>You nick your finger, and a few drops of blood splash onto the ground.
>Quickly, you start sucking on your finger.
>Who knew necromancy would be so painful?
>The rest of the intricate ritual goes off, and hordes of undead ponies crawl from the earth.
>They stand in rank and file, and you begin to inspect them.
>You walk down each row, carefully cleaning each skeleton and making sure they aren't broken in too many places.
>The ones that aren't up to snuff bury themselves again at your command.
>You look upon your army, and do a quick headcount.
>Fifteen across, nine down... that's one hundred and thirty five skeletons.
>The routine only calls for a hundred, but spares can't hurt.
>You stand at the front of the group, and start walking.
>The skeletons follow.
 
>By sunrise, you're standing in a field just outside a small town.
>Ponyville, you think it's called.
>All your skeleton thralls are in their positions, so all you need now is a captive audience.
>You wait some more, and eventually a pony finds you.
>You command a spare skeleton to restrain it and bring it to you.
>It's small, probably female.
>Yellow body, red mane and tail.
"Filly. I am Anonymous, a necromancer. I command you to bring as many ponies to me as you are able, or I will lay waste to this countryside."
>She shivers and shudders in response.
"I won't harm anypony, so long as you do as I tell you."
>You command the skeleton to drop the timid pony, which scarpers off.
>An few minutes later, spectators trickle in.
>Your spare skeletons show them to where they should sit, and they're too intimidated to do otherwise.
>After an hour, you've built up a reasonable crowd.
>It's time.
>With the most stoic face you can muster, you snap your fingers.
>Twenty-five skeletons start to play their ribcages like xylophones.
>The rest of the undead horde begins to dance in time.
>This is the culmination of a month of effort.
>All those hours of composing music.
>Even more hours of choreographing the dance.
>The sleepless nights filled with research into the necromantic arts.
>All leading up to this.
>You stand stock still, serious look plastered on your face.
>You don't dare look behind you in case you jinx it.
>Eventually you hear the music end. The skeletons click and clack as they bow for the crowd.
>A moment passes.
>Two.
>There's a roar of hooves stomping the ground and yelling and carrying on.
>You crack a smile, turn on your heel and walk away.
>The skeletons follow.
>By the time you return to the graveyard, the cheering has died down.
>You command the skeletons to bury themselves in their respective graves.
>Then you ditch your voluminous, flowing, dark grey robe.
>That was fun. What now?