Author's Note

Note: This chapter will be about establishing our other protagonists. I feel we should take a break from the 'main' character. To be clear, there is no main character in this story. There are only a few characters that can be considered protagonists, everyone else is a side character and/or an antagonist.

The Journey

Therieus and Dusty gazed out over the moonlit desert. The brown dragon's slitted eyes were filled with wonderment. He had never left his own home before. Never in his life had he ventured beyond the outskirts of that hellhole. He couldn't bring himself to it. But this stranger, Dusty, had inspired him. He had done something he thought impossible.

He had changed the routine. The routine that he had followed since that bar opened. He had followed the pony and asked him to bring his scaly self along.

The two had become great friends in the weeks they had traveled. Yet, the dragon was still filled with wonderment each night. Luna's beautiful night made the desert a grand and lonely place. A cloud passed over the moon, the world darkening. Barely grey clouds covered the sky, being moved by pegasi to the next city over.

"Impressive view, isn't it?" Asked Dusty, cleaning out his .357. The old gun was engraved with scenes from the pegasus' life. Some were very depressing, melancholy memories. Others were filled with joy and amazement, powerful feelings radiating from the pistol's grip. Therieus nodded, still amazed and entranced by the never-ending sea of ground-up rocks.

"How can it be so vast?" He asked, dumbly. He had always asked this question, and the pegasus had the same response. The pegasus always chuckled, and he chuckled once more. Suddenly, the blazing fire went out. The two were plunged into all-encompassing darkness, the chill of the night biting like a rabid dog.

A light came on. "Damn, seems like the desert is extra windy tonight." Dusty coughed into the inside of his forearm, expelling the desert sand from his body. The shadows cast by the lantern seemed like a portent to any onlooker, as it appeared the travelers were surrounded by footprints in the sand. Therieus cursed under his breath, the pegasus doing the same.

Desert-Crawlers.

The desert crawlers were a legendary gang of fire-arm wielding dragons, more dangerous than any Elder of the Black Dragon Flight. Their impromptu mafia traveled the desert in search of unlucky travelers, murdering them with nausea-inducing brutality. Victims of this gang were stripped of every little piece of their belongings, except their bones, left as reflective and ivory-like as an elephant's tusks.

Both drew their guns. The dragon had an old .44 lever action with enchanted magazines. The pegasus had dual revolvers, one named Snapshot, and the other named Secondary. The rifle the dragon had was a typical dragon-steel rifle, with wooden accents. The weapon was nearly indestructible, yet very heavy for anything that is not a dragon. It also had a side-scope for easy double purpose use. Coupled with its enchanted magazines, the weapon could tear through pretty much anything the old west of Dragonia could throw at them. The pistol named Secondary was a large eight-shooter, loaded with .357. It had nothing special to it, besides being modified to have an enchanted extension which hid the flash from the gun. With these two fighters armed, they had much more of a chance against the gang. Which was to say, their victory was pretty much assured.

Flitting shadows danced, the dragon bandits deciding to play with their prey. Both of the travelers stood back to back, weapons raised, eyes adorned with the determined intent to kill and survive. Muscles tensed. Weapons steadied. Sweat trickled, intense concentration behind the fluid. Finally, a flash came from the shadows. Both sprang into the air, the Earthen dragon letting loose a flash of light from its gaping maw.

The pegasus' eyes tracked with the intensity of an eagle, the speed of an enraged predator. He let hot lead fly from his weapons, the guns revealing his position to the enemy. His mind, determined, urged his wings to speed him away. He could feel bullets as they spun by, rotating as they rocketed to the heavens. A shot grazed his left back leg, but a small grunt was all that it elicited from the deadly power in the skies.

The dragon's weapon cracked and cracked again, the sound of rifle bullets being loosed upon his enemies pouring adrenaline into his arterial system. The enemy fired back, and some took to the air in retaliation. Wings flapped hard, revolvers and other weapons sending their loads into the air. The sky had become the location of a dance of death. The duo's wings flapped, they soared, and they rolled.

"Git 'em boys!" Presumably the leader had called out to his gang members, rushing them along. The kill was close, they felt. But the truth was, the duo was much too advanced of a target for them. With them fighting like they were, the gang knew, deep in their twisted and slimy hearts, that they would fall in battle today. The psychotic dragons ignored this feeling, even as their friends and gang-mates fell. The dead spun in the air as they rapidly approached the ground, sickening cracks could be heard if the gunshots did not overpower the relatively small sounds.

Bodies flopped, useless. The ground gladly embraced them, blood staining the sand. The battle, to say the least, was fierce.

Finally, silence. The pair landed, ragged and weary.

They faced the final bandit. The rifle rose.

A loud BLA-CRAK! signaled the end to yet another nuisance. The dragon snorted. He pumped the lever of the rifle, attempting to chamber another round from the box magazine. It clicked empty, a sigh coming from the dragon. He ejected the spent cartridge, before reaching to his belt and inserting another.

The two passed their gazes over the piles of bodies, many having faced brutal yet swift ends to their pathetic lives of purloining and murdering. Therieus slung the lever-action rifle, with a grunt. He had sustained a few dents and bruises from some low-calibers. A few had punched through, but had not caused much damage. What the main problem had been, was a larger caliber bullet that had gone straight through his hand, yet pinged off his rifle. The bullet had not been lodged, but left a deep wound.

He turned to his comrade. "We better get looting. I need some medical supplies." The pony grunted in confirmation, yet pain at the same time. A few bullets had grazed some of his limbs. There was one in his flank, but it had not gone deep. A flesh wound, as some would remark.

They soon began searching for supplies...