Chapters I'd sigh, but I'm a black avian and every time I try to achieve a sigh I let out a loud caw. And currently, that would be extremely bad for me. You see, I'm usually not in this much trouble. Then again, it's not every day I get chased by a freaking hydra. Wait. I'm actually not too sure about that. Maybe the reason I can't remember anything beyond two days ago is because I was reincarnated.
Oh, I'm an idiot. Reincarnation doesn't work like that. Dimensional displacement? Possession? Am I some sort of god playing a game? Or was I simply always a crow and just got brain damage from slamming into a tree? It certainly would explain why I woke up under a tree, surrounded by what seemed to be my own feathers.
How rude of me! I must introduce myself. I am... Oh great, I don't remember my name either. At least I can describe how I came to be in this situation of mortal peril...
KRAAA! KRAAA! KRAAAA!
Suddenly, everything became pain. A cacophony of loud noise, one I somehow knew was from a common carrion crow, emanated from my mouth. My beak , I corrected myself. Hey wise guy, pay more attention to what's going on , my subconscious scolded. I mentally flipped the bird at it, before getting up and realizing my pun. I tried to snicker to myself, but it came out as a distinctive crow call. I attempted frowning, but couldn't with a damn beak.
Then it hit me. I had no idea where I was, how I got here, and who I was before. I could be leaving behind a wife, family, children, friends, and pets. I could have lost things I wouldn't remember. I lowered my head and began trying to remember something-anything I could possibly remember. A sickening crunch, a spatter of red... It was a start, a morbid start, but a start nonetheless. If I could glean more from my past, perhaps I could piece together a way of speech. I read somewhere that crows could mimic sounds they have heard, much like the other corvids.
I started by trying to mimic the sickening crunch. Sure enough, after a minute, I got it down. I also heard a few other noises and managed to successfully learn how to imitate a few bird calls.
During my attempts at bird calls and sound-making, I managed to find a satchel that was just my size. Inside were several pens that I could not grasp properly with my claw, so I tried with my wing. Surprisingly, the wing worked much like a... hand. A memory flashed into my head. A figure grabbed a cup of some sort. The cup was raised to the figure's lips. Odd memory for remembering what a hand is.
After grasping the pen with my facsimile of a hand, I tried writing. Unfortunately, although I knew numbers and characters of a language, it all seemed to translate into strange horseshoes and other symbols that made no sense to me. Even if I tried writing what I somehow knew was called Spanish, it turned out as these weird symbols I mentioned before. I decided to call this strange language Equine, due to most of the symbols being related to horses and other equines.
Putting writing on hold, I began examining my surroundings.
I was in a thicket. Trees crushed up against bushes, thorns wrapping and writhing around each brown monolith. Strangely colored insects skittered about the forest floor, while ethereal primates swung from vines high above. Hoots and howls echoed in the forest, which made me feel a chill down my spine. A dark, foreboding sense of dread struck me as I gazed up into the forest's leafy rafters. No light shone through the branches high above.
The clearing I was in was about... Ten or so meters wide. A respectable distance, if you ask me. This place swallowed empty ground like a lion eating its prey. What it didn't swallow was chewed up and spit out, a home to the beasts of the forest. However, I was in a small camp. I hadn't noticed it before, but I definitely was lurking inside someone's camp. I determined that the best way to survive was to take advantage of this by looting the camp.
Grabbing the satchel and slinging it over my bird shoulder, I began waddling further into the camp with thievery on the mind.
A small voice muttered a string of curses, before rising to its full height. Iron Will didn't have a very good day. The pony he tried to extort had out-swindled him easily. How had he not seen it? His grandpa had told him time and time again, "Now come here, Will, " he would say. Then he would tell him, "Them ponies are vicious creatures, little one. They're natural born con-beings, and they've got that damn sun goddess on their side. If'n you try to sell to those swindlers, you be wary of their nasty tricks. "
Iron Will sighed and took a sip of his whiskey. Those goats tricked him good, too. Now he was not only homeless, but in debt. This was the last gig he could afford for his program and he wasted it. "Damn ponies..." He muttered as camp slowly became closer to the lumbering minotaur.
Finally, he emerged from the bushes. His camp was exactly as he had left it, except for a small bird trying to nip at a piece of fish just out of its reach. Iron Will chuckled and the bird froze. It slowly turned its head towards him. Then its eyes bugged out. He approached as non-threateningly as possible, but the black avian was completely paralyzed in fear. As he took the fish off of the line the bird shook its head and returned to reality. Iron Will offered the creature the small piece of fish. It cocked its head to the side, then grabbed the piece with its wings much like a pegasus would.
While it munched on the cooked, albeit cold fish, Iron Will started a fire with which to make a meal and warm himself. While he did this, the bird seemed to be looking for something. He ignored it and shrugged. It would probably leave soon, but if it didn't he could simply shoo it. Then, he was surprised to see the bird start writing something. In Unicornian.
While Iron Will's understanding of Unicornian was simple at best, he picked out enough words to understand what it was trying to write.
It grabbed the paper in its beak and held it up. 'Need help. Understand?'
He nodded at the bird's question. It then jumped in joy, before putting the paper on the ground. It wrote out another message.
'Lost. Need.' The last word escaped Iron Will's memory, so he guessed.
"You need shelter?" He asked.
The bird nodded. Iron Will snorted. Freeloaders.
"What do I get out of this?" The minotaur inquired.
I was talking to a minotaur. An actual freaking minotaur.
"What do I get out of this?" He asked.
I decided to answer him via an idea I had after my failed attempts at writing English. I scratched out a sentence in the ground using my left foot, then leaped back and flapped once to send me further backwards. The minotaur stared at the English words for a moment, before asking, "You just want to stay for a night?" I nodded.
He replied, "I suppose I can allow you that. But in the morning, I expect to not see you in my camp." He spoke surprisingly well for a minotaur. The memory I first had when I saw him was of a story about a minotaur from Greek mythology. The one about the maze. Not sure if you know it, but there's not enough time, nor enough memories in my brain.
And that was that. I slept until the morning and then left. No, I'm kidding. It goes more like this...
The moon pierced the canopy, shining down on the little stick hut I had made with trial and error. Hoots and haws and other ambience kept me from my sleep, grating on my little bird-mind. Finally, I became accustomed to the noise, drifting off into the land of dreams slowly...
Until the sound of breaking sticks made me dart up to my bird feet, having barely made any noise. I scanned my gaze rapidly over each and every detail of the clearing, until I came upon the offender. It was a pony. It had a milky white coat, illuminated in the light of the moon. Scars covered its body, a flintlock pistol and dagger holstered at its side. Its hair was a brown, with yellow highlights. A nubby horn protruded from the locks of hair.
I decided, then, that the best course of action was to wake up the minotaur. I grabbed the nearest pointy object, a small stick, and carefully began creeping over to the creature's tent.
Just then, the pony's eyes snapped to attention, looking straight at me.
The eyes were blood red.
Author's Note
Fixed a glaring error and changed hours to days. I can't believe I let that slip by me!
Father Time's Intervention.
Those eyes struck deep inside me. I felt something... Strange. Eldritch could be a term for it, but now was not the time to wax poetic.
I dodged his first attack by a hair, a simple slam down of the hooves. I flew back, turning in the air. Once I landed, I started running. The pony was very obviously going to catch up, and he did. So I dodged yet another attack, a swipe of his dagger. The shining steel rang through the air, missing me by inches. So far, I was lucky. But my luck will run out, eventually.
And it did. Pretty quickly, too.
I ducked under another of his knife swipes, and dodged a magic bolt sent at me. Though it did raise some questions, I was too hyped up on that hormone we call adrenaline and the will to survive to do anything about them. So I ducked and weaved under his attacks, but I was hit.
A stun spell impacted my body and sent me flying into a tree. I let out a loud caw of pain as I felt one of my wings bend at an odd angle. This was it, I thought as the pony demon approached, murderous intent in his eyes. I kept my eyes open in a move of defiance, even as the pupils I had not realized I had dilated.
The blade came down. A splash of red. A flare of pain. I looked down, my heart thumping in my ears. There was a stick poking out of my stomach. I stared at it. I stared at it. I stared at it... Then it all flashed in my vision, the events slowly moving back from some point in reality. I can't describe it. The stick was suddenly still in the air. Time was frozen. I could see it clearly, every little detail with disturbing clarity.
The marks on the sharpened wooden pike. The little shavings hanging on, swept back in the death blow of my soon-to-be killer. Then I realized I could move, oddly enough. I shuffled to the side, my wing flaring. I kept my mouth shut. I soldiered on. I didn't care anymore. I had to do something, anything at all, to make sure that whatever this was stopped and I was out of the way. This could be my only second chance. I decided to make it count.
I searched and searched, until I felt something shifting inside of me. I grabbed the nearest object, which was a broken shard of a whiskey bottle. My wing hurt, but I had relocated it. I would hopefully be fine, and if not, I had this make-shift shield...
Bum-bum.
Bum-bum.
Bum-bum.
SCREEEEEEEECCHHHHHHH!
The stick was deflected off the glass piece, my feathers being shredded by the sharp glass piece's backwards movement. I was alive. I wasn't dead. I was alive. Again. I cawed, attempting to chuckle. Thankfully for me, this was enough to wake the minotaur.
CRACK! went my enemy's head, as the minotaur bitch-slapped him like a professional. I was, of course, stunned. But I was also grateful for my luck. I pulled myself to my feet, rubbing my relocated wing. I looked up at the minotaur who had his hand out to me.
"Thanks for the warning, little bird. I'm Iron Will." I grabbed his hand with my good wing and lightly shook it, which was quite amusing. I decided the first thing I needed to do was gather my bearings after that experience. I told Iron Will I needed some bandages, then I would be gone. He fetched some while I prepared my bag. I hadn't even planned this far but I decided to head to the nearest town to see if they service crows. At that, I asked the minotaur about the local town.
"It's a hellhole. But, I suppose you could possibly figure something out. I recommend finding that yellow pony, she's good with animals." He replied to my question, uttering the last part with a small amount of venom. Questioning why he hated a yellow pony really wasn't something I wanted to do. So I decided to just leave, telling him goodbye. He waved me off, but not before giving me a small pouch full of fish jerky.
Now, we're closing in on the present.
It was a hot morning, and I had barely slept. My soft down was working against me as the sun beat down on me, like a brick on my back. Now, normally, I probably wouldn't have a problem with that. But when you're a small corvid, bricks tend to be freaking huge and heavy, a great burden.
Thankfully, I was sweating. The cool bodily fluids slowly trailed through my feathers. It made me sigh as I though of the feeling, but I had no more time to appreciate it. I burst out of the brush, finding myself on a dirt road. I heard the clopping of hooves, and several high pitched voices. Children of some species, maybe mythological? Unicorns or pegasus? Or, satyrs? Maybe even centaurs? I wasn't sure, so I ducked back into the shrubs and scanned the path.
Three brightly colored ponies trotted on the path, playing and talking about someone called Zecora and cutie marks and other such nonsense that I assumed children from this land speak of. I decided to exit the bush, rattling it.
Three pairs of eyes darted towards the bush, stepping backwards all in tandem. One, an orange pegasus, stepped forward and rose onto their hind legs. It assumed a boxer stance and buzzed its tiny wings. I was fully out of the bush now, so I raised both wings in a placating gesture. The orange one seemed to back down, then huddle up with its friends.
Now that I think about it, I haven't fully described them all. The orange one has purple mane and tail. Its eyes are magenta, I think. There's a yellow one, which has orange or amber eyes, a yellow coat, and a red mane and tail. Finally, there was a white one. It had green eyes, a magenta and pink mane and tail, and of course, a white coat. All of them were covered in sweat, twigs, and mud. But they seemed not to care, as all children don't.
They turned back to me and the yellow one approached. "Hi, little crow. Are you from Fluttershy's?"
I had no idea who 'Fluttershy' is. I shook my head no.
"Are you lost? Do you need help finding your mother?" The white one piped in. I shook my head no, once again. It was apparent that they had never seen a crow before, as I was clearly as tall as an adult one. I remembered studying them, for some odd reason. I pointed towards the town they were obviously coming from.
"You need help getting to Ponyville?" The orange one asked. I nodded my head yes, then the white one picked me up in some odd green field, plopping me down on the orange one's back. "You might want to hold on!"
Suddenly, we were off on a scooter. I looked all around me, seeing everything pass by so quickly that it blurred. It was an experience, to say the least. My lunch piled up in my stomach, creeping up my esophagus slowly. I swallowed down my nausea and held on, closing my eyes. The wind whipped past me, sending sweat beads flying into the air. It was exhilarating, to say the least... I felt like I was flying.
Then, it suddenly stopped. I was sent into the air, flying off the pony's back and faceplanting into the ground.
"Woah, you took a bad landing there. Are you okay?" I pulled myself up and nodded yes.
"Well, we're here. Have fun doing bird things, or whatever you do." The pony zoomed off, back into the forest. I turned myself around.
A massive, sprawling valley laid out before me, thatched roof houses everywhere. I could see a crystal castle and some other wondrous sights, such as a school on a high hill, cloud-houses, and hundreds of colorful ponies going about their day.
This is Ponyville? Welp, it's time to find out. I took the first few steps forward, prepared to begin a brand new day.
Interlude: Five Hundred Years Earlier.
Phenneus of Wilted Woods, a once proud pegasus corporal in the Lunar Knights. Now, a long sought-after necromancer.
For five hundred years after Nightmare Moon's banishment, he had escaped capture in hopes to return his mistress. Now, the mad pony stood trial in the Canterlot Military Court for the crimes he had committed.
"Oh judge of this fine court we have laid here, shalt I read the monster's charges?"
A pony in a gilded white robe turned his grey head toward the speaker.
"See that it is said." Was the judge's curt reply.
"Phenneus of Wilted Woods, you are charged with two hundred and nineteen counts of murder, three hundred counts of necromantic magic use, and desertion of her lady Celestia's army."
"Fuck you too." Phenneus said, and was promptly whacked over the head with the flat of a blade.
"Have respect for your superiors, monster!" Barked the guard who had struck him. Phenneus wanted to spit in his face, but that would only make things worse down here. He could either claim insanity or not guilty, but never, ever, claim guilty. He knew that they would hang him. If he claimed insanity, they would escort him to a padded cell and hours of psychiatrist visits. If he claimed not guilty, they would lop off his tail and right front leg.
Either way, it would not be good for him. No lawyer, no escape routes, and no access to rune magic.
"Your honor, may I ask a question?" He asked.
"You may, monster." The judge sneered.
"I wish to have a unique punishment for my crimes."
"Go on."
"I wish to be turned into a bird. A crow, to be exact. A small, useless bird. And I wish immortality with that, with which to suffer eternally."
"The only reason I grant this is that all fear death. You have chosen well for a monster." The judge said as he turned around. He stepped through double doors behind his desk. The crowd murmured as he did so, wondering what the judge was doing.
Finally, the judge entered. He carried a glowing, golden sun atop a belltower. He placed the model in a slot on top of his desk. It slowly sank in, until no one could see it anymore.
Then, there was an all-encompassing flash of light in Phenneus' face. He promptly blacked out.
A dragon rose, snorting smoke from its scaly nostrils. The slitted eyes of the beast flew to and fro, examining the small cave. It was a dark brown color, with bright purple eyes. Its underbelly was a tan color, not uncommon for the Earthen Dragon flight. It had two large wings on its back, which rustled and writhed as it rose. He wore a long duster with a leather undershirt and smooth, leather pants dyed ebony.
The dragon fell to their scaly knees, putting a hand on the uneven ground. It put its snout in its arms and roughly coughed, the arm coming away with scorch marks. He grimaced and rubbed the area with his sharp digits.
The dragon, Therieus, stood. He stood at around eight foot one. Finally ready for the day, the dragon trundled forward. His feet made clacking noises as the hardened keratin of his talons clicked against the stone.
"Leverul better have his special tonic ready..." He mumbled, scratching his back as he yawned loudly. He glanced around the slowly moving corridor.
Rocks, rocks, and more rocks. A few gems in the wall, but he did not care for greedy pursuits. He was an abnormal dragon, as he was born without the 'greed growth' gene. It was a recessive and unseen trait to have, that has not been recorded in eons. He, of course, did not know this. All he cared about was finally escaping the horrible slum that he had called home for years.
He reached the door rather quickly, which was a plain and unassuming stone door. It was made of some random volcanic rock, and had Dragon-Steel hinges. Therieus glared at the door, then shot his hand to the left. He turned his head, choosing a sword on his weapon rack.
The blade was long and serrated, meant for stabbing. It was double-edged, of course, and had an iron hilt. He felt the hilt, where the metal had bent from continued use. His clawed hand comfortably gripped it, before he quickly sheathed the weapon on his back. "Time to head out," He murmured.
He pushed the door open...
KRAK-THOOM!
Thunder cracked, and lightning struck. I quickly ducked my poor little bird head under a nearby overhang.
The villagers had not been bothered by me, and I felt no need to show my hand just yet. Them knowing I could speak could possibly mean being stuck in a lab and experimented upon, which is something I want to avoid as much as possible. I have no idea what this world could have in store. Xenophobic horses? As far as I knew, they could be cultists. This looks awfully like one of those towns with all the weird people who want to secretly murder you...
Wait, how do I know about that? Does that mean I could possibly learn more if I got in situations similar to this? I don't know.
"Hello, friend. What are you doing here?" There was something in front of me. I focused, and found that it was a wren. I didn't know crows and wrens got along. Eh, whatever. I suppose I should talk back.
"Hmm?" Just then, I realized that we were speaking in some language that I magically knew, somehow. It felt different. There were clicks and clocks, ticks and tocks. It was very odd.
"I asked what you're doing here, not in the air." The wren replied, a little annoyed.
"I don't really know. I was never taught how to fly." I stated. The wren looked surprised.
"Friend, we must teach you immediately! And look at the state of your feathers, tis dreadful!" The wren pointed to my wings, one of which was still bandaged. I glanced at it.
"I don't know if I can. I broke my wing, very recently." The wren had a look of horror on its face. It sounded feminine, but I could not assume. Assuming makes an ass out of you and me.
"Come along, we've got to get to more suitable shelter."
Therieus blinked. It was quite bright outside, the sun hurting his eyes. He took a look around the immediate area, finding the market a horrible place to live. Despite that, it was quite convenient to be able to buy fresh meat and vegetables as soon as he left his door. He glared at one of the stand owners, who was scamming a little dragon girl. He scowled, the scene making his mouth have a horrible taste in it.
Of course, he could not do anything about it. He averted his eyes and began the journey to the old and run-down bar that he worked at.
Being a very strong and intelligent creature, he worked as a bouncer at the bar. It smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. The place was expecting a rush hour tonight, as it was currently Saturday. That meant that most of the bar's customers would be wasted, or drunk off their asses as his boss put it. Which was good for business, but not good for the one-dragon security team.
He rolled his head, pops and snaps signifying that he had removed the irritating crick in his neck. He rubbed his jaw.
Therieus had finally entered the industrial district of the city. Blacksmiths and other vendors lived and worked here, if not in the impromptu market. While it was much cheaper, this was where the rich of Dragonia came to buy luxurious blades and couches made of the finest fur hides. Although he had never bought a couch or any other item of the sort, he had bought a few weapons of steel and iron with what little he had. He really wanted to buy a gun from the local gunsmith, but they were all too expensive for the Draconic bouncer.
Finally, he reached the district he was looking for. Known as the Tumbleweed district, this was where most drifters came into the city. It had bars, cheap hotels, and of course everything else a traveler under the sun or moon could want. Sometimes he debated leaving his personal hell, but he banished those thoughts.
He ducked into the bar, coming up to the counter. He rang the employees-only bell.
Leverul, his boss, came out of the kitchen with a tray. He placed it on the counter, holding out his hand.
"Pay up for the tonic, kiddo." He smirked. Therieus placed twenty golden bits in the bar-owner's scaly claws. The bar-owner counted out the money quickly, then dropped it into a pouch on his belt. Therieus took three bottles of tonic off the bar, chugging one down. He felt his stomach's fire die down.
"Alright boss, when will we be opening for the customers to come in?" He asked, tilting his head. Leverus usually opened at different times each night. Mostly due to his other employees being very bad at being punctual. Not Therieus, though. He usually came in before his shift even started.
"We're opening at nine tonight." He replied, cleaning out a glass.
"Mind helping me out and grabbing that flip lighter over there?" Therieus strode over to the table and picked up the lighter.
"Nice. Mind if I keep it?" The bouncer turned to his boss.
"Not really. I already have plenty of them." He jerked his head towards the case full of flip lighters of varying sizes and materials. Therieus mentally faceclawed at his blindness.
KRAK-THOOM!
I stared, lost in thought, out of the window of the barn we were in. The wren, named Mary, was very nice. She helped me preen and even recommended a doctor to visit. Rather, a veterinarian.
I'll end this entry here...
Therieus stared out over the bar, as he leaned on the counter. His vision passed over the crowd, watching many dragons and griffons, some zebras too, as they laughed and made merry.
The bar did not quiet down as the new pony entered. It continued making noise. They did not care. Ponies were rare around here, but not unheard of.
Said pony had a grey coat, a black mane with two brown highlights, and was wearing desert traveler attire. He had a duster, a pair of saddlebags, a holster, and a pair of black leather boots. He covered his eyes with a pair of opaque goggles. His mouth was protected by a scarf.
The pony lowered the scarf with his hoof. He seemed to look around the alcoholic's dreamland. Therieus had a hard time telling, even with his attentive dragon eyes. The stranger approached the bar with the gait of a relaxed bar-goer. He seemed to make himself vulnerable to the crowds, as if saying, "Come and get me, motherbuckers."
Everyone knew he didn't belong. But they still continued what they were doing.
The clopping of hooves snapped Therieus out of his intense state of concentration. The pony was quickly getting ever closer and closer to the bar. He aimed his eyes at a stool, a seat that was usually reserved for the most hated customer of the bar. Therieus knew there would be trouble, which is what he wanted to avoid. He approached the pony.
"Hello. Would you mind choosing a different seat, sir?" He asked, a look in his eyes that said, "If you don't move, you might get murdered."
The pony nodded wisely. He went to scoot over, but as he clenched the seat, the doors to the bar slammed open. Everyone immediately shut up as they realized the pony was about to get killed by Bartholomew the Eviscerator.
This customer was a wealthy noble and veteran of the Earth Flight and Fire Flight war, one that had lasted a hundred years. He was eleven inches taller than Therieus, meaning that he was nine feet tall. He wore a black waist coat with golden buttons engraved with scenes from the war.
The dragon approached the pony, who did not move over. He snorted on the back of the pony's neck.
"Move over, meatbag." The dragon sneered.
The desert-rat snorted. "You think I'd move over for a worm?"
Bartholomew, the tan dragon with red eyes glared down at the pony. He snarled, drawing his clenched fist back for a punch.
The pony jumped into the air, the punch missing him by a mile. He appeared on the dragon's back, .357 magnum in his ear.
"Pardner, I don' move over for no damned worm." The revolver's report came loud and clear, blood splattering on the bar's floor. Old Bart fell over, dead as a door-nail.
Everyone was silent.
The pony left.
Therieus followed.
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...
Three Heads Do Not Make One Smarter.
For Therieus, it had been years since the bandit incident. Many years. If he truly knew how many, he would weep for the many people that he had lost. Actually, I do not think that statement is correct. The nine foot tall wanderer had been hardened by the years of mental assault. He was a formidable marksman, a warrior of great intelligence and strength, and a tactician.
A hundred years of advancement had occurred since that day. He had lost many. Dusty Sea. Gibrat. Dense Foliage. And many others that he could not recount. However, the fallen always had a place in his heart. Over the years he had collected many memoirs. From weapons older than a hundred and ten years, to packs of cards carefully preserved and enchanted. Heirlooms and beads covered his figure.
The now nine foot two dragon wore a ragged duster, with seemingly light plate armor underneath. The plate armor was actually Magernite, a metal as tough as steel and as light as a feather. Kind of like Mithril. The metal was blackened from continued use, having many dents and scratches as well. He wore special boots made for dragons, reinforced with some Dragon-Steel. He had a hat on his head, a pair of familiar goggles hanging around his neck. A medallion, some bead necklaces, and many other odd trinkets decorated his neck. Speaking of his neck, it was protected with a wrap of iron-weave. Simply some fabric enchanted to be as tough as iron, which is extremely simple. He had a pair of pauldrons made of the same material as his chest-plate. His pants were denim jeans, also enchanted to be iron-weave.
In all, the dragon looked pretty bad-ass. Many people had not lived to tell the tale of meeting this formidable opponent.
Although he was normally not one to go to pony-owned lands, his next quest would lead him there. Years of investigation had lead him to the Eclipsed Sun Project, which was a plan to hunt down all of Princess Luna's thestral commanders and execute/make them useless. The plan had long been used, around a thousand years ago. But to him, there was one name on the list to hunt down that intrigued him.
Phenneus of Wilted Woods, a well known escapee of the executive order. Some say that he had disappeared entirely off the map, or had been taken away by the Princess and quietly executed. Others told of tales, in which crows flocked to Canterlot and had carried him off. Some of the most absurd were that he had been banished to the moon with his mistress.
Whatever the case, Therieus had gotten some reports from his scouts. They had all been talking about the hydras that were attacking settlements along the Everfree forest. The dragons had offered to help Celestia, but she had declined their help. She also did not allow the zebras to help. But, that could not stop Therieus from doing some good deeds while he was investigating the ESP.
Currently, he was in the Everfree. The town would not be a good place to start his hunt for the hydra nest...
Sorry for the late entry. It has been two days since I came to this fairy-tale land. I've not explained very many things, I believe. Could just be my forgetfulness.
Does not matter either way. What does matter, is the fact that there have been many hydras invading this pony settlement. Thankfully, a purple unicorn and her friends have been driving them off using some 'magic', as I've been told by Mary. I also visited the veterinarian, but I chose not to write about it due to the incident being a little embarrassing. Even though only an eagle could read this, with their eyes being able to zoom in, I wanted to keep my privacy, just in case someone else got a hold of it. On another note, I had finally learned how to fl-
BLAM!
Was that...A gunshot? I'll be ending this entry here!
The Dragon-Steel slug had entered the intelligent head of the hydra, Therieus dashing away stealthily as he could. He pumped the Remington 870, chambering yet another from the box magazine. His heavily modified shotgun-rifle had a scope and a flash hider, as well as a short box magazine containing ten shells. Overall, the gun fired twelve shells, or slugs. This was his main weapon for medium range fights and small skirmishes. He also had a selective fire rifle and a pistol. It was another familiar weapon...
The hydra's intelligent head slumped backwards, the other two hissing and warbling a battle cry. The two brutish heads charged into the brush where the shot had been fired, blasting through the forest's trees with barely any effort. Bark and splinters, branches and leaves, fruits and vegetables, it did not matter, they all flew just the same. The enraged creature had nothing except the pit of despair and anger to turn to. Its brother had been murdered.
Therieus wiped his mouth, slinging his shotgun. Lowering his gloved hand to his belt, he pulled the coarse string of a leather pouch. He reached his fingers in, securing the neck of a small bottle in his talons. He glanced left and right from his crouched position, making sure nothing was around to interrupt him.
He chugged the bottle's contents, then placed the vial back into its appropriate pouch. He tightened the string carefully.
The dragon slung his rifle, the weapon comfortable in his draconic claws. This was an AK-47, otherwise known as the
His was silenced, had a short magazine, and was scoped. It had a grip and adjustable stock for tactical reasons. The silenced weapon was loaded with 8mm rounds, rather than the usual 7.62mm that the AK had. It was much larger than one that a Feline would use, allowing for it to use a larger round. This reliable weapon was possibly the deadliest weapon on Equus.
"Time to hunt me a motherfuckin' hydra." He slammed a magazine into the gun's underside.
I soared high, high above the forest. The mushed up green and grey below ran by, as I slowed my flight. I wanted to take a look at the area where the shot had gone off, just to see if I could figure out what that was all about. Hopefully it was just some random hunter wandering too far off the game trails. Mary had told me about them, how they usually came up here to poach and all that jazz.
Finally, the area came into view. Or what I decided must be the area, since there was a spattering of blood and other rather gorey bits that I won't describe. Deep prints in the mucky ground confirmed my second theory. A hydra hunter hired by the crown, or a desperado from the Badlands looking to make some money with his skills.
I searched around the clearing for evidence. In there were about twenty eight hydra tracks, as the beast was quite massive. It had barreled through the trees in another direction, tossing detritus across the small clearing. It seemed like the hunter had fired from the treeline's brush on the far left side of the clearing. Upon closer inspection, I found the tell-tale sign of a shotgun. A bright red shell was buried slightly in the ground, covered by some leaves.
I dug it out and took a look at it. I couldn't really tell if it was a pellet shell or a slug. It seemed like it would be a slug, though. That's considering the amount of blood over there, as well as Mary having told me about the hunters' weapons. Some had AK-47s, which were deadly weapons from the frozen north of Felussia. They seemed familiar, though. The AKs, I mean. As if they were not originally from here...
I shook away the thoughts, fully grounding myself in reality. There was no time. I had a feeling in my gut that this hunter was different. That maybe he or she could help me in finding my identity, or helping to find someone who can. There was a chance. I have decided to take it by the arm and let it lead me to answers, adventure, and closure. After all, this life is just one big game. You don't take chances? You remain boring, uninteresting, useless to whatever higher being that is throwing the pieces on the board and seeing if they do something abnormal. Anything to break monotony, I suppose.
Enough about philosophy. I must find this hunter, so I wil-
BLAM!
End this entry here...
Author's Note
Why cats are Russians? Because Siberian tigers.