Son of the Gun
02-12-12, 01:50 AM
[ I once posted this with the intention to complete it a long time ago. Life took me away from roleplaying and such far, far longer than I would have liked. Instead of going through the process of having it un-archived I'll simply start over, copy, and edit what I posted originally. And after giving it some thought I'm going to not make it a solo this time, though I'd ask that if people join they start in or near the town of Shars Run, where Lucas shall be heading shortly. ]
Through the wild Empyrean he tumbled, sanity lost and found a thousand times. A hundred lifetimes passed by with each second. Unable to see or hear, but feel... that he could do. More than any mere mortal, deep in his bones he felt the barest touch of the cold black abyss, the icy fingers of the Nameless Hunger that dwelt in the space between spaces. And amidst all of it he heard -not with his ears but in his head - the neverending, dreaded sound of those blasted chimes - WHY WON'T THEY STOP?! A scream tore from his throat - or was it someone else's? There was no distinction anymore. Everything and nothing was within his grasp. Then as quickly as they had been stripped, his senses returned. He was falling. Behind him he heard the slamming of a door, but that was of far less consequence than the wind ripping at his clothes; the heavy mist blinding him. He screamed, this time he was sure it was him, dropping through the icy air like a stone, flailing his arms and legs in his body's desperate and vain attempt to learn flight. Suddenly the mist broke, and below him, less than a hundred feet away was an ocean, black as obsidian and churning as if from a squall. His scream was renewed as the churning wall of water rose up to meet him, swallowing him with a bone jarring splash.
It took all his will not to suck in a lungful of water, but he managed to settle his mind. closing his eyes against the world. Hanging suspended in the water, jostled lightly by the waves above, he felt the calm spread through his mind, to his heart, and finally out to his limbs. Lucas opened his eyes again, looking to the surface. Calmly and deliberately he released his breath in short bursts, swimming his way upwards. Breaking through into the air again, he was rewarded with fresh oxygen flooding his sore and tired muscles, renewing them. Treading the water, letting the waves jostle him as they might, he turned around slowly, scanning for land. And was rewarded. To the east, far off though not so far it seemed impossible to reach, a stretch of cold sand could be seen, beckoning for him to come. Answering the call was the only logical choice. He began swimming, again slowly and deliberately, not seeking to wear himself down before he reached the shore. For what seemed like hours he forced his arms and legs the move, the icy talons of the climate and exhaustion slowly creeping inside him, threatening to stop him altogether. But he wouldn't allow it, fought it off until at last he reached the shallows stumbling to his feet. No sooner was his torso out of the water than the nearly arctic air cut through him, chilling what few inches of him were not already and sending him into a fit of shivers that dropped him back to his hands and knees.
"To hell with it... I'll crawl."
And so he did, clawing at the sand beneath the water, pushing forward inch by inch until he cleared the wave line, gasping and shivering on the shore. The beach was short, flanked by a row of low cliffs that were dotted with small caves. Hopefully one of them would be deep enough to get shelter from this icy hell. He climbed to his feet, aiming for a likely looking one and collecting driftwood and scrub along the way, fighting against his body's cries for rest. There would be none, not yet. The cave was deep enough, would shelter him from the wind and anything else the weather might throw at him short of a flood. Dropping his gear bag and the firewood, he stripped the soaked and nearly frozen clothes from his body. He dug in the bag, seeking his tinderbox. Twisting the lid off, he was relieved to find the seal had held. Rearranging the pile of burning materials into a roughly conical shape he then placed half the pile of dried, shredded bark fluff from within the box at the base. Striking the firesteel against the flint, he sighed with relief when the spark held, tongues of fire climbing into the wood he'd collected. He was shivering still, teeth threatening to shatter themselves, but soon he would be warm, and that knowledge brought hope.
As the fire grew he set about inventorying his things and laying his clothes out to dry. The items in his bag had suffered little, the cured hide was nearly waterproof. The small amount of damp that had crept in would be gone by the morrow. With a heavy sigh, he looked to the last two items - his bullet belts. They had not been in the bag and had become the most dangerous item he carried. Not to others but to himself. If he kept them and found his guns, how many of them would fire? How many of them would make no more than a click and leave him exposed to the man it was supposed to kill? There was no telling, but he did not have the resources available to him to simply discard and replace them.
Sinking his naked body down against the cold stone of the cave he stared at the fire, watching the ghosts within dance and chase each other. His eyelids felt heavy, and though he knew he should place some sort of alarm, he simply uttered a prayer to whatever was watching above that if someone somehow found him here that they were friend rather than foe.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Steely blue eyes opened the moment a ray of sun grazed them, gazing at the gray stone ceiling of the cave. Alive still, that was something at least. Slowly Lucas sat up, the protestations of his aching back playing counterpoint to the complaints from his near frozen muscles. Now that the fire had gone out and it's warmth was retreating like a beaten enemy the chill had returned to the stone. Ignoring his pains, he got up quickly and set about dressing. Pulling on his worn duster last, he sighed almost contentedly, feeling as if he'd been reunited with an old friend. Gathering his possessions together in his bag, he slung it over one shoulder and adjusted the belt for his combat blade so that it was in a more easily reached position. Normally it was just an emergency weapon, a last ditch sort of thing. But now... now his guns were gone. And only Ka itself knew when he might catch up with the motherless dog who had taken them from him. He grit his teeth at the thought of Flagg, the mad old wizard who'd revealed himself to be his father's killer. And then had the audacity to touch the guns of a gunslinger.
Gritting his teeth against his thoughts, Lucas stepped out of the cave and onto the beach, taking his surroundings in. It certainly was nothing special, the sun shaded as it was, lent a gray pallor to everything. The entire landscape was a motley patchwork of monochrome. Dreary and depressing place this was. Sighing he turned to look at the cliff face, feeling about for a handhold till he found a decent one. Only about 12 feet high, it was a simple climb, but the exertion warmed him a bit. At the top was not much different from the bottom, save that there was more scrub here, and in the distance he could see it thickening into woodlands. But the thing that he almost missed gave him reason to smile when he did catch it on his second glance. Hidden among the gray sky was a slightly darker line of gray. Smoke. More than a single campfire.
"With any luck he went there. And they'll lead me to him."
Never one to hesitate when the obvious choice was presented, Lucas started off briskly towards the east and the village.
Through the wild Empyrean he tumbled, sanity lost and found a thousand times. A hundred lifetimes passed by with each second. Unable to see or hear, but feel... that he could do. More than any mere mortal, deep in his bones he felt the barest touch of the cold black abyss, the icy fingers of the Nameless Hunger that dwelt in the space between spaces. And amidst all of it he heard -not with his ears but in his head - the neverending, dreaded sound of those blasted chimes - WHY WON'T THEY STOP?! A scream tore from his throat - or was it someone else's? There was no distinction anymore. Everything and nothing was within his grasp. Then as quickly as they had been stripped, his senses returned. He was falling. Behind him he heard the slamming of a door, but that was of far less consequence than the wind ripping at his clothes; the heavy mist blinding him. He screamed, this time he was sure it was him, dropping through the icy air like a stone, flailing his arms and legs in his body's desperate and vain attempt to learn flight. Suddenly the mist broke, and below him, less than a hundred feet away was an ocean, black as obsidian and churning as if from a squall. His scream was renewed as the churning wall of water rose up to meet him, swallowing him with a bone jarring splash.
It took all his will not to suck in a lungful of water, but he managed to settle his mind. closing his eyes against the world. Hanging suspended in the water, jostled lightly by the waves above, he felt the calm spread through his mind, to his heart, and finally out to his limbs. Lucas opened his eyes again, looking to the surface. Calmly and deliberately he released his breath in short bursts, swimming his way upwards. Breaking through into the air again, he was rewarded with fresh oxygen flooding his sore and tired muscles, renewing them. Treading the water, letting the waves jostle him as they might, he turned around slowly, scanning for land. And was rewarded. To the east, far off though not so far it seemed impossible to reach, a stretch of cold sand could be seen, beckoning for him to come. Answering the call was the only logical choice. He began swimming, again slowly and deliberately, not seeking to wear himself down before he reached the shore. For what seemed like hours he forced his arms and legs the move, the icy talons of the climate and exhaustion slowly creeping inside him, threatening to stop him altogether. But he wouldn't allow it, fought it off until at last he reached the shallows stumbling to his feet. No sooner was his torso out of the water than the nearly arctic air cut through him, chilling what few inches of him were not already and sending him into a fit of shivers that dropped him back to his hands and knees.
"To hell with it... I'll crawl."
And so he did, clawing at the sand beneath the water, pushing forward inch by inch until he cleared the wave line, gasping and shivering on the shore. The beach was short, flanked by a row of low cliffs that were dotted with small caves. Hopefully one of them would be deep enough to get shelter from this icy hell. He climbed to his feet, aiming for a likely looking one and collecting driftwood and scrub along the way, fighting against his body's cries for rest. There would be none, not yet. The cave was deep enough, would shelter him from the wind and anything else the weather might throw at him short of a flood. Dropping his gear bag and the firewood, he stripped the soaked and nearly frozen clothes from his body. He dug in the bag, seeking his tinderbox. Twisting the lid off, he was relieved to find the seal had held. Rearranging the pile of burning materials into a roughly conical shape he then placed half the pile of dried, shredded bark fluff from within the box at the base. Striking the firesteel against the flint, he sighed with relief when the spark held, tongues of fire climbing into the wood he'd collected. He was shivering still, teeth threatening to shatter themselves, but soon he would be warm, and that knowledge brought hope.
As the fire grew he set about inventorying his things and laying his clothes out to dry. The items in his bag had suffered little, the cured hide was nearly waterproof. The small amount of damp that had crept in would be gone by the morrow. With a heavy sigh, he looked to the last two items - his bullet belts. They had not been in the bag and had become the most dangerous item he carried. Not to others but to himself. If he kept them and found his guns, how many of them would fire? How many of them would make no more than a click and leave him exposed to the man it was supposed to kill? There was no telling, but he did not have the resources available to him to simply discard and replace them.
Sinking his naked body down against the cold stone of the cave he stared at the fire, watching the ghosts within dance and chase each other. His eyelids felt heavy, and though he knew he should place some sort of alarm, he simply uttered a prayer to whatever was watching above that if someone somehow found him here that they were friend rather than foe.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Steely blue eyes opened the moment a ray of sun grazed them, gazing at the gray stone ceiling of the cave. Alive still, that was something at least. Slowly Lucas sat up, the protestations of his aching back playing counterpoint to the complaints from his near frozen muscles. Now that the fire had gone out and it's warmth was retreating like a beaten enemy the chill had returned to the stone. Ignoring his pains, he got up quickly and set about dressing. Pulling on his worn duster last, he sighed almost contentedly, feeling as if he'd been reunited with an old friend. Gathering his possessions together in his bag, he slung it over one shoulder and adjusted the belt for his combat blade so that it was in a more easily reached position. Normally it was just an emergency weapon, a last ditch sort of thing. But now... now his guns were gone. And only Ka itself knew when he might catch up with the motherless dog who had taken them from him. He grit his teeth at the thought of Flagg, the mad old wizard who'd revealed himself to be his father's killer. And then had the audacity to touch the guns of a gunslinger.
Gritting his teeth against his thoughts, Lucas stepped out of the cave and onto the beach, taking his surroundings in. It certainly was nothing special, the sun shaded as it was, lent a gray pallor to everything. The entire landscape was a motley patchwork of monochrome. Dreary and depressing place this was. Sighing he turned to look at the cliff face, feeling about for a handhold till he found a decent one. Only about 12 feet high, it was a simple climb, but the exertion warmed him a bit. At the top was not much different from the bottom, save that there was more scrub here, and in the distance he could see it thickening into woodlands. But the thing that he almost missed gave him reason to smile when he did catch it on his second glance. Hidden among the gray sky was a slightly darker line of gray. Smoke. More than a single campfire.
"With any luck he went there. And they'll lead me to him."
Never one to hesitate when the obvious choice was presented, Lucas started off briskly towards the east and the village.