Desperado 1

So, you want to hear my story, eh? Desperado the maddrake? Desperado the cultist? Desperado the murderer? Yes, I suppose that's all true. I have been all those things, all throughout my life. You don't get to survive in the Sand Kingdom without doing some unforgivable things.

It's been said that a lot of bad dragons were made by having terrible dragonethoods. I suppose that must be true, as I didn't have one. I never knew my parents. I was able to figure out that my father was a Sandwing, and my mother was a Nightwing. I can only guess that I was the result of a one-night stand and an unwanted gravidity, as rather than raising me in the Scorpion's Den or the Volcano Island, I was buried in the sand, abandoned and forgotten. When I hatched, I was alone, with nothing but scorpions and lizards for food or company. I wandered for who knows how long, a feral dragonet surviving on instinct alone.

I might've stayed that way the rest of my life, had I not been picked up by a wandering caravan. A dozen travelling Sandwings found me one day, chewing away at the old carcass of an iguana, starving and alone. They caught me, and decided to keep me around as a mascot. They even gave me a name - Desperado. "Desperate One", they said.

Travelling from place to place, I learned a lot about Phyrria. Namely, most dragons didn't like dragons like me. Having parents from two different Tribes was considered unnatural, gross, wrong. Other dragonets would tease, bully and fight me at every settlement we went to, and my would-be parents would rarely if ever help me out. "You learn to be strong and quick, or you get buried in a ditch", they used to say.

So, I learned to fight. I learned to be vicious, and mean, and cruel. I learned that the only way someone like me could survive in this world was to lie, cheat and steal. And it didn't take long for me to get very good at all of it.

I killed my first dragon when I was seven years old. I had gathered up enough money to buy my own knife, and found just the perfect blade. I could twirl and spin it and use it like it was an extension of myself. It was, in fact, my most prized possession. And as with all things, when you have something of value, others wished to take it from me. I was on my way back to my caravan, when a Skywing dragonet blocked my path. He was bigger than me, older than me, and looked at me as though I was dirt beneath his claws.

"Hey kid," He demanded, "There's a toll to pass on this road. Hand over the bag, if you know what's good for you."

I looked down at my burlap travel bag, which held all my world possessions, including gold, rations, and my new knife. "Why?" I challenged. "You're no soldier. You're no noble. You can't tell me what to do."

The Skywing snorted. "But I can," He insisted, "Because you can either give me what I want, or I can take everything you have. Your choice, freak."

I could feel my blood boil, my grip tightening around my bag. This wasn't anything new to me. I've dealt with shit like this my entire life. Dragons and dragonets thinking they could do whatever they wanted with me, because I didn't belong anywhere. Even as young as I was, the whole thing was making my ass tired. But that day, I was going to do something about it.

"Alright then." I told him, my paw closing around the blade, "Take what you want. I don't care anymore." I tossed the bag at him and charged. Like every other dragon in Phyrria, the Skywing reached out and caught the bag, leaving himself exposed. I tackled him to the ground, driving my knife into his chest. He shrieked in pain, twisting and bucking against me. I pulled out my blade and stabbed him again. And again. And again. His screams became a gurgle, and then he went silent. Blood pooled beneath us, staining my paws, my wings, my blade. It was quick, hardly more than forty seconds, and before I even had the clarity to register what I'd done, it was over.

I had just taken a life. I had just taken a life and I felt...good. It was so strange, the sense of pride and satisfaction that came over me. I struck back at the world that continued to wrong me, and I finally won a battle. Yes, I realized that I had done something really bad, and that I could never come back to this village, but I didn't care.

With a big, stupid grin on my face, I wiped the blood off my blade on the Skywing's shoulder, and flew back to my caravan. Nobody asked any questions as we left, even as I kept on smiling. My adoptive friends and family caught onto what I did, once word began to spread, but if anything they were approving. The world was a tough, brutal place, and you had to learn to defend yourself and strike back if you were to stand a chance.

I grew a talent for killing. I started taking work with some of the older dragons, escorting and protecting VIDs (Very Important Dragons), robbing some punk nobles, and assassinating anyone I was paid to kill. It made me tough and strong, a dragon no one wanted to mess with. And it paid very well, which was a very nice perk.

This was my life for many years. I wandered aimlessly from town to town, place to place, doing whatever it took to survive in a harsh, uncaring world without purpose or meaning. That is, until I found Crossroads, and a dragoness who'd change my life forever...

It was middle of my twenty-eighth summer, and I'd made the rather stupid decision to try and fly the long way 'round to the Sandwing Palace. It couldn't really be helped, after I ran into some trouble in the Scorpion's Den. I had no idea that the sexy barmaid I had a one-night stand with was the sister of one of the most powerful gang-leaders in the city at the time. If I did... well, I'd still take her to bed, but maybe I would've stayed until morning to make sure there were no hard feelings. The point was, my face wasn't welcome there, so I couldn't make my usual pit stop before going to the Palace to find more work.

Now this was a particularly hot summer, even by Sand Kingdom's standards. As the midday sun beat down on my black scales and wings, I was reminded that the Nightwing half of me was not meant to be out and about in the daytime. That is to say, most of me wasn't meant to be out getting cooked alive. As an adult, the only things that gave away my Sandwing heritage was my face and the fin along my spine. I had no stinger, and my scales were the gray-black color of burnt coal. The edges of my wings were dusted with flecks of orange and rust, but unlike pureblooded Nightwings, there were no starry scales resembling a night sky. Instead, simple circular drawings of planets and comets decorated them, the result of a drunken whim one night many years ago, which I'd since made part of my personal brand. There were plenty of times when I hustled some gullible Mudwing or Skywing out of their money, making them think I could see the future like actual Nightwings, making up some BS as I "read their fortunes".

You do what you have to, to survive in this world.

Anyways, it's the middle of the day, and I'm hot, tired, hungry, and I'm looking for someplace to rest my wings. I scan the horizon, looking for telltale signs of an oasis or settlement to wait until the evening. As it turned out, I spotted something shining out to the west. A settlement, maybe a dozen or so buildings spread out over a quarter-mile around a small oasis and an orchard of palm and olive trees. Couldn't have had more than fifty dragons living there. I was reluctant to go there, as many small hamlets are even less tolerant of dragons like me than bigger towns. But I also figured that enough gold and jewelry could make them forget their prejudices, at least for a short while.

I flew towards the town. A few minutes later, I dropped down and landed between the sand dunes outside the settlement. I've learned the hard way that many villagers didn't like it when a stranger just dropped down in the middle of town unannounced, no matter how much money you brought along. It was considered polite to walk in from the outside, give everyone a chance to see you, talk to you, maybe even turn you away before you get in and cause trouble. I hadn't taken more than two steps when I heard someone say, "Hello there, Desperado."

I snapped around, scanning the dunes to see who said that. There was no one there. Then two eyes appeared above the sand. Then a toothy, bemused smile. Then the rest of the long, lithe form of a dragoness came into being. Her scales were greenish-black, with dots teal-green and lime running along her back, neck and chest. Her tail was long and winding, curling up into a ball in the end. Her wings were the color of green auroras, with little silver skies shining like stars. She had a scar along her nose, which drew my attention to her teal-colored eyes.

She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful dragonesses I'd ever seen.

Now I had seen a lot in my many years of travel, but this sudden appearance of beauty had caught me so off-guard, that I just stared at her in surprise for several seconds.

"What's the matter, friend?" She asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"...I..." I started, trying to process it all, "...I have so many questions."

"I'm sure you do." She giggled, a gentle, bubbly sound that tickled my ears. "Why don't we start with the basics? My name is Dusk, and this is my home. Welcome to Crossroads." She bowed, extending her wings in a dramatic flourish.

"You live here?" I tilted my head skeptically. "I didn't think non-Sandwings would want to live in a place so... toasty."

"The Kingdom of Sand is a large, empty place." The dragoness explained, circling around me. "Perfect for dragons who want somewhere to start over and be left alone." Hints of gold twinkled over ebony scales. "But I'm sure you already know about that."

"Yeah," I replied, "I guess you could say that. Speaking of, how did you-"

"If you're asking about my little display," She giggled, "That's thanks to my Rainwing father. Rainwings have scales that can change to blend with their surroundings. And there's so much sunlight here that my scales can always change when I need to." She motioned back and forth between us, before continuing, "Our mothers are of the same Tribe, but what the Nightwings don't tell anyone is that their powers are dependent on the light of the moons. You, for example, I'm sure hatched buried in sand, in the daytime, away from their lights. I, on the other wing, woke up in the twilight hours of the light of the prophet's moon. So while I can see the future, it only comes to me in my dreams."

"And, what, you saw me in your dreams?" I scoffed.

"Oh, I saw a lot more than that," She purred, "But we can discuss that later. For now, let me show you around my village."

The strange Rainwing started walking to the town, and (not really having anything else to do at this point) I followed. The town of Crossroads isn't a particularly big or notable place even within the Sand Kingdom. On its own, there's probably a dozen little settlements just like this scattered across the sands. But what made this place stand out from all the rest was the inhabitants. Each and every single member of the town was a hybrid. There were a lot of Sandwing mixes, of course, with Sandwing-Mudwings and Sandwing-Skywings making up the largest types (not surprising, considering the large minorities of Muds and Skys in the Kingdom). There were also a wide variety of mixes I'd never seen before: Seawing-Skywings, Icewing-Mudwings, Nightwing-Skywings, and so on. Every possible combination could be found here, and all of them were living and working together in peace. I had never seen so many mix-breeds in one place before. More than that, I'd never felt more at home before.

As the day began to fade to evening, Dusk invited me to her place for an early dinner. Not one to turn down a free meal, I accepted, and we went to her home, which doubled as the Mayor's office. Yes, this mysterious little Rainwing was also the leader of the town, which made me all the more curious as to why she was so interested in me. Bowls of stewed camel meat and plates of desert fruits and nuts lined our tables, accompanied by bottles of palm wine - my favorite.

"Thank you." I said, as a servant filled my cup.

"Night King watch your path." The drake said, bowing slightly as he turned and left. My tail twitched uneasily. That wasn't the first time I heard that phrase today. It was a common one in fact, here in Crossroads. It made me think of a lot of things, none of them good. I glanced over at Dusk, raising an eyebrow, prompting her for an answer.

"Okay, I'll bite," I finally asked, "What's the Night King?"

"Not what, who." She took a sip of wine, her face lighting up as she began to explain. "Many thousands of years ago, an Icewing Prince fell in love with a Nightwing dragoness. His name was Arctic, and her name was Foeslayer. He was the last of the Icewing Royal Family to have the power of an Animus, the ability to bend reality to their will. His mother, Queen Diamond, never forgave the Nightwings for taking away such a valuable asset, and started a war between the two Tribes that continues even to this day. From this union came two hybrid dragonets: A female, named Whiteout, and a male, named Darkstalker."

I snickered. "That's an ominous name if I ever heard one."

"And that's what Arctic thought," Dusk admitted, "But Foeslayer saw so much more in her son. She saw him not as a stalker in the darkness, but a stalker of the darkness. She knew that he would shine the brightest out of all the Nightwings, for he was hatched under the Brightest Night. As he grew, it became clear just how powerful he was. Not only was he an unparalleled mindreader and futureseer, but he inherited his father's Animus ability as well."

"A dragon who can read any mind, see every future, and bend reality to their will?" I mused, "Someone with that kind of power would be-"

"A god?" Dusk suggested, smiling knowingly.

"...If they were real," I countered, "Yes."

"Indeed," She continued, "And it was because of this that many dragons started to fear him. Not only his father, but the Nightwing Queen and her inner circle, as well. The Darkstalker saw a future where all Tribes were united under one banner, under one King. He saw a future where all dragons, regardless of their origins or lineage, are treated equally under the reign of a wise, fair, immortal ruler. But as he worked to bring that future into being, others sought to undo it. His grandmother captured and killed his mother. Queen Vigilance of the Nightwings sent assassins after him, only to discover that he had already made himself immortal and invulnerable. Even his own father tried to break his spirit by kidnapping his sister and attempting to flee back to the Ice Kingdom."

"Hmm, they sound like real cockmunchers." I snorted.

"Many royals are." Dusk agreed. "Which is why the Darkstalker decided to do something about it. He caught his father and sister before they reached the Ice Kingdom, freeing her of his enchantments. But the Night King wasn't done there. He wanted to make an example out of him, for all the world to see. So he enchanted his father to obey HIS commands, and took them all back to the Lost City of Night. There, Arctic was forced to admit that his son was the greatest Animus who ever lived. He had to admit that he was a terrible father, and had been working with his grandmother to betray and destroy the Nightwings. And when he was done confessing his crimes, Darkstalker made him rip out his tongue and his heart, and bled out on a stage for all the City to see."

"But what was meant as a display of power and justice," She continued, "The rest of the Kingdom saw as cruel and terrifying. Such was their fear of the Night King, that they even managed to convince his soulmate and best friend to turn against him. Clearsight, the greatest seer to ever live, foresaw a way to defeat her love, and in turn made their friend Fathom, another Animus from the Sea Kingdom, enchant a bracelet to put the Darkstalker to sleep. Unwilling to accept the possibility that his closest friends would betray him, the Night King fell into a deep, remote pit underneath a mountain, where he lays dreaming, waiting for a time when the stars are right, and he may once again return to the world of the living."

She said all this solemnly and reverently, as if reciting some ancient myth about the creation of the world. Frankly, the first time I heard this story, it threw me for a loop. I wasn't exactly a stranger to violence, but everything she described sounded like overkill. Wouldn't it have been enough just to make him snap his own neck, or explode, or even just command his heart to stop? Public disembowelments seem kinda, I dunno, needlessly theatrical for my tastes. Plus, my first exposure to this whole cult thing seemed rather shady to me. What, a bunch of misfits and outcasts come together over the belief that an ancient boogeyman is actually a nice guy who'll make their lives better if they just wait long enough for him to wake up and conquer the world? It came as edgy and cringe, something you'd expect some sad, lonely teenager to come up with.

"And is this something you discovered on your own?" I asked, trying to avoid saying anything that might be construed as insulting, "Or is this something someone taught you? How long has this 'Coven' been around?"

"You doubt my sincerity." Dusk smirked knowingly, her words a statement rather than a question.

"I'm skeptical of anything that I can't see or sense on my own." I replied. "I've been around enough shady dragons to know that everyone lies, and the desperate will believe anything. I'm just trying to understand what the catch is."

Teal-colored eyes stared back at me, her gaze penetrating my soul. Her scales flickered between dark blue and dark purple, though I had no idea what that meant. Finally, she nodded, coming to a conclusion.

"What would it take," She offered, "To convince you that I was telling you the truth?"

I sat straighter, having to think about it. "Hmmm... Well, you can see the future, right? Do you know what happens to me when I get to the Sandwing Palace? I heard they were looking for-"

"You find death." She answered. "Or more accurately, the brother of the barmaid you plowed last night."

I flinched at those words, I admit it. Like, how else was I supposed to react to something like that? There was NO WAY she could've known about that. No way, except... Well, if she really could see the future through dreams.

"He'll know that you're heading to the Palace to get work," She continued, "His hench-dragons will be waiting for you. They planned on taking you to the dunes, torturing you for a few hours. Then the brother would come, cut off your wings, then your tail, then your drakehood. He'd shove said genitals into your mouth, set you on fire, and smash your head with a rock before burying you in the sands, never to be seen again."

I just sat there, staring at her, processing that. "...Oh."

"It doesn't have to end like that, of course." She added, refilling her glass. "The crime boss is vengeful, but has a short attention span. His followers will wait for you for a week or so, but then something else will happen in the Den, his attention will focus elsewhere, and in time, he will forget you."

"And what should I do for a whole week? Just sit here in your little town, hearing how awesome your ancient wizard-god is?"

"Well, that's one thing you could do." Dusk smiled a mischievous little grin. "There's a fair amount of work to be had in town, plenty of things for you to do during the day. And at night, if you wish, you can come spend time with me. You're rather easy on the eyes, and it's been a long time since I had someone new to converse with like this."

My tail thumped the ground in surprise. "You're asking me to stay?"

"I'm asking you," She said, "To give us a chance to convince you to join. If we still wish to leave after one week, you're free to go and do as you wish. Do we have a deal?" She extended her glass to me.

Considering my options (or rather, lack of options), I didn't really have a choice. Besides, a week's worth of free food and lodging was hard to come across in those days, and if I played my cards right, I might even have a little fun with this peculiar little dragoness.

"Deal." I agreed, clinking my glass against hers, and ultimately, sealing my fate...

The next several days were an interesting stretch, to say the least. There was a guest house at the edge of town where I initially stayed, a modest little building where fellow travelers and merchants stayed to do business and rest before moving on. There was plenty of work to do around town, from tending the palm orchards to minding hatchlings to repairing homesteads. The townsfolk were very friendly, of course, welcoming me as one of their own. In a way I was, because our lives, while not identical, followed a lot of the same beats. We all dealt with discrimination, we all had issues with our parents and abandonment, and we all had to do things we weren't proud of to get by in a cruel, uncaring world. It was nice to finally talk with someone about my life and get sympathy and understanding, rather than just indifference or "Well, sucks to be you".

And then there was Dusk. I had never met a 'ness so smart, so charismatic, so cool and in charge. We had many conversations over that work, going over the ins and outs of the Coven, how Crossroads came to be, our mutual histories. The nights were my favorite by far, as she'd take to the dunes outside of town, and we'd just talk while looking up at moons, trying to identify all the constellations. After the third night, though, the half-Rainwing started using some "underhanded tactics" to convince me to stay. She claimed she was doing it (or rather, me) to sweeten the deal and encourage me to stay, but we both knew there was a bit of chemistry going on between us. And to her credit, we were compatible in ways I hadn't been with any other dragoness I'd ever been with. I still think it's an unfair advantage to see the future and know everything your lover's into, while you have to figure out what they're into the old-fashioned way (not that the act of learning isn't fun in and of itself).

Was I really buying into this whole Darkstalker/Night King mumbo-jumbo? Eh, not really. When you listen to enough religions and cults talk about themselves, they all start sounding the same. The Coven's message that I, a Hybrid, was special and better than all the "purebreds" who gave me shit stroked my ego plenty. But when you really got down to it, I didn't join the Coven because of the Message, but because of the Messenger. So one week came and went, and then another, and then another.

After a month, I was formally inducted into the Coven, and I never looked back...

A/N: In the game I participated in, Court of Sand, Desperado was my secondary character. While Xerophilous was off building up the Rainforest, Desperado served as my connection to all the maneuvers and intrigue still going on in the Sand Kingdom, providing me a reason to keep interacting with the other players. As you can tell, Desperado is a very different character to Xero - violent, cynical, much more outgoing. His role is definitely more of a villain protagonist, and to a degree he's Xero's foil. How will his adventures play in with Xero's? Keep reading to find out.