Shotgun Wedding. Literally. ((Solo))

[Fairfield]

" Bang. Gotcha'. "

Drag lowered his rifle as he gazed beyond the trees into the clearing ahead. There stood a young doe taking a drink from the small pond at the center of the clearing. She was gorgeous. Her soft, brown fur gleamed in the setting sun. The white patch on her belly stretched all the way to the tip of her tail.

Whatta' ya know. Whitetail. Thought this was blacktail territory.

She hadn't noticed him yet, and if Mary-Lou wasn't on the fritz he'd be eatin' himself some tasty venison tonight. Unfortunately for the hunter, his desire for a meal of fresh meat would go unheeded tonight. He let out a sigh of disappointment.

" Looks like it's beef jerky again. "

Drag felt the thunder in his stomach as he reached into his coat. He removed a piece of dried meat and brought it to his nose, sniffing it once or twice before sinking his teeth into it. It was spicy, but not exotically, it just tasted like pepper. The meat was tough and chewing it was a bit of a chore.

After a good thirty seconds of non-stop chewing, Drag swallowed and felt the meat slowly crawl it's way down his throat. Apparently he hadn't chewed it enough, cause it sure as hell hurt goin' down.

" Good lord. I think I just swallowed a handful a' splinters. "

Drag forced out his tongue in disapproval and rose to his feet. As the gunman stood, his foot rested on a twig, which eventually snapped underneath his mud spattered boots. The distant doe's head jerked to the left. She stared blankly at Drag. He could see the fear in her eye. But she had nothing to be scared of. Without his rifle he was about useless as a hunter.

He took a step in her direction and without a moment's hesitation she was off, bounding in between trees and over logs. Within seconds she was gone. Her speed and grace were feats that Drag envied. Another creature he often encountered with such speed and grace, was the vampire. For all their faults, Drag could not help but admire the way they carried themselves. They all but shamed their clumsy, human prey, or predator in his case.

Drag looked down at the rifle he clenched in his right hand. He held it up to his eye level and examined it carefully. As far as he could tell, the lever was overly rusted, which prevented it from moving, which in turn prevented him from ejecting cartridges. On top of that, the damned barrel was bent. Even if he could manage to force the lever and eject the used cartridges that had been in there for almost a month now, there was no way he could fire a new round. Drag grumbled with remorse as he gazed upon his worn firearm.

" Oh Mary-Lou, it's been tough love between us. But don't worry 'bout nothin' sweety. Daddy's gonna getcha' all fixed up once we get into town. "

Drag rested his rifle on his shoulder and began marching in the direction of billowing smoke. Smoke either meant forest fire, or civilization and based on the fact that Drag and everything around him was currently not engulfed in flames, he assumed the ladder.

[Fairfield]

The sun hung low in the sky, kissing the horizon, bathing the forest in golden sunlight. Drag had been walking for an hour or two and was drawing close to the smoke in the distance. He was close enough to detect a welcome aroma of stued rabbit. No doubt he had been making his way towards a residence.

It was growing cold in the absence of the sun. Puffs of fog enveloped Drag's face with every breath that escaped his lungs. He preferred the cold. It made wearing such a heavy coat more practical. He recalled a time several months ago when the sun was at it's highest point in the sky, and the air was as muggy as a swamp. That was one day he wished he had taken a lighter jacket with him when he left home all those years ago. He could still remember the day he left so well.

|-------|

In the town of Fairfield, it was customary for the eldest son of a family to leave town on his eighteenth birthday, and seek out employment as either an independent contractor, or as a soldier. You see Fairfield, as they say, was a town built of iron and gunpowder.

From gunslingers to gunsmiths, everything was about guns in Fairfield. It's founder, Jeremiah Fairfield, was a sharpshooter formerly a part of the Corone Rangers, during the Age of Reconstruction. After the merchant's revolt, he left the island continent of Corone, and sailed east, towards Scara Brae. His ship landed on the shores of a tiny island, just south of Liviol Sanctum. The island was not marked on any map and remains unmarked to this day. It was on this mysterious island that Jeremiah Fairfield founded the town of Fairfield.

In actuality, the town began only as a home for Jeremiah, his wife and his four children, but a terrible storm terrorized the ocean nearby and prevented his crew from sailing back to Corone. The storm raged on and on for nearly a year, forcing the ship's crew to settle in on the island. By the time the storm had settled, the majority of those trapped on the island had grown to love it, and so when the crewmen set sail once again for Corone, they did not stay there. Instead, they brought their families back with them, and thus, the town of Fairfield was born.

At first, the town was just like any other ordinary town. It was not until the first harsh winter that Jeremiah saw that relying on crops for food was not the smartest choice. And so Jeremiah distributed the many rifles he owned and taught the men of the village to hunt. Jeremiah was also a skilled gunsmith, and taught both aspects of his trade to the many men of the village. Before long, Fairfield had it's own economy in exporting firearms to Scara Brae and Corone. The town grew in wealth and word spread of the tiny island of Fairfield and it's high quality guns, and unmatched sharpshooters. Jeremiah Fairfield's desire for seclusion had spawned a living, thriving community of master tradesmen, and a generally happy populace.

At the age of seventy-four, Jeremiah Fairfield died of natural causes. A ceremony was held in his honor, to commemorate him for all he had done for the people of Fairfield. His eldest son, Nathaniel Fairfield was elected Mayor of Fairfield in his father's place. Nathaniel's rule was a peaceful one, and to honor his father once again, he held a celebration the following year on the day of his father's death. There was a great feast held in his honor, and afterward, there were many contests involving firearms. Including target contests, rapid fire contests and even gunfights fought with blank rounds filled with paint. This soon became an anual tradition, and was known as The Fairfield Gunfights.

Another tradition arose in Fairfield. The tradition was that the eldest son of every family would leave the island on his eighteenth birthday and seek out employment as an independent contractor, or as a soldier in another land. The idea was that the eldest son would share his knowledge of firearms with the outside world, and also learn new things about his trade and any others he wished. Then, when he had learned enough to his satisfaction, he would return home with his new found knowledge, and hopefully a new family. The knowledge he gathered would then be shared with the villagers and taught to whomever showed interest. This would in turn enrich the community and introduce variety to it's people. This tradition had been the idea of Nathaniel Fairfield's eldest son, David Fairfield, who became mayor after his father died.

As you can probably tell, the right to rule over Fairfield was reserved to the decedents of Jeremiah Fairfield himself. This did not create much tension, as the decedents of Jeremiah tended to be fair and just rulers. All except it's current ruler, Andrew Fairfield. Andrew Fairfield is the grandson of David Fairfield, who never had a son of his own. Andrew Fairfield was the eldest son of David's eldest daughter, Elise. When David passed on, Andrew became the leader of Fairfield. Unfortunately for it's people Andrew was arrogant and lustful. A frightening combination for the people of Fairfield, as Andrew often abused his power, ordering the daughters and wives of many citizens to his bedroom late at night.

But that is neither here nor there, let's get back to Drag's story. It was his eighteenth birthday and all his family had gathered to see him off. His father, Johnathan, his mother, Grace, and his two younger sisters, Mariah and Zoe.

" We're gonna' miss you Draggy! " Exclaimed Drag's youngest sister, Zoe. She was just seven years old, but her and Drag got along great.

" Try not to die while you're out there in the big bad world. " Remarked his other sister, Mariah. She was just two years younger than Drag. She and Drag had many fights as kids, but deep down they cared for each other alot.

" You hush now Mariah! We love you very much Drag. Don't stay gone too long okay? " That was Drag's mother. She was always sweet on him. He was definitely a mamma's boy. She was sad to see him go, but knew that it had to be done. It was his responsibility as a man.

Last to give his fond farewell was Drag's father. He did not speak aloud however, instead he pulled Drag to the side and spoke with him privately.

" Listen' here boy, it's a rough world out there. Ain't like our little town. They's all kinda foul creatures out there lookin' for boys like you to mess up even once so they can tear your head right off. "

" I know it Pa. " Said Drag, holding his head proud and high. " But I ain't scared of em'. I 'member everythin' you taught me 'bout shootin' an' all and I ain't gonna' forget none of it. I'll come back in one piece. " Said Drag, smiling widely.

Drag's father paused for a moment. He chuckled a bit before looking back to Drag.

" Well hell I guess you ain't exactly a boy no more are ya? "

Drag's father hung his head low, trying to hide the tears pooling in his eyes. He brought out a long object wrapped in a red cloth he had kept hidden behind his back. He pulled the cloth away to reveal a rifle.

" Now son, this here's Mary-Lou. She ain't nothin' fancy like them gun's ol' Andrew Fairfield's got, but she's the best damn rifle I ever made in my life, and I made her for you. "

Drag's father placed the rifle in his son's left hand, and took hold of his right, shaking it firmly.

" You go out there, and you show the world what you can do. And don't come back till you done somethin' great. " Drag's father let loose of his son's hand, and walked away, not saying another word.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another staff member and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.