(Closed to Hawl)

(Continuance from HERE)

Storm smiled as he whirled the gun in circles about his fingers, impressed by the smoothness and balance of the thing. He had never been a “gun” man, per-se, but was always impressed by the heft of these people killers. They’d never be as easily concealed as his hands could be, and lacked the finesse of a blade, but had a certain phallic quality that simply couldn’t be quantified.

So this is the sacred weapon that the council sent me to protect? Because it reloads? There’s got to be more to it than that… hopefully it doesn’t blow up.

He inspected the small gun, flipping open the revolving chamber and spinning it to see a half dozen very ordinary looking shells. He didn’t know much about guns, but saw nothing that screamed “explosion” with the barrel, chambers, firing pin and hammer. Quality metal, and that’s about it.

“So, sugar, as I mentioned, you have some explaining to do.” He strode gently away, keeping an eye on the awkward, wrong-looking little girl. “For starters, if you made this type of colossal shit-storm in here, I’m not so sure what’s got you so bent out of shape. Usually people that get all weepy and pissy can’t do… you know… THIS.”

He gestured with his empty, open palm to the Theater of the Macabre on display up high within the Tower of Babel. It was a massacre; a thick coat of blood covered nearly everything below hip-level within the room, which was nearly forty feet in diameter. How the massive centaur had ever contained so much blood escaped Storm, but what was left of the centaur left it nearly unidentifiable. In truth, the wizard only guessed it was a centaur from the less-obliterated carcass on the floor at the entrance, and the shared fur pattern of the mound of gross that this little odd child had crafted.

His shoes, socks and trousers torn away by a near-fall that almost cost him his life, the aristocrat was no longer in any mood for combat. He was leery of the girl, but not intimidated, and sought to get out of the terrible tower sooner rather than later.

So how does she get up here, only to give up so timidly? And what’s her endgame? This shit doesn’t add up.

As the air continued to sour, so too did Storm’s opinion of the situation. The defenses of the tower had proven considerable, and there were doubtless many more traps left unsprung. He would need to escape this gauntlet, and seek the truth.

And I need some goddamned trousers, because this is f*cking ridiculous.