The pony in black ran across the desert, and the mercenary followed. He took his time, slowly plodding along, his face and body covered by a grey cloak and hood, to protect him from the fierce wind that blew constantly, buffeting him this way and that, peppering him with small particles of sand and dust. He knew the pony in black would run out of food soon, and he would be there when it did. He knew not who he was chasing, only that the pony's head would further line his pockets with hundreds of bits.

He carried but two things upon his back, a bag, filled with provisions and water, a precious commodity out here in the dry, scorched wasteland, and a long, thin bundle, tied tightly around his shoulder. He flexed his shoulders and tried to find a more comfortable position for his pack. He kept walking, focused only on the faint tracks that showed his quarry. He paused, and sat upon his haunches, taking out some food. He slowly ate, trying to conserve as much energy as possible for the long trek ahead. He looked up as a new sound assailed his ears. "What the hell is that?" He thought, looking for the source. He gasped, the first sound that escaped his lips in well over two years, and stared at the black cloud rapidly forming on the horizon. Then, suddenly, it was upon him. A veritable torrent battered him, drenching him in freezing water. "What the fuck is going on here?" He got up an trotted to the first piece of shelter he could find, a rock with a large overhang. Here he hunkered down for the night, waiting for the downpour to cease. He waited for three days before he realized that it wasn't going to end.

Finally, on the dawn of the fourth day, he decided to embark and hunt his prey. He packed his things, re-strapped his bundle, and set out, pulling his hat down over his horn. For days he walked, plodding silently along, slowly gaining upon the pony in black.

After five agonizing days of ceaseless walking, he finally spotted his enemy. With a grim smile, the mercenary crept up upon the sleeping pony, waiting for the right time to strike. He crept up behind the pony, and raised his hooves for a fatal strike. As his hooves descended, the pony turned at kicked him in the stomach. The mercenary flew backward, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs, and probably breaking some ribs. With a snarl, he slowly got up, his horn glowing an angry red. The bundle on his back began to glow. With a feral growl, a gleaming great-sword rose into the air, and at that moment, a great clash of lightning illuminated the scene, showing the fear and surprise on the other pony's face. Raising the sword high, he turned it so the point hovered a few feet from the pony's breast, he laughed and the sword sank, slowly piercing into his chest. The pony writhed in agony as the massive blade entered his ribcage, blood gurgling out, slowly staining the sand around him red. After minutes of convulsing and screaming, the pony succumbed to the darkness. The mercenary smiled and cleaned his blood-drenched sword on the cold carcass of the deceased pony's fur. Slicing off it's head and stuffing it into it's own sack, the mercenary took it's food and water and walked off back toward town.

---

Little did the mercenary know, he was being watched from afar. High atop a mountain, in a dark chamber, a great beast sat upon a throne of skulls. With the head of a pony and the body of a myriad of different beasts, it looked into a glass ball. "Hmmm..." He said, talking to no one in particular, "that pony shows potential. I might just have to 'recruit' him." The creature laughed, a wicked, cruel laugh that echoed in his empty chamber. "Time to cause some discord in the world!"

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