This is a commission I had done by the wonder  bos0rka who did a phenomenal job!

The revolver really stands out for me. I sent the artist links to images for reference of the German-made Korth Nighthawk .44 magnum revolver. To me, its appearance lends itself really well to fantasy and sci-fi settings. They nailed down the details of the revolver down pat and my jaw hit the floor when I saw the finished work. Please check out their art and go view and favorite the piece on their profile here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/48071714/

To go with the image, I couldn't help but write a very short prose for it.

The Wanderer knew he was in another world. It was strikingly similar, almost exactly the same, but he knew something was “off”. He kneeled down and grabbed a handful of desert sand in his paw. The fine grains felt the same, perhaps they were exactly the same. The idea of this alien, yet familiar, world being almost an exact copy was even more unsettling than it being completely alien. If it was just different enough, those differences could be anything. Perhaps the Nuckelavee had overcome one or more of its weaknesses. The thought of that very thing caused the Stranger to shudder.
His ears perked and he furtively slipped among the rock formations nearby. He had suspected for a while that he was being followed. If he had been able to travel to this other world, then others could have as well, including enemies. The companionship of the Gnolls was greatly missed, rather than being an island in a sea full of sharks.Slowly, the Stranger backed further into the forest of rocky pillars. He carefully and methodically drew his revolver with his left hand. He swung the cylinder out, then tilted it to the side to load it easier with his right hand. The cartridges dropped into the empty cylinders, falling from the speed loader, each one holding a silver bullet.
“Six silver slugs to silence the spiteful specters,” he whispered the chant quietly to himself and thumbed back the hammer.
He heard footsteps approaching. His pursuer was trying to be quiet, but the Stranger’s ears were too keen. Slowly and methodically, he skirted around and between the pillars of stone, until he came behind his hooded pursuer. He raised the revolver, at such a close range, damn near point-blank, it was difficult to miss his shot. Suddenly the pursuer spun around, having seen that the Wanderer’s tracks were circling around, but it didn’t matter anymore. The trigger had been squeezed, painting several pillars with a thick, viscous violet fluid that the Stranger was all too familiar with. He did not come to this world alone.