How the light still burned and what great misfortune he suffered when exposed to Princess Celestia’s searing, punishing orb. The light burned the wicked, it did, and his mother had told him that the sun seared those who were unwelcomed, unwanted. The unfit. The unclean. His mother had been right, of course, just as she had been right about so many other things.

While the train pulled into the station, Dim remembered stepping into the sunlight, those first few perilous steps he had taken outside of his home on that fateful day when he fled from his wrongdoing. Emerging into the sunlight had been blinding as much as it was traumatising. At that point in his life, he had been indoors for years, with his last venturing out into the light happening when he was a small foal, when he was small, innocent, and the light had not burned him. Years spent indulging in evil, living amongst his family, it had left him vulnerable to Princess Celestia’s wrathful, vengeful, soul-searing rays. Blinded, panicked, he had been forced to ask for help to reach the shipyard.

That had been in the dead of winter and it was now spring. Now, he wore goggles with thick darkened glass to protect his eyes, which couldn’t bear more light than what a flickering candle offered. If exposed to the sun, he sunburned in what felt like mere moments. Just learning how to live in the unbearable light had been a trying experience in and of itself, with electric light being the worst, but trying to live in this crazy world full of degenerate, disgusting primitives…

Ugh.

It wasn’t all bad though, he had to admit. It was nice seeing the world, and he marvelled at just how large it was. After fleeing Equestria, he was free to do as he pleased. Following the example of the many books he had read as a foal, he changed his name, and then he did what the Darks did best, or so it was said. He hired himself out as a wizard.

Oh yes, it was true, ponies paid for magic. Earth ponies, pegasus ponies, even weaker, common unicorns would gladly pay exorbitant fees for enchantments, scryings, divinations, and magical solutions. These were all things that Dim could do, and do well. Sure, he didn’t have a talent for magic, not like some lucky ponies, but he had a thorough education and all of the raw ability offered to him by his noble, some might even say royal, blood. Birth records showed a direct tie to Pollux, the royal son of Princess Luna.

None of that mattered now, however, nor would it ever again.

Huffing, the train came to a rocking, swaying stop, and Dim looked out the window. He saw thatched roofs, stone buildings, and a quaint, quiet town, the sort of town he favoured. This town had a problem, or so he had been told when he was inquiring about work while he was staying in Liverypool.

Derbyshire had a wall around it, as did many of the small towns around here. This was a hostile land, full of roaming, pony-gobbling monsters. The Crowns of the Grittish Isles only offered protection in their major cities, with the small towns, hamlets, and villages left to fend for themselves. Adventuring bands were common and were said to be good for the economy.

This land had been good for him, and he had become quite wealthy in a short time.

Constable Knobby Russet Apple was one impressive specimen of an earth pony. Dim sized him up, studying him, peering at him through the thick, blackened glass lenses of his goggles. Of course, the law pony was studying him in return. The two of them stood in front of the train station eyeballing one another.

With the bare minimum of magical pizazz, Dim produced a business card for Constable Apple to have a look at. “I am Harsh Winter, wizard for hire. You sent for me, and I am here, as you have requested.” With a careless flick of magic, he tucked the business card into the band of Constable Apple’s hat.

“Oi, so I did, so I did.” The big stocky earth pony’s head moved up and down while he studied the unicorn before him. “I hope ye don’t mind me saying, but yer a strange one, ye are.”

“There is much about me that is strange,” Dim said, doing his best to be agreeable. “So, Constable, what sort of problem are you having?”

“Necromancy,” Constable Apple replied as he squinted. “Oi, I got me a problem with necromancy, so I do. So sent a telegram off to the bigwigs, so I did, and of course, they’re no help at all. Tell me I’m on me own, and if I can’t solve it, then it’s time for a new constable.”

“Fascinating.” Dim licked his lips, thirsty, and cursed how much he was sweating beneath his cloak. It was too warm for his tastes, but he had to stay covered, lest he sizzle in the sun. “Tell me more about this… necromancer.”

Constable Knobby Russet Apple took a step back and then gestured off to the north. “Off in the woods, to the north of here, there is a zebra. He’s some kind of evil enchanter. He’s been reviving dead livestock, and on occasion, he’ll take control of the townsfolk through some sort of weird magic. The other day he took control of a mare and made her do a lewd dance. It lasted for hours, until she dropped from exhaustion. I just know it’s him.”

“I see.” Dim’s voice was a reedy hiss, and he determined that he was dealing with superstitious, disgusting primitives, but he would do the job anyway, because it paid well. Disgusting primitives of the superstitious variety threw money at any problem that their thick heads could not understand, and catering to their whims was profitable work, if one could stomach it. “I can help you, Constable, but I’ll need half up front to pay for living expenses and the rest when I finish the job.”

“Well, that seems reasonable enough, Mister Winter.”

“Very good, you have engaged my services. My word is my bond. Now, I need to know where the apothecary is, or the alchemist's shop, and I shall need a place to stay. I need to get out of the sun as soon as possible, and I shall conduct my business at night.” Dim’s paper thin lips drew back in a charming, aristocratic smile.

“Oi, I can show ye around, I can. There’s a boarding house, near the center of town, away from the wall where it’s safe.” The constable seemed relieved and he had relaxed a bit “If ye don’t mind me asking, why are ye so covered?”

“The sunlight and I do not agree,” Dim replied, being honest. He had lied once already, with his name, and lying more than once was a gamble he had no interest in. For now, the truth was to his advantage, he wanted the constable to trust him. Trust was a big part of being paid well. It wasn’t like he needed the money, but it was the principle of the matter. Coin was to be collected.

“What a right shame that is, I say.” Constable Apple’s face split into a wide, hearty grin. “Oi, I can’t imagine life without the sun. When the sun goes down, folks in these parts head inside. The tavern empties out and ponies head home. There’s things in the dark, ye see. Like evil zebras and worse.”

“Yes… you are wise to fear the dark. All manner of misdeeds are hidden in the darkness. A multitude of terrible, irredeemable sins, each worse than the last. Sins compounded by sins.” Dim drew in a deep breath, held it for several long seconds, and then let it out as he said in a reedy, wavering voice, “Yet for some of us, the darkness is our birthright. Are we to be judged by what we inherit? Is not the punishment of being kept from the sun enough?”

“I don’t follow,” Constable Apple said, shaking his head.

“No, I suppose you don’t.” Dim found he liked Constable Apple, and he wasn’t so bad for being a disgusting primitive. The earth pony seemed honest, forthright, and didn’t appear to be afraid of what he saw. Some ponies might have pretended to follow along, to understand, but the constable had confessed his ignorance. “You are a good and honest pony, Constable Apple. Remain in the light, lest the darkness devour your mind, body, and spirit. There are awful things in the darkness… most… unpleasant… things.” Dim’s final word was a sibilant, shivering hiss that startled the earth pony constable.

“Well, I’m an Apple…” The constable appeared shaken, bothered by the words that had been spoken. “H-h-honest Apple,” he stammered while blinking his eyes. After taking a moment to recover, the constable gave himself a shake, and then shuddered while looking at the cloaked unicorn. “Right then, I’ll show ye around and leave ye to your business, Mister Winter.”

“Marvellous.”

The alchemist’s shop had a powerful medicinal stink that made Dim’s mouth and eyes water. It was a small shop, but appeared to be well stocked with everything required by country bumpkins. There were potions, poultices, and powders for everything. Sore backs, achy frogs, constipation, loose bowels, and saggy, uncooperative, flaccid penises. The proprietor of the shop was quite a surprise, and wasn’t the earth pony that Dim had expected.

A griffoness sat behind the counter and her claws were stained green from her work. She appeared aged before her time—hardship had not been kind to her—and one wing was withered, useless against her side. Around her withered wing, her fur was patchy, the skin wavy, rippled, and lumpy. Based on what he saw, knowing what he knew, Dim suspected that she had been burned by acid. An alchemist’s work was hazardous, and he knew from his own experiences that things could go wrong.

“Hallo, mine name is Grunhilda,” she said in a thick, gutteral accent. “You need something, ja?” She rested her left talons on the counter and began drumming her claws against the wood.

Dim’s narrow body moved between the racks and shelves without effort, with no danger of bumping up against anything. His cloak snagged nothing, and his hooves made very little sound against the well-swept wooden floorboards. When he reached the counter, he studied the griffoness, who sat in a well cushioned, high backed chair.

“My name is Harsh Winters, and I am in need of medicine.” He could smell the griffon, she was bitter as well as sweet, she smelled like her work, her livelihood, and there was a hint of feminine excitement. Dim knew why, he had that effect on females. He theorised it was because he was covered, and therefore fit the archetype of a tall, dark, mysterious stranger.

The griffoness’ beak opened and her whole body shook with laughter. “Well, you came to the right place, ja?” Reaching up with her right talons, she smoothed out the rumpled feathers of her neck and looked up at the tall, looming figure looking down at her. “What can I get for you?”

Dim felt a little nervous, his list of needs was complicated and there were many times these backwater shops lacked what he needed. Behind the thick glass of his goggles, his mismatched eyes narrowed. “I need two pounds of hashish, a week’s supply of dried peyote buttons, some vials of lysergic acid diethylamide, two bricks of coca-laced salts, and two bricks of opium laced salts.”

“Oh my…” The griffoness drew out the words and her eyes glittered. “You must suffer from chronic pain, inflammation, fever, disturbed sleep, lethargy, malaise, and the occasional bouts of insomnia.”

“Headaches too,” Dim added.

“Poor dear.” The griffoness’ words were sincere and her concern was genuine. “Everything you need, I have. No tabs. No credit. I take payment up front and mine prices are reasonable even though I am the only shop in town.”

Saying nothing, Dim produced a sterling bar and plunked it down on the counter, which made the griffoness’ eyes go wide. Like any griffon, she was distracted by shinies, and Dim knew that he was dealing with a fellow addict. He needed his medicines, and she needed hard currency. Her addiction was every bit as consuming as his own and he could see her claws shaking, twitching, she was consumed with the need to snatch up the sterling bar and maybe bite it with her beak to see if it was real.

But she didn’t, no. She played it cool, just as he was playing it cool, and in that moment, they understood one another. Dim peered into her vivid green eyes and wondered how a lone griffoness satisfied herself in a town full of ponies. She was, of course, a disgusting primitive, but she was a merchant-class disgusting primitive and he found her intriguing. His curiousity had been piqued by her unique form.

“If you keep no record of our sale, the remainder of the sterling bar payment is yours,” Dim said to her in his low, reedy, wavering voice. “Should anypony come around asking for one such as me, sniffing after my habits—”

“You were never here, ja?” Grunhilda’s eyes glittered with avian intelligence.

“Ja.” Dim breathed the word, allowing it to spill from his lips as a soft-spoken utterance.

“I do not betray the habits of mine clients,” the griffoness said, almost whispering. “That goes against mine practices. Mine customers pay me and I offer privacy. After all, the knowledge of whose schnitzengruben is over-boiled and limp would be quite embarrassing should it leak to the community. If that happened, nopony would come and buy from me again.”

“Then we understand one another, Fräulein.”

This made the griffoness titter. “Oh, I have not been such for years. You are kind and rather charming, mysterious one.” She rose from her chair, her feathers fluffed, and her long, tufted tail swayed from side to side. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and collect the things you need.” Her talons moved with blinding speed, she snatched up the sterling bar, and then she tucked it into a pocket on her stained apron.

“Thank you,” Dim said, bringing his best, his most charming, his most aristocratic manner to bear. “Perhaps, before I leave this place, I shall resupply…”

Author's Notes:

That's... quite a shopping list.