>Conciousness slowly returns to you
>For once, you don’t return to the land of the living with a splitting headache.
>Every time you’ve been knocked out, a common occurrence, it’s been by a concussion.
>Now you are waking up fairly peacefully, the gentle warmth of the sun on your face.
>You shrug and turn away, bringing the soft, silk sheets up over your head.
>Just a few more minu-
>Wait a second.
>You feel your sheets
>Very soft.
>You also had never been rich enough to afford any sort of silk.
>You’re wide awake now
>You bolt upwards, and take stock of your surroundings.
>You’re in a dull gray room, stone making up the walls
>This looked nothing like Canterlot.
>This looked nothing like a prison cell for a dangerous man.
>This looked nothing like your home.
>Where in Tartarus were you?
>A large dresser by the wooden door, banded with blackish metals, a writing desk with a chair, and a balcony that was letting in the light.
>“Ah, you are awake.”
>You spin around, a robed figure standing by the head of your bed.
>Small green lights dance where its eyes should be.
>It looks familiar…
>Oh.
>Oh no.
“That…”
>You choke a little on your own voice.
“That wasn’t a dream, then.”
>The robed figure, Chronicler if your memory served, cants the shadow in his hood slightly.
>”I had hoped you had not received a concussion from your fall, after you fainted.”
>Chronicler stuffs his hands into the sleeves of his robe, and simply turns to the door.
>”I shall meet you downstairs when you are ready. There is a fresh change of clothes within the dresser.”
>The door opens of its own accord silently, and clicks shut as the Skeletal man leaves.
>Alone, you now notice that you are butt naked.
>Thank Celestia you were covered in these extravagant bed sheets, it would be awkward-
>Wait, no, scratch that.
>It was awkward.
>A skeleton undressed you and put you in this room.
>You rip the sheets up and check down stairs.
>You sigh in relief as everything is still in place.
>Your next worry was if that… thing, you had made friends with had made any attempts while you were under.
>Report, Lieutenant?
>Sir, dong appears to be unmolested and ready to serve.
>Very good Lieutenant, muster the Jimmies.
>You rise from your bed and walk over to the dresser, a cold breeze from the open balcony giving you gooseflesh
>You also hop, skip, and jump about on the cold stone floor.
>You wrench open the Dresser, expecting the same tattered Mobster outfit.
>You were only half-right.
>In the dresser lie a new, fresh, clean smelling suit that shared some of the same marks as your old outfit.
>A new pair of shiny boots
>And is that a…
>You take the small golden object in your hand, examining it.
>You twirl it around in your hands, and set it back.
>Whatever it was, you had no clue how to use it.
>You dress yourself easily enough, eager to stop that annoying breeze.
>You smelled fairly well for a man who had just fought in a battle.
>Fairly, being the key word
>You still smelled of rank sweat, and blood.
>Atleast you didn’t have holes in your coat now…
>You pull your boots on, and lace them up
>You have to admit, this Chronicler fellow was awfully nice for getting you fresh clothing.
>You open the door to the room you had awoken in, and step into the hallway.
>You can’t help but gasp at the size of the room.
>There were four other doors, and in the center of the room was a spiral staircase.
“Down stairs… Right.”
>You descend the stairs one at a time, slowly, taking in the scale of this strange individuals home.
“Hello?”
>You hear your voice actually echo as you come into view of a large, open study.
>”Ah, at last.”
>Chronicler is sitting in a high-backed, for lack of a better term, throne, a large table covered in books before it.
>”Yes, come in. I was just finishing up.”
>The scrolls begin to roll themselves up and fly back towards a set of sliding doors.
>They open autonomously for the scrolls, a massive spinning rack accepting them.
>That was unnerving, to say the least.
“So, I uh, guess you’re to thank for breaking me out?”
>No duh.
>Chronicler for his part doesn’t seem too put off by the question.
>”Yes.”
”And that was you that did the whole zombie spiel?”
>Again, his responds fairly calmly.
>”Again, yes.”
”Isn’t that kinda…”
>Oh shit nigger, what are you doing?
“… Kinda mean?”
>You could swear you heard a groan and a mumbled ‘Not shit shit again’.
>Skeleton’s can’t groan though.
>Silly brain.
>Stop being silly.
>”It would take me an hour to describe to you, Shermanator, the exact intricacies of my magecraft.”
>He leans on his right hand, and shifts his weight
>”I will not bore you, and simply tell you, yes. It is indeed considered an evil craft by the unenlightened.”
>That…
>That answered none of your questions, yet you felt content with the answer.
>You also thought you might have been insulted, but you’re not sure.
“Well… uhm…”
>Chronicler rises.
>”I ply my dark gifts to the greater benefit of my friends and allies.”
“But, isn’t it cruel?”
>The shadow in the hood shakes somewhat.
>”The dead are not bound to my will, spirit and all. I simply reuse the corpses once they are vacant.”
>A pause
>You go to speak, but are cut off
>”Much in the way that you eat the creatures you hunt.”
>Well, damn…
>You weren’t sure you had a solid counter for that.
>You certainly weren’t one to talk, you’d killed plenty before.
>If the dead scum you ended actually served a purpose outside of the pain they caused…
>The hell, we’re talking about defiling the dead here.
>”In either event, now is not the time. We have work to do.”
>Fine, fi-
>Wait…
>Hold on a tic.
”One more question.”
>Silence meets you, and after a pause, you go on.
>Here goes nothing…
“What Element of Harmony are you?”
>Chronicler doesn’t react.
>You think your educated guess might have been wrong, before he extends his hand.
>A staff of pure black materializes from a dark mist, atop it a greenish flame.
>”I am, indeed, one of the Elements of Disharmony, as I have coined them. I am the opposite of Honesty.”
>Oh.
>Oh shit.
>A powerful combat Unicorn, effectively?
>Who was everything Applejack was not?
>You tense up unconsciously.
>Chronicler scoffs.
>”Please. Simply because I am the embodiment of deception does not make me a habitual liar.”
>Chronicler rises, and walks around the table to you.
>You unclench your fists, not realizing you had balled them up.
>”Besides. Have I done wrong by you? We are in this together. These other Elements, I am uncertain how well we can trust them.”
>Your turn to scoff.
“But how do I know I can even trust you?”
>The Skeleton looks into your eyes, those burning emerald flames giving no warmth.
>”Because, I always get what I want. And what I want, requires you to trust me.”
>You didn’t doubt it, not after this thing wiped the floor with Celestia.
“Alright.”
>Time to take a gamble.
“What’s our next move?”
>The Skeleton returns to its throne.
>”My next move is to track down the Element of Severity, the opposite of Laughter.”
>You quirk an eyebrow
“And.. What of myself?”
>The Skeleton does not bother looking up.
>”Go in to town and enjoy yourself. Remember that these are hard times, however, and you will be forign.”
>Ponyville.
“What of Rainbow Dash?”
>The Skeleton doesn’t even seem surprised.
>”She, with her five other friends, are currently in Fillydelphia. They shall arrive back in Ponyville in a weeks time, by which point we shall have been long gone.”
>Those same Emerald eyes turn upon you.
>”Shermanator, this is not the same world as yours. It may look the same, it may seem the same, but it is different. You do not truly exist here.”
>You nod.
>It would be too much to ask that your closest friend be the same here.
>You begin to leave, when you hear a call.
>”One more thing…”
>Why did that voice sound so damn funny right now?
>You shake a mental image of an old asian man from your mind.
“Yeah?”
>The Skeleton tosses a small golden object at you.
>”Don’t forget your pocket watch.”
>You hold the small object.
>It was a watch then?
>You flip it open, and look at the motionless hands.
“What good is a broken-“
>”A broken watch can easily be fixed. I would see to it, if I were you.”
>Alright then. First stop: Doctor Hooves and his clock shop.
>The brisk walk through the Everfree was quiet.
>Far too quiet.
>You got the feeling most wild-life avoided that strange Lich’s tower.
>Scars ran all across the forest trail, and destroyed trees were everywhere.
>Something big had happened here before, a major fight.
>You cast an eye back over your shoulder, and see what looks like an angle to the destruction.
>And it ramped right towards the tower.
>Yeah, this new friend of yours had done some serious shit before.
>You don’t bother speculating.
>Whatever happened here, obviously was in the distant past.
>The vines growing over the fallen trees were sign enough.
>You continue walking until you see Ponyville proper.
>Even if this wasn’t your Ponyville, it was peaceful enough, and was unravaged by the horrors of AEther.
>You spit on the ground at the mere thought of his name.
>It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, one you know you won’t be able to get rid of any time soon.
>The dirt road slowly grows more and more well cared for as buildings begin to form into the sides of the roarways.
>You look around for signs of a clockshop.
>Surprisingly, the Ponies out and about are not scared, shocked, or at all giving you odd looks.
>Some wave, and you return the greeting.
>It was… Strange.
>You stop, and look up.
>Huh, here was the clock shop.
>Perfect!
>You open the door, stoop low as the bell rings, and promptly walk back out.
>You check the sign on the door.
>Open.
>You look at the clock in the center of town.
>2 in the afternoon.
>You pop your head back in.
>Two blushing Ponies shoot guilty looks at one another, and you simply shake your head.
“I, uh.. Needed to have a.. watch, fixed.”
>You hurriedly put the watch on the counter and try to keep from fiddling.
>”Uh.. S-sure. I’ll get Mister Hooves, he’ll uh.. Get the watch.. Fixed.”
>You take a step towards the door.
“Aaaaah, about an hour?”
>”Yeah, yeah! Come back in an hour!”
“Okay. Well, uh…”
>Fuck this
>No explanation, just get out of there.
>You don’t even want to know what was going on in there.
>It’ll take a lot of brain bleach.
>You begin to stumble away when you hear a crash from the alley way.
>You carefully walk towards it, and peek down it.
>You notice a flick of a tail, a scaly, red tail, with a plume of white fluff at its end.
>You take a step down the alley-way, and begin to follow after it.
>The path twists and turns, being led in by this strange thing.
>You have no idea what it is, but-
>”All alone, are we?”
>You spin around.
>The path behind you is a wall.
>You look for an exit, but everywhere you turn you’re blocked in.
>”No one for a friend, no one to help you… Not even your precious Rainbow Dash.”
>You raise your first, clenching them.
“Whoever you are, come out and face me!”
>You are returned with silence.
>You scream out and swing with your fist.
>The walls disappear and you are sent tumbling over a trashcan.
>You scramble to your feet, bewildered.
>What fresh hell was this phantom labyrinth?
>The way back was a solid stone wall.
>You turned towards your only direction.
>You force down some mounting tension, gulping.
>You did not like this situation, at all.
>You are tense and tired.
>You have no clue how much time has passed, but you are certain it has been more than an hour.
>You’ve been stumbling around these back alleys, which seem to stretch on forever, all alone.
>And that accursed voice…
>”It’s not like it matters, does it?”
>You whip around, and finally see what it was that was making the noise.
>It’s a strange amalagram of various creatures, and it floated in the air above you.
>You charge it.
>”Now, now…”
>It floats about and above you as if physics were a toy of children.
>”You fight so hard, but you never once stop to think.”
>You swing out at it, but it avoids the attack impossibly easily.
>”You have no allies here. That Lich, it is playing you, can’t you tell?”
>You pause.
>You had felt this nagging doubt sense you got here…
>”You have been lied to your entire life. When Celestia brought you to Equestria, when your ‘friends’ turned their backs on you.”
>You can’t help but think on his words…
>No, your friends save you after everything you had done.
>”They didn’t believe you, no matter how hard you tried, and were about to send Lyra away in your stead.”
>Your eyes become unfocused.
>What was the point of fighting, then, if-
>”All you ever fight for, is a lie?”
>You stumble backwards, unable to handle this ‘realization’.
>Was it true?
>Did your friends just see you as a tool?
>A blunt force object?
>Of course they did.
>That was, after all, how you saw yourself.
>”Let go, and let ol’ Discord help you out of a bind.”
>You feel a sharp talon land upon your forehead.
>You suddenly feel more clear-headed.
>You look up, but whatever you saw was gone.
>You walk out of the Alleyway, and look up at the clock.
>Exactly fifty-nine minuets had passed. 
>Not wanting to be late, you return to the Clock shop.
>You enter to find a tired-looking tan pony standing behind the counter, who perks up as you enter.
>”Ah, I take it you were the one who brought in this watch?”
>You nod.
“Indeed, I was hoping you could restore it fully?”
>Whoah, where in the heck did all these big words come from?
>Nevermind that, it felt.. Good.
>You knew exactly how to get your point across, you knew exactly what to do.
>You weren’t in the dark any more.
>The pony nudges the watch across to you.
>”Took a few rare pieces to re-set it. I’ll need Thirty bits to cover the expenses.”
>Hold your Ponies.
“Thirty bits?”
>You quirk an eyebrow.
“After walking in on your assistants doing unknowable things in the middle of the day?”
>You pocket the watch
“You’re lucky you even got my business. Five bits.”
>You toss the money on the counter and casually stroll out.
>You had him by the balls, and he knew it too.
>You fiddle with the chain, trying to get it strait, as you set your sights upon your new home.
>That back-stabber could not be trusted, you knew it.
>You would make a new home, here, in Ponyville.
>And no one could stop you.
>You make to stroll away, but notice a figure in the shadows.
>You wheel around, and see him approaching.
>That infernal Lich.
>Celestia damn his scheming bones.
“What do you want, Chronicler, I am very busy.”
>The Skeleton cocks his head slightly
>”Busy? Mind your tone, my friend.”
>You scoff
“I am not your Friend, liar.”
>That got his attention.
>”You seem, off, Shermanator.”
”And you expect me to trust a word out of your mouth?”
>You don’t bother looking back over your shoulder as you walk away.
>You don’t even notice the way his head tilts down-wards, as if to pantomime a growing grin.
>You don’t hear his parting words either as he fades into the darkness.
>”No. Not yet I do not.”