374, 90th of the harvest season, Early morning, Wilderness
The morning air clawed at Rosario’s face, his fingers frigid as they wrapped around the scabbard of the sword at his side. The dry leaves of the forest floor crunch audibly underfoot. As the trio walked through the forest, a small well-like structure came into view, and the interlopers in the sea of trees came to a stop. Paulida broke the silence, “This is an old mine vent, Senarre goes in here, clears them out from the inside, and I'll get the front approach.” Rosario said, “Where do you want me?” Paulida quietly said, “You're on an exit strategy. Keep this entrance clear, just in case.” Senarre took off her backpack, letting it sit against the stump of a tree. She pulled three speedloaders from one of the pockets and shoved them into her jacket's front pockets. She continued her preparations by pulling the two repeating pistols from beneath her arms and fanning the lever once for each, chambering a live round to each. “Ready,” she said, her breath leaving a trail of vapor in the cold air.
Rosario took his hand off the scabbard at his side, letting it hang loose from his belt. He moved his hands to his mouth in an effort to warm them. “Say what if I encounter any of them?” Paulida raised his hand and pointed at the sword at Rosario’s hip. Paulida turned and said, “Bandits aren't usually the clean living type; most should be asleep at this hour, that should be about all bases covered, time to profit.” Paulida pulled out a small pocket watch that was attached to his belt and said, “Ready?” Senarre stepped up onto the edge of the well and gave each of her revolvers a quick spin. “Ready,” she said. Paulida looked over to Rosario again, awaiting the statement of his preparation. Rosario shook his head up and down briefly, and in response, Paulida clicked the stopwatch and said, “Operation start.”
Senarre stepped off the edge into the well, falling foot-first, canting “the origin of all sound.” What should have been a thump for her landing produced no noise; instead, the echoing from inside the well began. Initial voices shock and surprise, followed by the cracking of gunfire. Rosario continued to stand near the well, awaiting a call for help should there be one. He continued attempting to warm his hands to no avail. He was no stranger to the cold but had little resistance to it. “Too damn cold,” the bite of the cold had distracted him, a new sensation, a mana signature full of malice and aggression filled his senses, “Who might you be, rat?” A man of large stature, brandishing a war club over his shoulder, appeared behind him, flanked by two more bearing simple single-edged swords. “shit.”
One of the smaller men rushed Rosario, intending to swing center mass he pulled the scabbard of his sword up with not a second to spare and caught the blow with the hard lacquer sheath in his left hand. He pulled the sword free from its home as the one in front of him stepped back, readying another strike. The man lunged at Rosario once more, but this time his strike was evaded as Rosario stepped to the side. Rosario countered with a slash that caught the man below the underarm. He knew this was a lethal blow; the clothes of the man who had just been cut had been rapidly dyed red. Just as the other of the two flankers began their rush, the warclub wielder held it out, blocking the path, “This one is more skilled than the other hunters.” The giant of a man lumbered towards Rosario, and he swung a slow, heavy strike. Rosario moved to block the strike with the scabbard out of reflex, but the force of the blow sent the scabbard flying out of his hand. He stepped back, now placing both hands on the hilt of the sword in a defensive stance.
374, 90th of the harvest season, Early morning, Inside the camp
Senarre dropped behind a wooden box, the sounds of bullet impacts echoing off the cave walls. She slid open the cylinder of her revolver, pulling on the ejector, six shells clattered to the ground. A voice yelled out, “She's reloading!” She slammed the speedloader into the cylinder, saying under her breath, “damn, no time.” She placed her empty left revolver back into its holster on her hip and reached under her right arm, pulling out one of her repeating pistols. A series of footsteps echoed near her position. “Oh well,” she stood up in one smooth movement, her revolver trained to where the attacker would be, and she fired three shots. Two struck her opponent center mass, and the other pinged off the walls of the cave.
She stepped forward, and an assailant peeked out from a small pile of firewood at the edge of her vision. Her finger slid the trigger of her repeating pistol, a shot rang out, and a spurt of crimson painted the wall behind the firewood. Another came rushing in around a corner armed with a longarm firing from the hip, a blast rang through the cave, she dropped into a small outcrop of the cave wall to shelter, narrowly avoiding a shower of hot lead. She was pinned. A moment of reflection soared through her mind in the fraction of a second, and she briefly placed her right hand's armament back into the holster on her lower back. The man with the scattergun on the other side of the wall yelled, “Come out.”
Senarre placed her thumb on the loading gate of her repeating pistol, holding it backwards at an angle, dropping four small brass casings into her hand. She pulled the now-empty firearm up, holding it by its barrel. She said in a whispered tone, “I'm sorry, friend.” She kissed the wood on the grip and tossed it into the line of fire. The assailant instinctively fired at the movement. The moment that shot rang out, she rushed him, closing the distance almost immediately. The stranger attempted to train the weapon on her, but she forced it up with a strike from the palm before he could rechamber the next shell. She slammed her elbow into the man's stomach, freeing the weapon from his hands during his reeling moment. She caught the weapon and slid the pump forward, chambering a new shell. Her opponent rushed to grab the weapon out of her hands, “too slow,” she said, and pulled the trigger. A spray of warm liquid coated her face and outerwear. Another assailant rushed into the cavern, and she pumped the weapon and pulled the trigger to no response.
She ducked behind a small pile of crated goods in the cavern and pulled a shell from the saddle on the weapon. A small dash of pink paint was dabbed on the shell, “interesting,” she said, and proceeded to slide it into the chamber. She rolled out from behind her cover and directed the weapon towards its target, and fired. A massive cloud of flames erupted from the barrel, coating the man in front of her with sticky flames. The would-be attacker fell to the ground, attempting to put out the flames to no avail. “I'm keeping this one.” She prepared to pull the pump back, but pulled her hand away in response to the heat from the weapon. Another series of footsteps came echoing down another branch of the cavern. Senarre pulled her revolver from her lower back and readied herself for the next assault.
374, 90th of the harvest season, Early morning, Front entrance to the bandit camp
Paulida walked with his hands placed in the pockets of his coat. He walked to the front of the abandoned mine that was being used by bandits as a staging ground to hide their ill-gotten gains. One of the ones on watch looked up and saw him walking straight up to them. They shouted in a trembling voice, “Who are you?” The watchers who saw this new interloper began to arm themselves, some with firearms and others with blades. Paulida raised his arms and said calmly, “I mean no harm to the rank and file. Bring out your boss, and I'll be on my way.” He let out a small smile in an attempt to reassure the defenders. The emaciated, pale watchmen raised their weapons, “Boss ain't here, get 'em boys,” shouted one of the prospective watchmen. Paulida’s neutral if not cheerful demeanor dropped; instead of a reassuring smile, his face now wore a somber expression, and he said, “How unfortunate.”
One of the men holding a long rifle attempted to fire. He successfully aimed and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet from the weapon's maw. Paulida tilted his head to the side slightly, and the bullet whizzed past harmlessly, kicking up the dirt behind him. “It brings me great sadness that you do not value the sanctity of your lives,” he said with a hollow tone. The very air became heavy, and the cold air shifted to immense humidity. He placed his left hand on the long machete that hung from his back, pulling it out in one smooth movement and tossing it into the ground. “I will grant a quick end,” he inhaled deeply. One of the guards shouted, “He's going to cast something, stop him.” Paulida spoke calmly, coldly. The one who called out previously moved to attack, but found their body frozen, a primal fear in their stomach, a sensation like being watched flooded their body, and instinct was telling them to run. “Eight Great Hot Hells, First Depth”
374, 90th of the harvest season, mid-morning, Wilderness
Rosario tumbled onto the ground. His nose was bleeding, and the taste of iron filled his mouth. The giant of a man he was fighting said, “Puny rat.” He kicked him in the side, sending Rosario rolling across the ground again. His sword lay stuck in the ground. He crawled towards Senarre’s backpack, trying frantically to find a weapon. The behemoth walked over to the backpack and threw it over to where his sword lay. “Go get it,” Rosario forced himself to his feet, trembling as he walked, his chest hurting, and his fingers were numb with the cold. The big man walked close behind. “Little rats run,” he kicked out Rosario's feet beneath him. “Aint ready to give up the ghost yet, huh?” said a strange ethereal voice ringing in his mind. He collapsed into a heap. He reached for a small waterskin that once lay in the backpack's scattered contents, also pulling a knife from the contents of the bag.
Stolen story; please report.
He rushed forward with the knife, grasping it firmly between both of his hands. The mountain of a manToyingng with his prey, slapped it out of his hands and landed a punch to the gut. Rosario lurched from the blow. He grabbed him by the chest, lifting him by twisting his shirt between his hand. He looked into Rosario's eyes, hoping to see despair, but was met with no quarter; grey-green defiance stared back at him. Rosario pulled forth a mote of fire from his right hand, intending to slam it into his attacker, but the one holding him caught his arm, twisting away until the mote dissipated. Rosario mouthed “Got you.” he spat in the man's face, coating it with a liquid bearing a scent of extremely strong alcohol. He pulled up another mote of flames from his left hand and slammed it into the attacker's face, igniting the alcohol on the man's face and body. The reaction to being set ablaze caused him to loosen his grip, allowing Rosario to drop to the floor, scrambling for the sword he had once lost. The man was reeling, trying to put out the fire on his upper body and face. Rosario grabbed the blade, rushing forward as if granted a second wind.
He thought briefly, “I'll need a second sword, but we'll improvise.” He swung the sword high, the burning giant moved to block it, but when he expected the blade to make contact, it was gone. Rosario shifted his feet, turning to the side in an instant. He let out a war cry, the mana in the environment shifted a tangible sharpness in the air, his right eye flashed a deep purple crimson, and the blade was briefly covered in a jagged black glass. He forced the blade through the behemoth's abdomen, a cut so perfect wish enough force to send the blade through the opponent and out the other side of the wall of meat in front of him. Rosario fell backwards from exhaustion, landing hard on the ground.
The behemoth stepped forward. Rosario scrambled backwards, rapidly scanning the environment for anything that could be a weapon. The man took another step, then another, then stopped. He coughed there was a steady stream trickling from where the blade entered his body. He began choking, making an awful gurgling noise like drowning. He began to scream something awful, a ragged screech of fear and immeasurable pain. The spectator to the duel yelled, “Boss, you okay?” The behemoth gave no response, only screeching his hands grabbing for his chest and neck, he dug into his neck with his nails, drawing blood. Blood began pouring from his mouth, he let out another awful screech like a death knell, then the cause of the suffering made itself evident, he coughed instead of a crimson clot, it was black and solid, sharper than glass, the chunk of stone hit the ground and shattered. The screaming stopped like a mercy of water on raging flames. He arched his head to the sky, and spikes of jagged black stone erupted from his eyes and mouth.
Senarre pulled herself out of the well, her new toy lie hanging across her chest. Her eyes scanned the environment. A giant of a man stood like a statue, frozen face in perpetual terror and pain. The contents of her backpack were strewn across the field, and Rosario lay flat on his back. She walked over and said in a sarcastic tone, “You dead?” He inhaled sharply, “Don't think so.” A trembling mass of a bandit stood at the tree line, yelling and pointing at Rosario, “devil.” Senarre pulled the scattergun off its sling and swung it around, holding it over her shoulder. “Tell you what, I'll give you the count of 3 to run.” Before she even said one the man was gone, running through the forests.
Senarre swung the gun back around, leaving it hanging from her back, and held her hand out, offering it to Rosario. He took her hand, pushing himself upwards. She carried him over to the edge of the well and set him down. She looked for the waterskin among the field and brought it back to him, dabbing some on a handkerchief she pulled from the jacket pocket. She began to dab away at the injuries on his face and arms, cleaning them carefully. He said, “Say, what is that stuff? You drank some the other night.” She said, “The firewater? It's high-proof liquor my uncle Tex brews.” Rosario’s face had an expression of brief shock, “Is it safe to drink?” She smiled at him and said, “It's a drink first, disinfectant second, just one of its many uses, Uncle Tex says it has a million of them.” She scratched her head and said Alright, time to stop the nosebleed. I have just the solution. He closed his eyes, expecting her somehow to place the rag soaked in liquor in his nose. He braced for the burning sensation, but it never came. Instead, she shoved a cotton cylinder into his nose, stopping the blood from dripping out onto his face. He felt his face and said, “Why is there a tampon in my nose?”
She giggled maliciously and said, “We make do on the frontier.” Her tone of voice did little to establish confidence. Rosario looked her up and down and said, “Are you ok?” She stopped for a second, “Oh, the blood’s not mine,” she wiped the red staining from her face with her sleeve. He squinted a bit and said, “Why is there so much of it?” She pulled the gun from the sling on her back. In the clear light of day, it was a fine piece of kit, blued steel and a heat shield on the barrel. It was fitted with a side saddle, and its stock had leather shell loops attached; even its bayonet hook was intact. The weapon itself was a veteran of the northern wars. She held up the weapon and said, “I made a new friend. She says her specialty is close quarters, and she even had some cast shells.” She frowned briefly, “But I used them all.” Rosario said, “That's not a problem, I can make more, just need some scrolls and silversteel dust.” Her eyes lit up with a fire unseen. “Really?” He spat a small amount of blood onto the ground. “It's not that hard, I can teach you if you want,” she smiled uncontrollably like a child opening gifts on their birthday, her mana fluctuated with an excitement like a burst of static electricity.
Senarre broke her smile and said, “What happened to that guy?” She pointed at the now petrified flesh puppet still standing, Rosario's sword still dug into his abdomen. “I lit him on fire and ran him through, I'd wager to reckon the stones formed are a product of my gift, which in turn would mean it's fully active.” She walked in a circle around the petrified corpse, inspecting it. She walked over and pulled a knife from her holster left hip, and grabbed the hand of the fleshy statue. She placed the blade under the thumb of the statue and pushed hard, freeing the finger from the hand. “Got the bounty proof, let's wait for Pa now.”
A short while later, Paulida came sauntering back into the clearing unharmed, his clothes and appearance untouched, not even a spec of dust on his clothes. “You get the bounty proof,” She held up a severed thumb. He said, “Anyone hurt?” Rosario held up his hand, “I'll live.” Paulida said, “This gig should net a cool seventeen thousand minus the two thousand needed to resupply for the trip to forge should make it a cool five thousand profit per person.” Senarre replied, “I'm gonna buy some new shells and maybe a trip to a bathhouse.” Rosario replied to the topic with “A bath sounds nice and maybe a jacket, perhaps some gloves.” Paulida pointed at the petrified man and said, “Your gift?” Rosario shook his head in confirmation. Paulida walked over to where the scabbard was sitting and picked it up. Continuing his examination of the environment, neared the once living statue and wrapped his hand on the sword's hilt and gave it a slight tug, to no avail; the blade remained stuck in the abdomen of the petrified figure. He placed his hand on the statue's chest and pulled the blade again didn't budge a millimeter. “Time for a change of approach,” He gathered mana in his hand, pulling his hand back a slight bit, and formed his hand into a fist and sent it forward. The statue shattered into dust from the abdomen up. Allowing him to pull the blade free, he pulled the scabbard up with his left hand, drew the blade across his left gloved hand, and inspected it carefully before seating it back in its sheath. “Excellent work, Lorea.” Rosario felt accomplished by his praise and said in response, “I aim to please.”
Senarre sat down next to Rosario, and she pulled a small twisted paper and a lighter from the chest pocket of her jacket. Paulida sat down across from the two of them and crossed his legs. She held the paper to her mouth and raised the lighter. Rosario said with a curious tone, “You smoke?” Senarre inhaled, lighting the paper, and then exhaled a white smoke bearing a cool, herbaceous smell. “Only after sex,” she said. Rosario’s face dropped to a neutral semi-sarcastic squint-like expression. He said, “Really?” She handed the lit roll of paper to Paulida, who, in turn, took a puff and said, “She's messing with you, Lorea.” Rosario asked in a sarcastic tone, “If you don't smoke, then what are you actively doing in this moment?” Paulida interjected and said, “Purification ritual, it's rolled yerba menthe.”
“Yerba menthe, you mean the stuff they burn for religious ceremony?” Rosario asked, Paulida responded, “Exactly, it's a form of purification, supposedly helps the souls pass on.” Rosario raised his hand, and Paulida passed over the roll of herb. He held it up to his mouth and inhaled, a cold sensation filled his mouth and lungs, and he exhaled with a slight cough. Senarre tapped his leg, gesturing for him to pass it over. He handed it to her, and she drew a breath from it before dabbing it on the ground, extinguishing its flame. Senarres' semi-playful and relatively curious tone shifted into a serious, almost somber sensation, and she said, “Lorea, we work to survive, and we have to take lives on occasion; every human life is precious to someone, the taking of a life is a heavy burden to bear, so we honor those whose lives we must take as a small comfort, not because they may have been just or righteous in life but because they are human and that at the very minimum makes them deserving of respect in death.” Rosario felt a wave of confusion rush over him, and began from his understanding of this woman in front of him, he had formulated the impression that she was impulsive, unarticulate, even her mana output shifted, revealing her seriousness and wholehearted belief in the statement.
Paulida placed his hands on his knees and stood up with a grunt. He reached down to his belt, producing the stopwatch again and clicking it off, “Operation complete, let's get moving.” Shortly thereafter, the three began their trek back to the village before leaving the clearing. The wind kicked up. Senarre felt the cold air blow on her face, a sensation on the skin familiar in nature, cold crystals falling from the sky. She held her hand out her palm flat, “snow.” Paulida responded in kind, “The winter is finally setting in, then.” Rosario said in response, half under his breath, “First time I've seen snow outside of the city.”
