, I'm feeling more and more certain that there's something going on with Bitterroot. She herself is aware that the team should know about the brand she got, and the crossed circle in the 'o' of 'Tratonmane' in the sign, and on that diary Tallbush was worried about. But she "forgets" to mention any of that, and puts it off with flimsy justifications.

Maybe it's not a good idea to repeatedly resurrect ponies. Maybe it leaves them vulnerable to malicious influences.

[FridayPie]

11911591
It's Nameless Horror principle. At least he's it's working because reader got no context.

That art style looks familiar.. Who's the author?

[Rambling Writer]

11913216
It's slightly edited concept art for Rise of the Tomb Raider.