Bad Company

[Max Dirks]

A special treat for those who were looking forward to seeing Tobias and I tear up the LCC!

Bad Company

Company, always on the run.
Destiny is the rising sun
Oh I was born six gun in my hand
Behind a gun I'll make my final stand...

Max Dirks stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead and adjust his pack. Four weeks had passed since he set out from Exile's Overwatch into the Tular Plains and the heat of the volcanic wasteland was taking its toll. Favoring comfort over fashion, Dirks was clad only in a basic white tunic with khaki slacks. His guns were loaded in their shoulder holsters and his short swords were tucked into his bag, but even fully armed the criminal was a fraction of his former self. He'd only packed three weeks of provisions, and he was now living off the barren land.

Despite spending most of the time searching, Dirks had yet to find any sign of his target. He was starting accept that his mission was simply punishment for his sins in Eiskalt. Deep down though, he knew that all along. No respectable assassin would take an assignment to the Tular Plains on such flimsy information, regardless of his allegiance. There were thousands of square miles above ground to cover, and hundreds more underground with deep caves littering the landscape. His target could be anywhere. Then again, that was the point. Those who enter the Demon Hills voluntarily do so to never be seen again.

Dirks was no different. He joined the Crimson Hand to find renewed direction following the loss of Starlyn Sonar, his one love, but he never expected that agents of Hand, his allies, would destroy the island and poison its people. Filled with remorse, after the war Dirks pledged himself to Queen Ashla Icebreaker and to "peace at all expenses". His first assignment, naturally, was to assassinate Tobias Stalt, a ranking former lieutenant of the Crimson Hand. Queen Ashla's only lead on Tobias' whereabouts was that he had left the ice plains of Eiskalt for the fire plains of Tular. Thus, by accepting this mission with minimal information and no objections, Dirks had essentially exiled himself.

Ignoring his thirst and the hunger pains turning his stomach, Dirks knelt to the ground and put his hands in the dirt. He grabbed a handful of the ash with his right hand and made a fist. There would be no coming back from this mission. He would find and kill Tobias, absolve his sins, and die where no one would ever find his body. It was the only redemption for the most vain, arrogant villain on Althanas.

[Tobias Stalt]

Rebel souls, deserters we are called
Chose a gun and threw away the Son
Now these towns, they all know our name
6-gun sound is our claim to fame
I can hear them say...

Light from the sun and moon alike had become a distant memory in the land plagued by ashen clouds and toxic air. The few moments of respite men found were in dark recesses, where the shadows offered scant cover from the volcanic fallout. It was a small wonder that Alerar sent its worst offenders here to die. The path below him was a hellish landscape, painted red by the firelight of a thousand calderas screaming toward the sky as Tobias watched the figure stagger along. The dry wind offered little comfort to his dried out throat as he slowly breathed in.

There were few people who could survive this deep into the Tular Plains. To see another than himself raised a multitude of questions for Tobias. It would have been of no consequence to the mercenary, but something did not sit well with him. The path that this other man followed was deliberate. He was skilled with self-preservation, to the point where he stopped at intervals to harvest what little this land had to offer him. Tobias could tell just from watching that the man had the skills of a hunter.

More than that, though several years had passed, Stalt swore that he had seen his fellow wanderer's face before. It was that fact which led him to believe that he was being hunted. He glanced out from behind the rocky outcropping once more and gauged the distance between them. Through expert timing and thanks to the hellish storms that ravaged the plains, Tobias was able to move without a trace. Sand quickly covered tracks, and what it did not, a few quick brushes of his cloak did wonders to eliminate. The time of day was irrelevant in this land- not unlike the face of hell, it was always ablaze. Sleep came only when it could no longer be avoided. Haide was not a place to track, or to be tracked. It was a place unsuited for any type of life at all.

Yet here they were.

Tobias licked his lips to moisten them, a habit that several weeks of cracking had inflicted on him. His jaw clenched as he considered every angle of his situation. The reality loomed: both men were doomed, yet only one of them realistically needed to die. If this man killed him, it was plausible that he might be able to leave. Tobias toyed with the notion. He could save a life. With a moment of charity and the end of his own life, that could become a reality.

"I need a drink," he muttered in annoyance.