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Prologue: The Chase1,244 words
Chapter 1 - Welcome to Paradise4,519 words
Chapter 2 - New Friends, New Problems3,414 words

Prologue: The Chase

~Prologue: The Chase~

“I think we lost him!”

The two figures ran, shrouded in darkness, galloping at top speed through the moonless night. They ran across windswept prairie, across desert plains and through patches of brush. When they couldn’t run anymore, they climbed. Up and across rocky plateaus, through canyons and across peaks where even the most sure-footed of buffalo feared to tread. Finally, exhausted, they slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. The nervous one, a young, rangy fellow still more colt than stallion, peeked fearfully over the rocks they’d chosen to rest behind. His gruff companion began to unpack his saddlebags, preparing bedroll and fire.

“Of course we lost him, ya dumb cuss. Nothin’ could follow us ‘cross alla that! We got us a head start, an’ there ain’t nopony knows this terrain better’n me!” As the fire roared to life, his magical aura again wrapped around his bags, setting them to the side and removing provisions, a small burlap bag and a battered tin pot. Tearing open the bag, the gruff one closed his eyes and inhaled, letting out a relaxed sigh as he allowed the powerful aroma to wash over him, the tension draining from his posture. “Nothin’ like a fresh cuppa coffee fer tired bones.”

Again checking over his shoulder, the nervous one scoured the mountain range behind them. “I dunno, Ash... I just... They say he’s-” He’s silenced by a hoof upside the head.

“Now what I tell you ‘bout flappin’ yer gums with all them stories? He ain’t no demon, he ain’t ‘one with the spirits’, heck, he ain’t even a unicorn! He’s an earth pony, plain and simple, and a damned ugly one at that. I’m tellin’ ya, there ain’t nothing that can pick up our tracks. Fer cryin’ out loud, even a pegasus couldn’t find us out here! Winged rats can’t even fly out here, updrafts or summat. Now, you’ve got two choices, friend. Y’all can either sit here, have a cup ‘a coffee an’ help me count the cash...” He adjusted the bulging saddlebags almost lovingly “Or, if’n you’re that worried about the big bad earth pony, why don’cha go an’ sit allll the way o’er there? Sure, it’s outta the firelight, an’ it can get mighty cold, but at least y’all can watch the trail?” He laughed, adjusting the pot, “Go take up a nice lookout, an’ see for yerself that there ain’t nothin’ coming.” Finished with his ministrations, he sat back with a sigh as the coffeepot gently bubbled away. Lying back against a boulder, he pulled his stetson down over his eyes. “As fer me? I’m gonna take mahself a well earned rest afore I get to work... ‘s tough stuff, figgerin’ out exactly how much richer we are.” Stung, yet slightly reassured by his companion’s scorn, the nervous one sat anxiously by the fire, rubbing his hooves together to stave off the icy chill of the night around them. All around the two outlaws there was near dead silence, a pure, clean stillness broken only by the crackle of the fire and the slow bubbling of the coffeepot.

With a sigh, the nervous colt drew his coat about him and rose to his hooves, turning from the comforting blaze.

Just one look.

Stepping away from the fire, he made his way to the top of the ridge, picking his way through sandswept rock and bracken, and surveyed the trail below. Stone and sand stretched as far as the eye could see, painting a desolate picture of emptiness and solitude. His companion was right, it seemed. There was no sign of life across those silent plains. Even the desert’s native wildlife seemed to be missing.

Finally satisfied that he and his companion hadn’t been followed, he turned away from the expanse below him, only to come face to face with a sight that could make the blood of the most hardened desperado run cold. On the cliff opposite him, a shadowy figure stood ominously, taunting him with its presence. As the adrenaline spike burned through him like a lightning strike, speed born of desperation and raw terror spurred him on as hoof shot to his side, the bracelet he wore magically connecting to the slim steel rod holstered there. Drawing his weapon, he leveled it at his target, the hours of practice shooting at tin cans in the back streets of his hometown rushing back to him in his hour of direst need. With a crack, a single bolt of magical lightning erupted from the tip of his torch, striking the distant figure square on.

Not bothering to check whether or not the figure had fallen, the colt whirled around, running fast, faster than he had thought possible. As he rounded the boulders separating him from his partner, he stumbled, rolling to a stop with a pained grunt. Looking up, he noticed the dark figure regarding him over the brim of its mug of piping hot coffee tenderly cradled in the crook of its fetlock.

Scrambling to his hooves, the nervous colt turned back a moment, scanning the darkness behind him, as he addressed the figure. “It’s him! He’s here! I think I got him, but I ain’t taking no chances! Come on, we gotta go! Now!” As he returned his gaze to the figure, it spoke, its voice rooting him to the spot.

“Now, that ain’t very hospitable of you. Ah’m sure your pal don’t have hisself any issues with sharin’ some more of this here coffee. Why not sit an’ stay a spell?” The voice, deep and rough, bones ground beneath a millstone, could only belong to one stallion. As the nervous colt, eyes wide, digested exactly what it was the figure had said, it raised its head, flickering firelight casting a reddish glow across a single wild eye, staring deep into his soul. “Go on, then. Reach fer it, if’n you’ve got a mind to.”

Once more did raw terror lend speed to his hoof as he reached for his belt. Once more did the steel bangle wrapped about his fetlock stretch with magnetic tendrils, reaching for its mate.

A sharp crack rang out, echoing across the mountains. The colt looked down, examining the neat hole through his chest, as his vision clouded.

Funny, he thought, I thought it would hurt. As he collapsed to the ground, the figure holstered its own weapon before rising from its seat and approaching him. His back to the flames, the dark figure struck a match, its brief light illuminating a face that most would swear had clawed its way from the pits of Tartarus itself for just one brief moment as he brought it to the tip of a cigarette. As suddenly as it had come, the flame was extinguished, leaving only a softly glowing cigarette tip, which bobbed and weaved, tracing ethereal patterns in the air as the stallion spoke.

“A pity. Thought you might’ve had more sense than yer pal.”

He was a hero to some, a villain to others... and wherever he roamed, ponies spoke his name in whispers. He had no friends, this Hex, but he did have two companions: one was death itself... the other, the acrid smell of ozone...