The nagging, persistent pink voice was the bane of Dim’s existence during his waking hours, but sleeping was even worse. Sleep was when Princess Luna came to torment him. Somehow, she was reaching halfway around the world to mess with his mind, promising him that he would endure the most terrible, most brutal acts of tough love the world had ever witnessed if he did not come home. As his distant grandmother, she was sick of his shit—something about this fact chilled his blood to the point of curdling.

Even worse, he kept having nightmares about a crinkled paper alicorn who poured ink down his throat, drowning him. The ink was bitter, vile, and poured from the paper alicorn’s eyes like a flood of tears. Dim was certain that this was some fantastical dream crafted and created by Princess Luna, designed to torment him until his spirit broke, or he went home.

At the moment, he was living in a rented room in what had once been a rum distillery on the fabled island of Tortoise-Tuga. The isle had once been a shared colony of the Grittish Isles and Fancy, but that was long ago. It had since fallen to anarchy, becoming a haven for pirates, privateers, and the buck-an-ear types. Since coming here, Dim had made a small fortune doing magical drudgery.

This was an awful place, a terrible place, and Dim knew that he needed to go. He had to leave before he burned the entire island down and drove the disgusting primitives into the sea so they could and would be drowned. Slavery existed here, the trafficking of sapients; and for Dim, it was just a matter of time before something inside of him snapped, leading to what was sure to be another killing spree. Much to his own horror, he had done it once, and now he lived with the soul-crushing knowledge of how easy it would be to do again.

Shepherd’s Shore haunted him. His memory of it was hazy, difficult to recollect, but the terrible pink voice reminded him of what he had done. She would not let him forget. When the guilt came, a guilt that Dim had been unaware that he could feel, the voice would seize upon it, lecturing him, scolding him, rebuking him for his soul-withering act of violence. Dim could not fault her, he had done wrong, there was no denying that.

The pink voice had convinced him that the very fact that he felt bad about it was evidence that he had a soul worth saving. He wanted to believe her—he did, he had a sincere, honest desire to do so—but there was a deeper, darker part of himself that didn’t want to be saved. He deserved to suffer and when death came, the pale pony and his shadows would come to claim him.

He had left the Grittish Isles just in time. It had collapsed into bickering, fighting city states at war with one another, due in no small part to the massacre in Shepherd’s Shore. An unknown pony now roamed the isles, killing, murdering, and burning—a pony that matched Dim’s description and called himself ‘Dim Dark, the Lord of Shades.’ Dim didn’t know what was going on, if the Lord of Shades was a real pony or if agitators had seized upon his own description after the slaughter at Shepherd’s Shore. A cunning enemy would take advantage of the terror that Dim had sown, and Dim wondered if his mother was involved somehow.

The only thing that Dim knew for certain was, Grogar had the Grittish Isles now, of this there could be no doubt. The entire world was now holding its breath as the civil war continued to intensify, throwing the global economy into chaos and sending a flood of refugees to friendly shores. Dim was the instigator, the perpetrator, the pony responsible for inciting the civil war among the Crowned Heads of the Grittish Isles, and his doppelganger was there, even now, sowing the seeds of discontent and discord.

The Sea Witch was giving him a strange look and Dim had trouble reading her face. He didn’t know the zebra’s name—nopony did, names had magic and power—but he knew her to be powerful. During his time here, he had come to know her, and with her help he had weaned himself off of the coca and the opium. She had said it was destroying his heart, sapping his vitality, and after the dreadful day of Shepherd’s Shore, he was inclined to agree.

Her hut, such as it was, was actually an overturned ship that had been dragged to the center of the island. It was an odd place that radiated bizarre magic. Inside and out, there were thousands of gourds, all filled with strange compounds, everything a sailor needed. A superstitious lot, sailors ran into all manner of evil on the open seas and skies.

“So,” Dim began, “think you can remove the voice in my head?”

The wrinkled old mare appeared as though she had bit into a lemon, and her wrinkled visage became downright prune-like. She waved a withered old hoof around, snarled, and squinted one eye at Dim. “The Sea Witch has been divining… what you have is an astral sliver stuck in your mind. To silence that voice, you must kill the speaker.”

Hearing this, Dim sighed, overflowing with disappointment.

“It is a tiny, insignificant mote of her mind that is now lodged in yours,” the Sea Witch explained. “Like a grain of sand in an oyster. You have been marked, Dark One. There is now a pink flame that burns within your darkness.” The wrinkled old zebra mare’s eyebrows made a titanic effort to lift themselves among the morass of wrinkles that was the old mare’s face. “You are a strange creature, Dark One. Most cast an astral light and you are the first being I have encountered that casts an astral shadow. I’ve heard stories of your kind… but never seen one.”

“That is not helpful.” Dim’s voice was soft but his eyes were hard.

“There is another. A damned, cursed healer that walks this world, and her name is Radiant Hope. I have heard stories of her also-damned, cursed companion. He too casts an astral shadow. He is Umbrum, a fate that I think you share. He was born one; you were made one. Finding them might get you answers, but beware… Radiant Hope might try to heal you of your sad sickness… if you resist her, if you try to harm her, her companion will unravel your very existence and lay your soul to waste. While you are no doubt powerful, you are an insignificant gnat compared to one such as he.”

“Umbrum?” Dim now gave all of his attention to the old mare and his ears pivoted forwards. No longer did his eyes dart around to take in glances of the various gourds, phials, and philters for sale.

“I know very little and it is only a guess.” The mare scowled, and her face sagged. “Only a fool would hang upon my words in such a way, looking for hope. It is an idea, a guess, a bit of postulation and nothing more, foolish colt.”

For a moment, Dim considered telling the superstitious, disgusting primitive off for speaking to him in such a manner, but he reconsidered. She had been kind to him—well, in a relative sense—and as far gone as he was, he knew the difference between kindness and cruelty. After a moment of thoughtful reflection, he reached the conclusion that she had been fair in her dealings with him. Reaching into his saddlebags, he pulled out a silver coin and plunked it down upon the witch’s table. His eyes remained locked with hers, and her face continued to be unreadable.

The Sea Witch’s dreadlocks reached out, snatched up the coin, and it vanished into the writhing tangles that crowned her head. The corners of her mouth struggled to lift, and all of her wrinkles tugged at her faint smile. “You are no more a unicorn than I am a giraffe. You were made, Dark One. Created. You were fashioned with a dark purpose in mind. While my kind might be able to help you, your strongest hope lies with your alicorns.”

Dim said nothing, but just sat there and stared at the old mare, and she stared back at him. Her dreadlocks writhed like impatient serpents and Dim could sense the powerful magic that she radiated. She was the zebra analogue of a unicorn and Dim could cast no doubts on her abilities. Nopony survived on the Isle of Tortoise-Tuga without being strong: this was the kind of place where the strong survived, and the weak became slaves. One of the many reasons he had to banish his addictions.

“I will take your words into consideration,” Dim said while he bowed his head. “Thank you…”

The evening was hot and sticky, a miserable combination. Dim much prefered the cooler temperatures of the Grittish Isles. The tropics did not agree with him, which was all the more reason to go. He was sweating, shaking, and having a hard time in general, which was bad, because he had a client to meet. A potential way off of this wretched island. Some ship needed a wizard and Dim considered taking the position.

The common room was packed with unsavoury types, dangerous types, and far too many guns to mention. This was a wild, dangerous place, filled with wild, dangerous sapients. Clutching a bottle of rum, Dim moved through the crowd and tried not to breathe. The stench here was indescribable, and being a hot, sweaty pony, he was also a contributor.

All of the usuals were present and accounted for. The gamblers; the washed up sailors living off of their savings; the old, retired sea captains that somehow clung to life and survived this place. Dim knew them by face, if not by name, and he had become one of them. This place had a gravity of its own and he knew that if he did not leave soon, he would become a fixture here.

Look at her! She’s beautiful! And she’s a Pie, too! She’s immutably good!

The voice in his head made Dim pause to have a look around. Standing just inside the door, there was a frantic looking… what was she? He had himself a second look and tried to figure out what he was seeing. She was a hippogriff, but not quite. Maybe a quarter hippogriff. No beak, no feathers, but she had the talons and she was big. She was black, black as pitch, black as liquid midnight, and her jade green eyes were slitted like a cat’s.

Dim, go to her! Ask her for her help! Offer to help her! With her, you might one day be sane again! Please, Dim, if you won’t come home to us, go to her! Let her help you! Let her do what Pies do! She can make you better, or at least slow down your progression into darkness!

The strange creature looked frantic, worried, and scared. Dim knew she wouldn’t last long here. She was no cutthroat, no cold-blooded killer, though he noted that she did have a gun strapped to her barrel. Did hippogriffs have barrels? Dim didn’t know. She was the blackest, black creature that Dim had ever seen, and he was stricken by her physical appearance.

“I need a hireling,” she said in a voice far too timid for this place.

Dim had never made it to his table to wait for his client. Confused, he decided to listen to the voice inside of his head. Cautious, slow, he approached the hippogriff, who was as big as a lion, as griffons tended to be. When she looked at him, he felt his heart stop for a moment, and he could almost hear the pink voice breathing in his head.

“Will you help me?” the strange hippogriff asked.

Put on the spot, it was all Dim could do to stand there and stare at her. She was an exotic creature, rare, and breathtaking. “Who are you, what do you need, and what are you paying?”

“My name is Blackbird Coffyn, I’m looking for my mother, and the best that I could offer is passage off of this island,” she replied as her talons twitched against the floor. “Pretty as I am, I’m off limits and no means no. This has been very difficult on my own so far… I just picked up a fresh lead and I’d like to be going.”

“A voice inside of my head told me to help you,” Dim blurted out.

“Oh!” Blackbird’s eyes widened. “Oh… is that so? Well… I—”

“The voice inside my head said that with your help I might be sane again.” Dim was disturbed by his sudden verbal diarrhea and he didn’t understand what was going on, not in the slightest. “I am a pathetic, tortured soul. Help me.” He was scared now, because his mouth had betrayed him.

“Can you fight?” Blackbird asked.

In response, Dim began laughing, a mad cackle, and no words found their way to his lips. All around him, the patrons of the common room were bobbing their heads, and some looked relieved—no doubt because he might be leaving. Could he fight… that was a silly question to ask. He was nervous, flustered, and tongue tied, even though he kept saying stuff.

“I could give you a demonstration,” Dim offered, once he found his tongue after the cat-creature had stolen it, and no sooner had the words left his lips than the patrons of the common room found they had business elsewhere. They poured out of doors, pushing and shoving one another, and those who could not reach a door lept out of whatever nearby window was available.

Blinking, Blackbird looked around, a bit startled by the sudden stampede, and her talons tapped upon the floor. Her tail, tufted with feathers on the tip, swished around from side to side. Her expressions were feline, for the most part, and when her mouth opened, pointed canines could be seen.

“I am vizard,” Dim explained, and he felt a giddiness stronger than any coca-laced salts could ever hope to offer. Realising he was still holding his rum bottle, he took a swig, then offered it to Blackbird. Much to his relief, she accepted, taking it in her talons, and he watched as she too, took a swallow.

The faces she made made him want to laugh, but he didn’t.

“You’re a weirdo and I think you might be nuts, but I need the help.” Blackbird held on to the rum bottle and she squinted at Dim. “Please, I’m just a girl looking for her mother, please, please don’t make me regret this. Ever since I’ve started on this quest, I’ve met the worst sorts of creatures you could imagine.”

“I am the worst sort of creature you could imagine,” Dim said, his mouth betraying him yet again. “But I want to be better! Honest, I do! For once, I agree with the pink voice in my head.”

“Oh my… oh… oh my… you aren’t well, are you?” Blackbird looked concerned and her vivid green eyes shimmered with worry.

“I am a depraved degenerate, but I am no motherfucker,” Dim whispered in reply.

“Oh… well… I suppose you’ll have to do. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“When do we leave?” Dim asked.

“Right now,” Blackbird replied. “I don’t trust the harbourmaster to keep my ship safe.”

“Let me get my stuff and I’ll be right with you…”

Author's Notes:

And so it ends, for now.

Only to begin again, anew.