I'm the Law around here, boy! ((closed))

[Letho]

PROLOGUE
No good deed goes unpunished...

While Letho wasn’t entirely certain what that well known cliché catchphrase meant, he was pretty certain it had something to do with good men coming out shortchanged after they did something kind and honorable. How the gods or Fate or whatever the hell played with destinies like pieces on a chess board had a bad habit of making good men regret. And yet it certainly didn’t seem that way right now. He and Myrhia moved into Willowtown about a month ago, rode in slow on the wings of the dust-cluttered western wind with an intention to take a breather from the cumbersome wandering littered with adventures in a small town such as this one. They were greeted with the usual assortment of looks and whispers; suspicious keen measuring eyes of the able men and women that only saw trouble in the wanderer and his maiden, lustful sighs of the younger (mostly female) population directed toward this battle-hardened deathslinger that, of all the towns in all the worlds, picked to stroll into their own piece of dusty heaven. Letho expected as much, it was the way small communities greeted strangers, so he took it slow. Rented the manor on the Willow Hill, took a lousy job at the local blacksmith and just did what he and Myrhia came to do; take it easy.

Sure enough, the highwaymen that rode under the command of a deadly vixen Helena and her sister, seductive blonde wench named Victoria, didn’t find easy in their vocabulary. Less then a week after Letho’s arrival they rode in, serapes and cloaks as dark as the moonless midnight, and their guns shining like the first stars on the horizon. They were the Lawmen, or Lowmen as the Savion knight named them, and they drenched Willowtown of every possible gold coin they could, saying it’s tax or payment for the protection, the usual served crap that Letho ran into countless times ago. Suffice to say, it was the swordsman that led the rebellion, finding spines where the men (and even women) thought there were none, snapping them out of the prison they were coffined by the Lowmen. In a rather uncanny turn of events, they emerged victorious and the common folk of the small picturesque town imbedded in the dusty Crescent Valley (called that because of the small river that made an arch in the landscape, shaping the valley in the same manner) asked him... No, no, ask probably would be the right word. Pleaded him to take the role of the local sheriff. For years law was just a thing of whispers in Willowtown, a dream so faint and weak that if it was spoken out loud, it would vaporize and take with it all the hopes of normal life. They prayed Letho to give it to them. And he did.

However, taking the role of the local law brought other things to the attention of the new marshal. Willowtown was a brother-town so to speak, a single piece of the four part puzzle that stood scattered through the Corone landscape. Oaktown, Pinetown and Birchtown (or Bitchtown as some of the more bitter folk liked to say once they had one too many in the local tavern) were the other three that together formed the Four-Town Area, the plucking field of the Lowmen. Now that the raiders were out of the way, the towns were in complete disarray, with some falling down to anarchy, other succumbing to smalltime muggers that seized the day and raised themselves as the local authority, and some even forming some soft of feeble law offices of their own. Needless to say, once idyllic Area was in a state of chaos that yearned to either be doused down or escalate into joined tumult. And after settling in with his beloved in Willowtown, that was something Letho couldn’t allow to happen.


From the Willowtown Sheriff’s Office:

Part-time Deputies needed. Food, shelter, armament and salary ensured. See the local Sheriff for more information.

Signed: Letho Ravenheart, Marshal of Willowtown

<a small insignia of sword and rifle crossed stands stamped over the delicate signature>


It was short, but to the point, made it clear that this was not a job for fools and jesters that wanted to play with the law and pack iron just because it was their longtime fantasy. It was sent to most of the major communities with able men, and the only thing that was left to do now was wait. And that was something Letho was terrible at.

So today he stood in his office with his eyes looking outside at yet another hopeless pale dawn that was giving birth to yet another day outside. It was both a beautiful and a terrifying sight, treacherous with its heatless white rays that blasted over the eastern horizon. He never like dawns much, always got up before them because somewhere deep down below the firm mask of the emotionless knight, he hated that early hour with a passion. Unfortunately for Myrhia, who was not only his woman and bedmate, but also his Deputy, this meant it was time for her to get up as well. “No sleeping late for the long hand of the law”, she always said in the morning with the mixture of bitterness and her usual mirth as she dragged her crusty-eyes and cute little but from their bed, tapping her way to the kitchen and fixing a fresh pot of black mud as Letho called coffee. She was sitting behind his desk now, nestled in the big comfy chair that was meant for the sheriff, her head slumped on her hands and her conscious sweetly giving in to dozing. If somebody walked in right now, he could probably shoot both of them with little trouble.

That was, if there wasn’t another Deputy in the office, and this one was even stranger then the frail redhead that slept at the sheriff’s desk. With her back leant to the wall beside the rifle case, a young blonde-haired lass stood, clad in a dark brown poncho and high leather spurred boots that had loose leather pants tucked into them. The flat brimmed cowboy head was hung low, concealing her sweet fair seventeen-year-old face, as her hands kept pulling out the two guns that stood low on her hips, spinning them around with uncanny deftness, then returning them back in. They spun in a shimmering blur, the two Peacemaker revolvers, like twin propellers unseen to an untrained eyes. She was Sienna, blacksmith’s daughter with an irredeemable crush towards Letho and the fastest hands that the swordsman ever ran across. She could even outdraw Myrhia and that was saying a lot since the limber red haired nymph was one of the most agile fighters he ever run across. The two girls were his two Deputies, the only two that, after the bedlam turned into mire, wanted to aid him in keeping the peace restored, renewed and shiny as a new gold piece. And today was the last day of waiting.

[Empyrean]

Sano&#235; did not like Corone.

That is, to be specific, she did not like the idea of a region that simply could not decide what kind of region it wanted to be; she did not like a region so inconsistent with its surroundings, so stretched out and chaotic that each city could have been considered its very own country. She liked places that were large but compact, chaotic but in an orderly sort of fashion. Althanas—or, at least, her impressions of it so far—was the archetypal land of turmoil, and it was not at all to her liking.

There was also a lot of dust, and whatever allergies had been lurking in Sano&#235;’s body surfaced with a vengeance when she set foot in Corone.

To make matters worse, she still had not found her brother, and her moneybag was dwindling in size. Though she had been dragged to every corner of Antioch possible, Sano&#235; still could not find Eliot, even though that was where his last letter had been addressed from. He was probably tucked safely into a tavern off in some obscure cranny of Lavinya by now, drinking the hours away with his fellow “revolutionaries,” whoever the hell they were. He may have gone into a drunken stupor that eventually morphed itself into a coma, the jeweler thought hopefully, so she could track him down and drag his ale-logged carcass back home. Fool that he was, the imaginative capture was actually quite possible.

Whatever the case, she was not there. She was here, in a stupid house in stupid Willowtown, in the middle of stupid Corone with her stupid self, all to find her stupid brother.

As she cursed the world and its stupidity, she lunged forward in a great, stupid sneeze, letting her forehead come into contact with the stupid headboard.

“Oh, ow, damn it,” growled Sano&#235; in a rare display of the aggravation she usually kept under wraps. To relieve herself of focusing on the throbbing pain, she dug the creased paper out from one of her many pockets and unfolded it. In her own script, it was barely legible, but she'd already memorized the few words:


Part-time Deputies needed. Food, shelter, armament and salary ensured. See the local Sheriff for more information.

Letho Ravenheart, Marshal of Willowtown

Ravenheart…typical hero’s surname, she mused, the voice in her head acerbic. Everyone wants a showy feature these days. All those old, overdone names. Honestly. Could be ‘the Prince of Shadowy Corners,’ for all I care.

She had a laugh at herself as she stuffed the paper back into her pocket. A Deputy – it couldn’t be that hard of a post. There was hardly enough of a population to stir up trouble in the first place, she thought, Willowtown being a dusty little town anyhow. The jeweler, having grown up a city girl, had not heard the theory about little towns and their habit of stirring up not only a heap of trouble, but a maelstrom of trouble, of absolute chaos, and not the orderly kind, either.

Dusty little towns, however troublesome they might prove, did not need heroes. Just well-paid marshals of the law. Sano&#235; could only be the latter—the former, in all its legendary glory in the history of titles, had no place with her.

-------------------

The next morning, she spent an odd number of minutes arguing over the proper price to pay for one night’s stay at the dumpy little house she’d rented. Once her moneybag had been significantly depleted and her mind trying to vanish the parting insults she’d conjured up for the woman in charge, Sano&#235; made her way into the middle town, less stand-out-ish with her coat wrapped securely around her. Willowtown was slightly more colorful than one might expect from a dust-covered town in the middle of a valley, but more inclined toward reds and browns. The people did not seem to notice her unless she looked at them specifically; she’d noticed that her pale face and angular blue eyes tended to have a startling effect on the more rural folks.

A light breeze brushed more dust up into her nose, and she sneezed spectacularly. She would never leave the city again, never complain of the bittersweet clouds of pollution and metal again, not after living in a dust storm that clogged her lungs so. She could not see the stunning conclusion of the sunrise while so deeply involved with her hatred of nature.

An almost antique-looking office rose out of the corner of her eye; a surprisingly spacious-looking office amidst the modest but bigger shops. The emblem painted on the paneled glass looked similar to the one that had been on the sign she’d copied, and she hurried up to the door, but not before brushing off the dust on her coat and making sure she was not prone to a powerful sneeze within the next ten minutes or so. When she felt she was presentable enough, she held the wrinkled paper against her chest and pushed on the door, letting herself in and away from the more hectic, dust-ridden outside.

Her nose was given an instant, much-appreciated reprieve; the air smelled pleasantly of coffee and old metal and new books, a surprisingly nice combination. Before Sano&#235; had a chance to examine the case of guns in front of her, she was arrested by two sets of very alert eyes. The third belonged to a small, red-headed teenager who looked rather out-of place in a Sheriff’s office, almost fast asleep in the big chair behind the desk, her petite hands cradling a mug of coffee. The first pair looked at the jeweler from beneath a hat and framed by long, blonde hair and a rough-looking getup for a — yes, another teenager. Sano&#235; felt vaguely old in their presence, though she was only their senior by six or seven years at the most.

The final presence alarmed her, as she hadn’t even noticed him standing right there. He was a giant of a man to Sano&#235;, his size daunting by muscle rather than height; his face, though young, was weathered by faded scars and hard times that the jeweler could not count. Before she could lose face and duck out of the office, Sano&#235; glanced down at her paper and back to the tall man again. “Letho Ravenheart? My name is Sano&#235; Teriades. I’ve come about your Deputy position.”

[Letho]

Letho’s patience was slowly getting into that awkward phase when his boots started to thump restlessly on the floorboards below and his fingers kept themselves busy by turning a single golden coin in the inner pocket of his poncho. But when he thought of it clearly, could he really expect half-a-dozen of virtuous gunslingers to come pouring into Willowtown, begging him to take them for this job because they oh so desired to bring peace to the Four Towns? No, not really and he didn’t. Two would be enough. Because three people riding into a town looked dangerous, looked like they knew what they were doing and they were relentless in doing it. Especially if they packed iron and looked as if the dusty savanna was a home for their battle-hardened bodies. One person riding in, beating his chest and screaming that he’s the new law around his parts, was bound to be beaten to a pulp and hanged on the nearest tree before he even managed to reason with the mob. With common folk it was always numbers that went through their fatheaded skulls, numbers that were simple and convincing enough for them to nod and shrug their shoulders and yield. And one just couldn’t get the job done. Of course, he had Myrhia and Sienna, but he needed the two to keep order in Willowtown while he is gone. No good being a sheriff if you have nobody to hold down the fort while you go on your little odyssey.

Somewhere around the time when he felt like it’s time again for the three to sit down and have a game or three of poker (in which he would always be the first one to run out of chips), the click of the boots on the creaky wooden porch finally announced something that should interrupt this lull of monotony. The batwing doors swung inwards, whining minutely, almost apologetically, and introducing a figure of a female. Sienna was the first one to notice her, her Peacemakers pausing in mid spin, then flickering their gunmouths at the intruder. The azure eyed blonde measured the newcomer, this dusty brown-haired woman with a solemn face that seemed rather out of place. When you’re a villager your entire life, you can spot one of the town folk from a mile away. Their skin was always a touch smoother, their visages always a touch more perfect, their hands a touch less tanned. And they never dressed for well for environments such as this one.

Letho turned from his dreamy faraway gaze from the tempestuous outsides and onto the only person that seemed this little endeavor was worth of her time. Another woman. It seemed that women of Corone were far different then women of Savion, because here they found it appropriate to shove their nose into everything. He didn’t mind that all too much; he’d rather have a deputy that smelled of jasmine and perfume then one that reeked of chewed tobacco and tended to shoot his thumb off in drunken stupor. It was just rather weird to see women stepping up to roles that seemed more appropriate for men to handle. Kicking the foot of Myrhia’s chair mildly with his boot, the dark coated marshal brought the frail redhead back to her wits and her eyes out of the slumber she managed to sneak in.

“WHAT!?” she jumped in her chair, doing her best to put on the disguise that stated she wasn’t sleeping. But after a keen look directed at her lover, she too noticed the stranger that strolled into their office. With a mousy oh she got out of Letho’s chair, straightening her short scarlet skirt and trying her best to replace the sleepyheaded visage for one of welcome.

“Put those down, Sienna.” he instructed the blonde that lost her ever-vigilant masque and replaced it with one of content. With that matter settled, the swordsman sat into his massive fur-covered chair, motioning his hand towards Sano&#235; to come closer while his other hand rummaged through the drawer of his desk. “I’m glad to see those notices weren’t sent out in vain. Yes, I am Letho Ravenheart and now if only I could find...” but at that point Myrhia rolled her eyes, gave out an audible sigh, and reached out to the middle left drawer to pull out a set of papers and a quill, slamming them against the table. And he tells her she is slow in the morning.

“Yes, well, anyways, you said your name is Sano&#235; Teriades?” he repeated, writing it down in a fine delicate handwriting on the employment list, placing the woman just below his two existing deputies and above his stable master and squire. While he was doing this Myrhia approached the new woman, bowed her head slightly and offered her pale hand coyly.

“I’m Myrhia and regardless of that grouch back there, I welcome you to Willowtown.” she spoke gently, to the far more impressive woman then her tomboy lissome figure was. Sienna, on the other hand, didn’t offer such a heartily welcome to Sano&#235;. She merely tipped the brim of her hat, returning to her place beside the guncase and her eyes before her. “There is some fresh coffee over there if you think it’s as early in the morning as I do.” the frail girl added with a minute smile, moving away and allowing Letho to finish his bureaucracy and paperwork. His neatness, though quite impressive, tended to bend to perfectionism sometimes, and this paperwork seemed like that instance to her.

“Alright, I would need you to sign here.” he procured the paper to the edge of the table together with a quill as he stood up and made his way to the locker that held the pistols and rifles, all lined up behind an inch thick glass. These were all remnants from the Lowmen, the armaments he collected after the final reckoning, and now it seemed like a good time to put them to good use. The lock clicked satisfyingly and dully, the doors screeching and opening to a myriad of pea-shooters as Letho liked to call them. He grabbed a hold of a neatly rolled gunbelt with a revolver lodged in the middle of it, a Winchester rifle that shimmered with golden gloss and a box of bullets. He placed them on the table and in front of Sano&#235; with a grin.

“Here’s the deal. You don’t need to know how to use these things. I just need you to carry them on you. People around here are big on respect and a gun is something they respect more them most reassuring words you can offer them.” he spoke this in a business no-nonsense, even slightly chilly tone that was the product of the circumstances. Because this was all just business. This woman came here because of money, not because she cared about the Oaktown or Pinetown or any town and that was business. He needed a body beside him and he was willing to pay money to get one and that was business too. “There are three towns that we need to cover, all within a day of riding from each other, and all caught in their own set of troubles. Whether or not we manage to iron them out that is not of your concern. Once we visit all three, your job is done. Half of money now...” he said, placing a small jingling burlap sack beside the weapons. “...half when the job is done. So I know you won’t shoot me in the back at least until we’re done.” the last was as much of a joke as Lehto could muster, the bitter sarcastic kind that none laughed at, including himself. But jokes were good for breaking the ice, Myrhia always said that. He was just not very good at it.

“Now, seeing that there is nobody else willing to embark on this little mission, I suggest we head out. There is a lot of ground we need to cover and we ought to reach Oaktown by nightfall.” he concluded, picking up the monstrous six-foot dehlar gunblade and slinging it over his shoulder before heading for the front door. A crack of a whip, high-pitched and striking the air about an inch from the side of his cheek, snapped and paused his advance. This time he did smile, truly and heartily and it made his face look his age, twenty-five and young, not battle-hardened and weary. He knew who was at the other end of that whip-shot even before she spoke.

“You two play nice now.” Myrhia said, scampering to Letho’s side and placing a soft delicate lastly kiss on his lips before moving away from him and steering her emerald eyes to Sano&#235;. “And don’t worry about him, miss. Deep down inside he’s just a big softie.” and then she burst in a series of giggles at his rolling eyes before she scudded away to take her place in his chair. Letho shrugged his shoulders, the shrug giving out the feeble whatever look that poorly masked the fact that the red haired nymph was right; while he often played the role of the tough silent bludgeoner, there was much more then met the eye.

Outside the morning greeted them with a harsh dry slap filled with dust and dawn chill, but Letho’s advance seemed unhindered by this environment. He got used to the dirt-filled tempests and made his way to his steed that stood tied in front, together with another two, both saddled and ready to head out. Tapping the mustang’s neck before jumping onto his back, he placed the gunblade into a saddle holster. His female companion followed his example, but seemed thoroughly annoyed by the dust that swiveled around them, forming miniscule tornados and spirals that faded away as soon as they came to existence. Reaching out to the interior or his poncho, he produced a dark serape made out of thick rugged cloth.

“Here. Tie this over your mouth and nose. Keeps you from inhaling more dust then air. Now let us be off.” and with that said he pulled his cowboy hat (that was hanging on his back by the leather strings) low and spurred his horse, sending the steed down the stretch of the main street and heading towards the nearest of the three towns, where crime took the role the law should play.

[Empyrean]

Sano&#235; was utterly overwhelmed by the stark difference between these three characters. This Letho Ravenheart was, admittedly, far more impressive than she had expected, a fact that soothed her anxiety of having to work for a complete fool. Sienna, the blonde teenager, was more or less the image of the anti-social tendencies most teenagers possessed. Myrhia, however, was an anomaly in the range of teenagers Sano&#235; had met. All three could have been placed in the same category, through – they were odd.

Then again, what was she supposed to expect? She had been surprised by every creature she met ever since she’d set foot in Althanas, which had hardly been even a month before. The entire place was practically a circus; but then, she was not one to talk. She had always been a sort of oddity, herself.

The jeweler nearly jumped as the red-headed girl flew out of her seat at Letho’s rather spontaneous wake-up call. As the girl proceeded to help Letho out of a morning slump, Sano&#235; watched with amusement. She was sorely tempted to laugh, a feat not easily accomplished with her, but the circumstances seemed less than appropriate for the jeweler to suddenly burst into uncharacteristic laughter. Instead, she bit her lip back and waited for the Marshal to finish putting her on his list. As Myrhia introduced herself, Sano&#235; examined the girl’s face for any signs of sarcasm. The red-headed girl was pretty, even elegant, for such a young woman. Her hair fell strangely over one side of her face, but it didn’t take away from the appeal of her sincere expression.

Sano&#235; took the girl’s hand and shook it, stiffly but politely; this Myrhia had a calming effect on her. She had been expecting the girl to be cheeky and apathetic, like most teenagers. Sano&#235; never had liked children and teenagers; children were haphazard and brutally honest, both of which overwhelmed her. Teenagers were disagreeable, whether due to rebelliousness or whatever raging hormones they were plagued by, regardless of how close in age they were to the jeweler. But this girl was different, childlike and mature at the same time. Sano&#235; smiled—very briefly, of course—and left it at that. She preferred not to be disarmed with emotions.

“Thank you, but I’ve had my stimulant for the day,” she said, allowing one more snitch of humor before bending over the desk to reach for the pen. She hadn’t thought there would be so little ceremony before being accepted into the position; it was both refreshing and disturbing, how these people were so straightforward. When the signature was completed, messy and businesslike, Sano&#235; moved out of the way to examine the guns set before her. Her face reddened a little—her waist was already weighed down by her own belt, and with all this extra crap, she would look ridiculous. Nevertheless, she snapped the belt around her waist, over the first one, stuffed the box of bullets into an inside coat pocket, and grabbed the moneybag and rifle.

She was slightly comforted by the notion that she, at least, would not be completely lost when it came to using a gun. Jora had known how; Jora had owned a gun since she was seventeen years old, because even the minor jewelry business had trouble now and then. She’d taught Sano&#235; shortly how to load, to aim, and to shoot. A rifle couldn’t be very different.

At Letho’s closing comment, Sano&#235; scoffed slightly. The biting humor was recognizable—after all, she used it several times herself. Well, aren’t you the little sunspot today, she thought in spite of herself.

---------

Once she and Letho were outside, Sano&#235; attempted to mount the second horse with surprisingly little trouble. She had ridden a horse only once in her life, but as it was a rare experience, the details were fresh in her mind as she clambered onto the back of Letho’s second horse. Given, she had to push off the ground and kick her foot over the other side to keep from falling off and making a damn fool of herself, but it was still an accomplishment for a city-bred woman, right?

Settled into the saddle, somewhat, Sano&#235; tied the thick cloth around her mouth, grateful for the mask against the dust and a chance to think in the midst of the miniature dust storms. Letho was a puzzle to her, an archetypal soldier, the likes of which were not foreign to her, having grown up in a military-run city. But he was more advanced than the neanderthals that were usually thundering down the streets at night in drunken stupors, more intelligent. He was also, as Myrhia had let her know, something of a softie underneath the shell. Way underneath.

Not a surprise, since an ordinary neanderthal wouldn’t allow such physical contact as Letho had Myrhia. The jeweler certainly had been surprised by that little gesture.


Sano&#235; caught up with Letho after a few minutes, allowing the horse to resume the pace Letho had set. She said nothing to him, focusing more on keeping herself in the saddle than on small talk. She never had been very chatty, not unless she felt that whatever she had to say had some purpose. Perhaps Letho was the same way. A day-long ride was enough time to find out, of course.

[Letho]

((The following post is written by Nekoprincess (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=365).))


"Mommy! Why are we here? This town is so small! It looks dirty!" The constant whining was starting to wear on Rainee's nerves. Turning around swiftly in Golden's saddle she pressed a slim finger to her young daughter's mouth and whispered "Can you for once hush? Its been a long ride! Mylie! Listen we didn't come here for fun and games! I came here on a hunch that there might be trouble brewing about. Leon recently told me that in this town Willowtown there might be a furry who is in a bit of a tight spot. Leon asked me to go check it out and sort out the matter if I need to." Mylie meanwhile pouted as she looked at the little western town. The young kitten could see a saloon where piano music could be heard. To the left of the wooden saloon there was a little bank with a painted blue sign proclaiming the building as one. Mylie simply meowed as she muttered under her breathe "This town looks so boring! Mommy! Why couldn't you have left me with Shizu and Mizu?"

Rainee sighs softly as she kicks her heels into Golden's soft flanks, when her horse begin to trot swiftly down the dusty path. Rainee simply sighed and kept her eyes straight a head. She was silently counting to ten to keep from explaining to her daughter that she couldn't always stay back with Shizu and Mizu. Instead she simply said "I wanted to bring you with me darling." This seemed to quiet her daughter's whining because Mylie simply said "I love you mommy!"

Rainee smiled softly at her daughter before she reined Golden in for a moment. Seeing a pretty white and red planked tavern, she softly asks "You want a drink sweetie?"

Mylie nods as she murmurs "Sure mommy."

Dismounting from Golden, Rainee brings her daughter down gently. She then ties her pretty Palmino steed to a nearby water trough. Keeping a tight hold on her daughter's hand the cat mother slowly made her way into the tavern. The sounds of soft piano music greeted her keen hearing. She could also hear the soft babble of the tavern's patrons talking over games of blackjack and poker. Sighing as she made her way to the tender she softly asks "A glass of milk for my daughter and a small glass of elven wine for me."


The tender nods as he polishes a wine glass quickly. He then reaches for a bottle of fine Elven wine murmuring "You know, we're lucky we have such fine wine miss. With the high taxes we used to get it was hard as hell to even procure a bottle of good wine."

Rainee's ears twitch upon hearing this information, her will to help out good people begin to kick in as she softly asks "Oh? Why is it that you can now stock so many bottles of elven wine?"

The tender smiles, his brown eyes crinkling warmly as he murmurs in a deep voice "Its all thanks to Sheriff Letho Ravenheart."

Rainee's tail swishes as she murmurs" I see...do you know where I can find Sheriff Ravenheart?"

The tender grins as he murmurs softly "Its the next building over miss kitty. You won't miss it, its a warm welcoming building with the sign of a rifle and a sword."

Rainee nods as she murmurs quietly "Thanks for the information. If you don't mind, I'd like to put a raincheck on those drinks."

The tender nods and softly says "Its not a problem miss."

Rainee nods before she quickly steers her daughter out of the tavern. Following the kind tender's directions she soon came upon the building that he had pointed out. Walking Golden over to the stable air, she and Mylie dismount from their horse. Rainee then ties Golden to the fence above the water barrel. She then led Mylie into the warm and welcoming room. Seeing a pretty blonde and a frail red head in the room. She looks around and blinks, looking at the red head she softly asks "Hello? Um miss...is the sheriff in?"

[Letho]

It wasn’t that Myrhia didn’t have faith in Letho’s fidelity. But regardless of her trust in her lover’s morals she couldn’t deny the fact that thinking of him riding with this bonny lass made her feel jealous. Sano&#235; was the kind of girl that shamed her own scrawny little butt in every aspect, from the fair spotless face that didn’t carry a nasty scar like her own, to the curvature of her body that, unlike Myrhia’s, actually had curves where a woman needed them. Not to mention the stoutness of spirit that seemed to radiate from the woman that applied for such a dreadful task on her own free will. She was the kind that seemed to fit much better alongside Letho, the kind that had the volition and courage, the kind that wasn’t just a fifth wheel. And the kind that may grow to like the big-tall-and-grumpy because regardless of the foot people got off with him, they always seemed to wind up liking him. Of course, people liked her as well, but unlike the swordsman, she was seldom on the other end of hankering looks and lustful thoughts.

That’s why she slumped into Letho’s chair with a touch of melancholy, her eyes tracing the puff of dust that the two horses raised against the pale dawn. Being separated always fell hard on her and with nothing to do but keep watch in an eventless Willowtown, play tedious poker with Sienna who was as talkative as Letho at the time she met him, and mull over the questions about how to bind her time while he was gone, Myrhia was certain that her mood would only degrade further with each passing minute.

Sienna seemed to be following her example, especially regarding the slumping mood. The blonde teenager took a seat beside the shelve with the guns, took of her hat and it was as if with that piece of brownish leather, her lour fa&#231;ade came off as well and she was just a garbled teenager. Myrhia knew what the reason was for this. Despite Letho’s clear declaration that he was a one woman man and that the chosen one is Myrhia, Sienna couldn’t purge herself of the lust and desire that she felt for the man. So she kept as close as possible, secretly hoping that sooner or later, the gloomy swordsman would change his preference from mahogany-red to silky-blonde. Myrhia knew this very well – even a blind man could see beyond that masque if he knew where to look - but she permitted it. Letho once said that a person should keep his friends close, but his foes even closer, and while there wasn’t any clear enmity between the two girls, they certainly weren’t on route to having slumber parties any time soon.

In such rather dour mood, the appearance of the kitty woman and her child came as a welcome wake-up call. But while Myrhia, who once lived in the great city of Scara Brae, got used to all the bestial combinations people managed to conjure up, Sienna was utterly stupefied by the appearance of the female. Her hair was azure, flowing in all its unnatural color down from the head that had what seemed like catlike ears perched gingerly in the sea of blue. And as if that wasn’t enough, she had a tail, a nice wiggly fluffy thing that swished behind her nonchalantly. The blonde drew, gave the usual greeting to the feline woman with the barrel of her gun staring from the corner of the room. The child at the woman’s side noticed it and limberly took cover behind her mother.

“For gods sakes, Sienna!!” Myrhia said in a frustrated manner, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at the welcome her friend liked to impart on all newcomers. She got up from the lofty chair, made her way around the massive oaken table, and stood before the pair with a coy smile.

“I’m sorry, miss. You just missed him. He rode out for Pinetown minutes ago. I’m Myrhia and that over there is Sienna and we are his deputies.” the redhead spoke with in a frail mousy voice with her hand outstretched to the strange woman. She reminded her of Kit, the kitsune woman, whose path crossed with Letho’s and her own from time to time. However, what was peculiar about this furry woman that she seemed severely underage for the child that she brought in tow. The blue haired female must’ve been somewhere around her own age, and yet the child was at least six years old which just didn’t add up for the timid teenager. But for now she let the matter rest. She’s always being too nosy for her own sakes, that’s what Letho sometimes subtly says. However, she couldn’t deny that this little girl with her doe eyes peering around her mother and her frightened face was terribly cute. So Myrhia bent over gently, reaching out with her hand towards the girl with a sincere smile. “Hey there, little one. Don’t be afraid. I’m Myrhia.” but even as her hand protruded towards the little toddler, she withdrew and clung to her mother even tighter.

“That’s one beautiful child you have there, miss.” Myrhia said and Sienna rolled her eyes. She never liked kids too much. They were too much of an annoyance, too small to do anything and usually just terribly whining and dull. Myrhia however, was in an age when her motherly instincts started to make first appearance and a thought of having a child with Letho wasn’t just some wild fantasy, but rather something that was seriously pondered on. So she just smiled and got back to the woman that asked for her lover.

“Are you here to take up the position as a deputy, miss?” she asked the woman again. “There’s been an upset in the nearby towns and Letho is trying to put them under control. There’s a nice sum to be earned as well.” the teen lass tried to do her lover’s job as best she could, trying to aid him even further by procuring another deputy. Although, seeing that this woman came with a child, that was highly unlikely to happen.


[Elswhere...]

Letho certainly didn’t expect for Sano&#235; to be so silent. She was a woman, and if there was one thing that he found as a denominator of all women was that they liked to run that tongue of theirs even if there was nothing to run on anymore. Hell, he could go as far as saying that he desired for her to say something. Myrhia was a chatterbox and he got used to the lack of silence so much so that he actually found the silence almost unnerving. But the brown haired woman just rode beside him solemnly, struggling a bit with her mount at first but otherwise perfectly focused and composed. She had a noble face, the kind that he saw quite a few during the twenty years he was parading around like a prince of Savion kingdom. The hard-to-get almost cocky countenance that issued a clear hands-off warning. But he spoke nothing, not even when slowed their horses to a calm trot, giving the beasts a chance to rest a bit while the day around them entered the mid-morning, bringing in the heat and easing up the assaults of the harsh winds. The nature around them was unsightly, dry and unforgiving, with tumbleweed and stringy low bushes that seemed to spread around for eternity in all directions. It was a brownish-red country, caught at its worst in a hue of dry rust, but still, there was something charismatic about this dryness that he found rather attractive. Besides, it was not like this during the entire year. Come spring and mild rains and the brown is swiftly taken over by endless sea of grassland. But spring seemed years away right now, when the dry winter knocked on the door.

[Letho]

((The following post is written by Nekoprincess.))

Rainee's eyes carefully studied the warm and spacious room, she could tell that while this was a place of law, this was also a place of comfort. A small mousy redhead seemed to come up to greet her with a cheery smile. Grinning back Rainee was about to respond when she saw the frail but pretty girl looking at her daughter. Sighing softly when she felt her daughter's small hands grip onto the back of her pants she murmurs softly "You'll have to forgive my daughter miss...she really doesn't trust other people...she really only prefers to stay with her mother..." Looking at the woman's outstretched hand, Rainee took it jovially and murmurs "Well...its nice to meet you Myhria." She then looked at the blonde woman who seemed to be just looking at them from under the brim of a wide cowboy hand. Sighing as she studied the girl she murmurs "You must be Sienna..." She then turned her attention back to Myhria and murmurs "Oh? Well I came here to see about the deputy job that was being offered."

Myhria's eyes lit up as she murmurs "Oh really? Well then. there is a few things I'd need you to do first."

Rainee's eyebrow rose an inch as she murmurs "Oh? What would you need me to do?"

Sienna sighs gruffly as she mutters "She needs ya to fill out a few forms, then we offer you some bullets and a rifle."

Myrhia seemed to sigh as she glared at Sienna and mutters' Can't you ever mind your manners? You do realize you said all that while this kitty girl's child is here?"

Sienna smirked at Myrhia and mutters 'You are too much of a softie! I'm sure that kid has seen enough violence to fill a...."

Sienna's outburst was interupted by an angry snarl as Rainee spat "Excuse me, but if you two are going to fight, can you kindly do it after I am gone?" Mylie meanwhile was clinging even more tightly to her mother's pant leg as she whispers softly "Mommy....I don't want to be left alone with either of these ladies....the red haired one seems sweet...but...if the blonde haired one is there I'm scared that I might be left alone or teased..." Rainee sighs softly as she runs a hand through her daughter's bright green hair, looking into her little girl's aquamarine eyes she whispers 'You'll be fine sweetie, I hopefully won't be long and plus your a big girl now! Don't you want to spend a little time away from me? Mylie firmly shook her head, long locks of green hair flying behind her as she stated firmly "No mommy! I want to stay with you!" Rainee sighs as she was about to explain to her daughter that she need to learn to be away from her. However Myhria soon interupted with a serene and soft smile on her face.

"Well miss, my home is a beautiful manor and...there are many gorgeous porcelin dolls for your little girl to play with. In fact if she behaves she may very well be able to keep one!" Myhria then looked at Mylie with soft eyes and murmurs "Would you like that honey?"

Mylie's fuzzy little white ears almost perked at the mention of dolls, moving out from behind her mother, she walked over to Myhria and asked in a soft but sweet voice "Are there toys too?"

Myhria grins as she nods and murmurs "Yes sweetie."

Mylie seemed to mew with glee before she turned to her mother and said in a glee filled voice "I"ll go to this nice ladies manor mommy!"

Rainee smiled softly and just shook her head muttering "Alright just be good and behave..ok?"

Mylie nodded almost bouncing on the balls of her feet from excitement.

Sienna meanwhile had gathered together a rifle and a few boxes of bullets, shoving them into Rainee's hands she muttered holding out a form 'Well now that we have your daughter settled, just sign here and be on your way."

Rainee sighs as she neatly signs her name beneath a woman named Sanoe. Sighing once she had finished that, she gingerly slung the wrifle strap across her body, she had trouble because she had decided to bring her sword and a dagger along with her, sighing she stuffed the bullets into her satchel before she marched outside. Glancing behind her to check that her daughter was fine, seeing that her little girl was smiling from ear to ear she sighs before she preps a foot into the stirrup of Golden's saddle, using this to mount her horse, she knickers at her horse to start walking.

Once she is on her way she sighs as she sniffs the air, catching the same scent that she had smelled in the tavern, she kicks Golden into a gallop. After what seemed like about twenty minutes she soon spots two riders, one male, strong well-built and wearing a cowboy hat, the other is definatley female, sighing as she increases her pace, she soon is within hailing distance as she shouts "Hey! You wouldn't happen to be Sheriff Letho Ravenheart from Willowtown!" She then studied him closer still sniffing him as her ears wiggled and she murmurs "Your him aren't you?"

[Dissinger]

CHAPTER 1 - THE GOOD
Every once in awhile there comes a time when a man simply can do nothing to change his situation. Such a time had befallen a man many called Demon. As he sat on his cot, placed carefully under the window a rock hit the ground before him, causing him to drone out the number, “Twenty seven…”

While Seth was hardly a man for rash actions, he would always defend himself. And defend himself he did, until a man was killed and he was to be tried for murder. The town could have cared less about the simplistic fact the man had attacked in cold blood. Could have cared less that the man had openly insulted the thief’s parents, both of which deaths weighed heavily upon him. No, they simply saw a demon, which cared not for its actions, and had condemned him to die, to be hung by the neck until such time as his final breath left his lips.

Yet another rock caused Seth to continue the count, something he could rely on, he was fairly certain before he would be hung, that there would be at least a hundred of such gifts, and was the reason he had moved the cot, much to the chagrin of the prison guards. A few would try to faze the thief, pushing him to be the demon, only to scowl when he gave them nothing in return. Some even threatened him; calling him a pathetic man they should kill then and there, only to receive a cautionary word and a somber glance.

“Demon, your foods ready. Come and get it,” A guard said dropping the tray a good five feet from the door. It had become the custom, as the guards had rarely made anything easy on Seth. Still he remained silent as the guard seemed to get irritated, “I said come get your damn supper!”

“Why should I entertain you with trying to get something so blatantly out of reach?” He replied curtly. A few of the guards laughed at the bold move. Still the guard smiled as he kicked the tray sending the food into the cell and slamming it against the wall under the cot. What little of the food was still edible was a meager meal, as had become the custom of the thief. Reaching under his cot he produced the tray and set it before him before he said, “Temper temper, you wouldn’t want your precious Mayor to think you’re mistreating your guest…”

“I’ll enjoy watching you die Dahlios. If it’s the last thing I do I will watch you hang in the town square. We are already working on the Gallows; I hope you enjoy hell…” The guard said with a snicker as he turned to walk away.

Seth merely smirked as he replied, “You would be so horribly cliché wouldn’t you? I suppose creativity and open mindedness aren’t traits that you like. I suppose stupidity is a rather close minded trait…”

The guard stopped as he pulled his gun to point it at Seth, one of the guards quickly acted and forced the man’s hand down, “Don’t do it Butch, he’s not worth it, he hangs in a fortnight…”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t play with a washed up has been pretending to be a demon, I should go home to my nice home cooked meal….I think I might piss in a bottle of Lavinian Ale while I’m at it, might add flavor…” Butch said as he began to walk out. The sounds of Seth hitting the bars echoed through the jail as he turned to Seth, “Oh, did I strike a nerve? You like home don’t you? You love your pathetic little mud hole of a town don’t you? How amusing to think a man who was condemned to die will never see his **** hole of a home again…”

“You think your funny, insulting something you can never understand. I find you pathetic. Why don’t you look me in the eyes if you’re so brave Butch….” Seth spat.

Butch snorted as he walked up to Seth’s cell. He then looked down on the ground before he looked Seth squarely in the eyes, “Challenging my authority? You’re in for a world of Pain boy….”

“Funny you should say that. I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with. You think you control pain? You think you know what pain is? Simpleton, you don’t know the true meaning of pain!” Seth said coldly as he focused on his electrocution at the hands of Zephyriah Albione. It was a match in the Theater of War that had resulted in Seth’s death, but ultimately done nothing for him in the end. Still the pain had given him something to concentrate on, and the man before him began to feel pain surge through his body as he groaned and whimpered stumbling away. As the guards moved to help their friend Seth walked back to his cot and continued to eat in silence. As Butch groaned trying to overcome the pain Seth continued his meal, knowing it was only a matter of time before it was taken form him.

As Butch rose up he shouted, “I’ll make you pay for that Dahlios!”

Another rock flew through the window before Seth droned on, “Twenty-nine…”

[Letho]

Pinetown, just like every town of the four in the area, failed to deviate from the other three in any other aspect save for the favored tree sort and the miniscule details. They all had the majority of important buildings clustered around the main road that was as straight as the spinal cord of an old man, with one multi-functional manor that stood out from the rest. It was a courthouse, jailhouse (some say even a whorehouse in the good ole Bitchtown) and couple of other houses as well. They all had saloons (at least two of them) with regulars that were always nestled on one of the barstools, terminally half-drunk and terminally working on that other half. Burly blacksmiths, chintzy shop owners, sun-burnt farmers and their wide-brimmed straw sombreros, they all seemed to fall into this archetype that gave birth to obvious similarities amongst the local folk.

But it took significantly more time then the ten seconds of the first glance to scratch the surface paint and see that below it the true coloration and imagery were different. Because each moment beyond those prejudiced ten seconds revealed a portion of the true image, took a person deeper into the bowels of the place, discovering secrets and tiny kinks that every community had in abundance, irregardless of how boring and static it seemed. Letho knew this very well - twice already destiny made him settle in one of these places – and he found this slow gradual revealing rather appealing. There was linkage in these places, invisible closeness that will only embrace you if you stubbornly remain in its presence, and while old Letho would abhor something like this and rather be a drop in the ocean of some large city, Myrhia’s Letho was different. The angsty wanderer that would ride into one of these towns at dusk and leave at dawn was transposed with the noble knight that rode in at high noon with an intention to aid the place and its inhabitants.

And today he was not alone on his mission. The two women - whether because the offered money seemed like easy earnings or because there was actually a deeper humane motive to their actions – shared the same goal. They were an uncanny trio that by themselves failed to look intimidating, but they packed heat and if there was one thing Letho knew it was that if the sheen of the rifle doesn’t get through, the gun smoke and splintered wood always do. And as much as he hoped that it would not come to gunfire in any of the three towns, the ever-present gut feeling subtly reminded him that peace is seldom forged without spilled blood.

However, there were three of them now, and three was a good number and that at least eased his mind a little bit. Three meant power, respect, unity, it meant three separate minds earnestly focused on the same issue. It was much better then two that always left some space for a scheme and a lot better then one that somehow always ended up associated with vigilantes with volatile tempers and swift hands. On top of that, they were women and even though by definition they didn’t fit the common profile for a deputy, Letho knew that fact could work in his favor as well. Because while law and law enforcers were a necessity in a society, they usually came with a grim frown and a rigid harshness that repulsed people. A pair of female faces, and quite a handsome pair as well, could remedy that for certain.

With the introduction of Rainee to the camaraderie, the dialogue picked up a little bit, and even if was the usual intro curtsey that they exchanged, it served as a good refreshment to the constant tlot-tlot-tlot of the horse hooves below. Letho wasn’t surprised by the girl’s looks; his surprise by these strange furry combinations ceased somewhere around his second encounter with Doji Kadenzaa. He would even go as far to say that on occasions a feline gene here and there managed to add a certain exotic flavor to a woman that was by no means repelling. But nowadays this was just an observation. His heart belonged to a fully human former slave girl that was waiting for him back in Willowtown. So he greeted Rainee with a smirk, tipping his hat before he spoke in the same strict business-like tone as before, explaining the situation to her and recapitulating it for Sano&#235;.

“Aye, I am Letho Ravenheart. And judging by that rifle you’re carrying, Myrhia and Sienna made you my deputy. Well, you come at the right time. Pinetown is ahead, the first of the three towns we need to get in order. From the scant reports I have the situation in Pinetown has not escalated to an all-out anarchy. I figured we start with something easy.” he finished with a rather sincere grin that faded as soon as it came into existence at the edge of his lips.

The road before them swiveled like a drugged snake, squeezing between the gentle sandy hillocks, until it finally straightened and climbed over one. And even as they reached the apex of the climb and stopped their horses, Pinetown stretched before them, basked in the heatless noon sun and as cold and lifeless as a corpse. Only the wind swept through the desolate streets, less frivolous then back at Willowtown where it seemed to blow from all four sides of the world, but twice as packed with chill. They were closer to the mountains now, the pine groove that stood at the north side of the town an obvious proof to that, stretching up the hillside for at least some five miles. After that the thickness of the woods diminished like the head of a rapidly balding man until it completely gave in to the neutral gray. The keen eyes of the swordsman surveyed the town like the eyes of a hawk while his hands fumbled through the inner pocket of his poncho. Finally he produced two golden badges with the same blade-and-rifle insignia as back on his Marshal’s office.

“I need you to wear these.” he spoke to the females, tossing them a badge each before taking out the third one and clasping it to his chest. “It is the official mark of the Corone Rangers and it legitimizes us as a lawful force. Hopefully, the people would not oppose the reinstating of the order. You two ready?” he added a question, his eyes taking a keen glance at Sano&#235;, then shifting to the blue-haired Rainee. After the short assortment he led the way downhill and towards the south entrance into Pinetown.

***

“Now, that doesn’t seem to promising.” Letho muttered more to himself then his two deputies as they entered the dusty main street that beamed straight at the square and the massive gallows. The wooden contraption was freshly built, the scent of freshly cut pine and its sticky resin apparent within the constant blowing of the wind that came straight down the wide street and into the faces of the three riders. The sandbag dangled boringly from above, as if it too was annoyed by the wind now that it served its purpose and proven that the new deadly toy is working properly.

However, the perpetual sway of the burlap sack was not the only presence of life within Pinetown. Now that they were within the premises they could see that there was an obvious activity beyond the dust-stained windows, people having their midday meals, the honky-tonk piano playing some cheerful tune behind the batwing doors, a handful of younger lads running down the street with some task on their mind, an old coot with white hair sitting on the front porch with a pipe in the corner of his mouth, rocking and puffing the day away. Most regarded the three riders with a measured courteous nod, seeing strangers that carried guns and looked like trouble and making it clear that they wanted none of it.

[Empyrean]

Sano&#235; kept strange company, that was for sure. The addition of the feline-human woman to their company made them no more menacing, but it certainly made them more interesting. Against her better judgment and business-bred manners, the jeweler caught herself examining the appearance of the jovial young woman on the golden-haired mount. Blue hair! And a tail! There had to be something in the water of Althanas, Sano&#235; thought rather cruelly. But really, how on earth did such hybrids manifest themselves, if not purely by accident, or reproduction (the process of which absolutely mystified and startled the jeweler, considering the characters that would be involved in this case)?

Of course, there was also the fact that the first and only catlike hybrid Sano&#235; had met before now had held her at gunpoint and made her an unofficial accomplice in a robbery. She sincerely hoped that if Letho ever found that last piece of information out, it would not count against her in this deputy job. Money was hard enough to get without the pressure of past mistakes and closeted skeletons.

Thankfully, this hybrid, this young Rainee Miyami was not about to let Sano&#235; create a feline hybrid stereotype in her brain. She was cheerful, if not overly so, and her personality was lighthearted but resolute. The girl had to be no more than eighteen and already she had uncovered the way to disarm Sano&#235;’s brick wall of indifference and protocol, just as Myrhia had. The young women of Althanas had to have had some sort of training that women in Arsal had somehow neglected, training that induced a courtesy and friendliness that Sano&#235; did not expect. It was somewhat heartening, but Sano&#235; remained nearly as silent as she had been all morning except for when she needed to speak. Idle chatter wasn’t her area of expertise.

She didn’t have to wait long for the silence to persist. Pinetown was no longer a point on the horizon; in fact, it dominated the landscape, its center a large, depressed-looking hall flanked by the rows of houses and buildings of various business. The air was not polluted with dust as it had been in Willowtown, and Sano&#235; lowered the cloth around her mouth and turned it so that the bigger folds rested underneath her hair. The dryness was more bracing than aggravating here, almost beautiful in its red and brown shades of earth. Though the winding street itself was unpopulated at the moment, Sano&#235; could hear a collection of sounds sifting though the swinging doors and windows; the upbeat plunks in the tune on a piano, the murmurs and gruff laughter so typical of bar denizens, the lighthearted chatter of a few disenchanted youths walking down the stream of oddly placed buildings….

In the middle of it all was a scaffold of monstrous proportions, sitting idle just outside the equally massive manor house. The sight of it made Sano&#235;’s throat go dry—she’d heard of these contraptions but had never seen one for herself. She’d seen illustrations of lynching, as well, the grotesque expressions and jerking limbs. The sack swinging slightly in the wind on the ghastly machine before her was merely a testimony to the disgusting executions. As Sano&#235; fastened the badge to the neck of her coat, she was grateful for the official emblem on its surface, grateful that she had some sort of guarantee to keep her from landing herself anywhere near those gallows.

Before she could ask Letho about the odd location of the scaffold, the jeweler was suddenly in front of two tanned, displeased faces. Their owners were a pair of disheveled-looking men somewhere in their thirties and clad in rather ragtag collections of clothing. They were hardly militiamen, hardly even more than two gun-toting inhabitants of the nearest barstools. But they looked determined, at least, and their hands were at the ready.

“What’s yer business here?” asked the man on the left in a strange drawl that Sano&#235;’s ears weren’t used to. The man on the right tightened his grip on the gun at his waist, as though the three riders had suddenly become more menacing in the last few seconds.

Thought tempted to ask what his business was, Sano&#235; said dryly, “Our business is our own, unless you’d like to allow us through to your town officials.” She swept a quick glance over the scruffy pair. No, definitely not officials—there was no way they could be more than aspiring sheriffs. She suddenly wondered if she had spoken out of turn; was Letho supposed to be the spokesman of their group?

Ah, well. It was too late anyhow. The “guards” gave each other skeptical looks. “Look lady,” said the first, sounding tired, “Unless you all state your business, I’m ‘fraid we’re gonna have to keep you out ourselves. Don’t make me resort to that, now, I’d like to save my bullets.” The second man’s fingers twitched dangerously, and the look on his face was enough to make Sano&#235;’s hand reach inside her coat to take hold of the gun at her waist. The guard’s itchy fingers grasped the gun at the drop of a hat, and even as Sano&#235; revealed her own pistol, she found herself looking down the mouths of two revolvers. Luckily, Letho and Rainee had been quick on the uptake as well, but how were they supposed to get out of a three-to-two draw?

As if on cue, the jeweler heard a hoarse shout of “Stop! Wait a minute, stop!” coming directly in front of them. Another man was running at top speed toward them, a man in a gray suit that seemed to rattle with every step from the pocketwatch and wallet beginning to slip out of his pockets. He was lean but not tall, the sort of thin type that looked more emaciated than gangly. His face, as pale and drawn as it was, was red with fatigue as he began to jog loosely toward them, flailing his arms in a sort of detached crisscrossing motion. “Don’t shoot! Withdraw your weapons now!!” The man tripped inelegantly over a low corner of the gallows as he drew near.

The two men seemed to become more exasperated than determined, and while neither put away their guns, they lowered the mouths toward the ground and parted to allow the new arrival to come between them. “I believe they wanted to see you, Mr. Ratcliffe.”

“Mayor…” panted the man, his balding head lowered to his chest in exhaustion. “Mayor….Ratcliffe….if you please.”

The two guards shared a not-so-clandestine look behind the Mayor’s back, but both moved a few feet behind him, their guns still trained on the ground. When the Mayor had caught his breath, he eyed the badges on the three riders’ chests and made an angry gesture toward them as he stared at the guards. “You see? You aimed against Coronian armed forces!”

The two men surveyed Rainee and Sano&#235; with dubious eyes, and then shuffled off to the porch of the nearby saloon to wait, trying to muffle their chuckles. Ratcliffe appeared not to see this—or pretended not to—and addressed the three riders. “I do apologize sir, ladies. Our volunteers do not practice caution as often as I would like them to. I am Mayor Ratcliffe, as you may have guessed.” He made a tired little flourish with his hand, perhaps meant to be a bow. Sano&#235; didn’t know or particularly care; the man’s smile was rather creepy, especially when directed to her or Rainee.

“May I ask why your men are so tense, Mr. Ratcliffe? I'd expect them to practice more caution if they're really volunteers,” the jeweler said dryly.

“Mayor Ratcliffe, my dear.” The man’s expression was annoyingly patient, as though he were dealing with young children. “And yes, I expect the same of them. You must understand, it’s not quite so easy in light of recent events. A man was killed a few days ago in cold blood. We await the impending execution of the murderer,” concluded Ratcliffe with a brief gesture at the gallows.

“It must have been gruesome, then,” replied Sano&#235;, looking with distaste at the scaffold.

“It might not have been half as gruesome if the perpetrator hadn’t been so well known for his crimes,” explained Ratcliffe with a holier-than-thou lilt in his voice. “It will be a cold day in hell the day a Demon like Seth Dahlios escapes punishment in my town.”

[Letho]

((The following post is written by Nekoprincess.))

Rainee was resting in her saddle, her breathe coming out in little puffs as she waited for the two men to back down. She could tell that they were afraid, the stench of fear overriding their normal body odors. Simply shaking her head, Rainee leaned down from her saddle and stared at the two men, she was about to whisper that the two males should back away. Should let Letho, Sanoe and herself through that they could attend to business in this town. However, as a balding pudgy man hurried out torwards where the two 'guards' were pointing guns at the trio. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she could tell that the two dubious 'guards' were staring lechorously at Sanoe and she. Moving to show her small fangs, she was about to from a small spark of lightening to scare the two off, when she heard the name "Seth Dahlios' mentioned. Whirling around in her saddle the question flew from Rainee's mouth before she gave it a moment's thought. "Did you just say Seth Dahlios?"

Mayor Ratcliffe nods pertly, he was wiping his sweaty brow with a white handkerchief as he pointed to a simple wooden builidng with a simple metal door. It looked as if it had been built as an afterthought, then refixed so that it matched the rest of the decor in Pinetown. Frowning as she stared at the jail, her silver eyes slowly drifted to the gallows that had been freshly built, she knew what was going to happen. Seth was going to be hung for a crime he committed, murder was a serious matter. This Rainee knew, and while Seth had tortured her to no end in Moriah, he had ultimately made it up to her after the Grey Braves War.

Reaching into her satchel, the cat-girl slowly pulled out the blackened dagger. Shifting it over so that the sunlight struck the rich black metal, she could see that no light was reflected from it. Sighing as she moved to tuck the dagger into the waistband of her pants, she slowly started to head for the jail.

A shout could be heard behind the cat-girl as the Mayor screamed "Wait a second Miss! That man! That demon he'll kill you if you enter!"

Rainee simply smiles as she cooly replies "No he will not."

The mayor seemed taken a back, moving back a few steps he replied smoothly "Its your funeral little girl."

Rainee simply muffled a laugh before she pushed the jail door open, in an instant two guards with pistols rushed at her. Shaking her head, Rainee's hands begin to glow a soft yellow, letting loose a stunning lightening attack, she grinned when she watched the guards slump against the floor paralyzed. Moving towards Seth, she wraps softly on the metal bars of the jail cell. In a soft voice she murmurs "Seth? What the hell are you doing in here? That fumbling mayor out there says you killed a man! Is this true?"

Seth sighed as he remained looking at the wall that imprisoned him, "I killed a man yes, if you could call something like that murder, I would liken it to suicide..."

A blue eyebrow winged up, Rainee couldn't quite believe what Seth was saying. Moving so that her face was an inch away from the bars she softly asks "I thought you changed Seth?"

Seth snorted as he said, "I'm a monster, however, there are cases where monsters need to kill. Not because they want to, but because it was necessary for survival."

Rainee's brow knit in confusion at Seth's words. Yes...she knew that sometimes drastic measures had to be took to ensure someone's survival...Furthermore, she knew that sometimes death had to be brought to those who foolishly stepped into a situation where they didn't belong. Moving forward, Her tail slowly sneaked through the bars to pat Seth's shoulder. In a soft voice she murmurs "Why did you have to kill for survival? Was...was someone harrassing you?"

"The truth is out there somewhere, but for those who live in this town, the truth is but a mere formality," He said softly.

Rainee sighs as she realizes that Seth is talking in riddles. Scratching her head softly she murmurs "The truth...where? Seth tell me where can we find the truth of what happened to you?"

"Oh its out there somewhere, but I bet the truth is hiding, for fear it'll join me at the gallows tomorrow if it speaks out. You see, the truth is but one voice amongst the many, and far too weak to protect itself," Seth replied simply.

Rainee sighs deeply as she scratches her head again. Confused straight down to the core she murmurs softly "I"m trying to help you Seth. Your my friend..and in return your talking to me in riddles." Looking behind her, she knew that Sanoe and Letho were waiting outside. Sighing deeply she murmurs softly "I"ll have to ask one of my companions to decipher the riddle you gave me. For now no that your friend is here..and she will do whatever means neccessary to protect you.

Seth shouted out, "You must be thirsty, I'd suggest the Drunken Dog Tavern, I hear they have good drinks..."

Rainee briefly paused taking in Seth's last words, she then walked across the simple plank floor, once she pushed her way outside. She hurried over to Letho and begin to tell him what Seth had told her. When she had finished, she leaned back on the balls of her feet softly asking "Can you figure out what his riddle meant? He did give me one last clue amidst the riddles...he aid that the Drunken Dog Tavern would be a good place to get drinks..."

[Letho]

Letho was profoundly allayed to see that his deputies were more then able to take reins into their own hands if needed. Truth be told, he was a tad disquieted to ride into a town with a pair of ravishingly young lasses at his side. But after witnessing the deft way Sano&#235; dealt with the finger-itchy militia men and the sleazy mayor and after Rainee nonchalantly strode into the jailhouse and came out with her head still alive and well on her shoulders, all the ails of his mind were cured. It was good to see that the females weren’t just peons that sat quietly, awaiting for orders. If he wanted peons he could have summoned a handful of Willowtowners and take them on this mission. But he wanted deputies that were unafraid to use that which stood between their ears, and he was glad to see that he found that in Sano&#235; and Rainee.

However, once the matters start to unravel and details of the current situations started to come in a torrent, Letho regained his position as the leader of the trio. The matter seemed rather simple though. If you input the name like Seth Dhalios into an equation that already had the murder factor, the gallows were one of the probable results you come up with. He heard a thing or two about the Demon, probably even more then the locals knew about him. Suffice to say, where Seth walked, death and destruction followed and that was not something Letho wanted in his county. But he was a marshal now, the hand of the law, and as feeble as that hand might have been in many situations, he wasn’t to follow the prejudiced archetype that all of the locals seemed to embrace as the undisputable truth. He needed to look into this, especially since the pointless riddles of the prisoner revealed that there might be an additional motive behind the atrocious deed that shook the local community.

“All lies and gibberish.” the mayor spoke in an appalled tone, his rosy face slowly fading to the usual wan coloration. “Do not listen to that... that thing! He killed poor Edward in cold blood. That is all you need to know.”

Letho could already say that he strongly disliked Mayor Ratcliffe. The man was the brownnose kind that advanced his position through carefully planned schemes and shadow games. A politician, a diplomat that resolved to lofty words and lifted his nose so high he would almost strike the doorframe every time he entered the room. Mayor Ratcliffe was the kind of a man that got people like Letho killed. The sullen-clad knight decided not to allow that to happen here.

“No, Mayor, that is all you know. Or rather what you believe to know. This is a serious matter and we will look into it.” the Marshal paused, giving the gangly man an assertive strict look. “That is, unless you have something against the presence of the Corone Rangers in your town.”

The suit was dumbfounded for a couple of seconds, a single bead of sweat driveling down the side of his face. He caught it with his quivering handkerchief, his face instantly shifting to a courteous visage as he bowed deeply. “No, of course not, Marshal...”

“Letho, Letho Ravenheart. And these are my deputies; Sano&#235; and Rianee. And we will look into this matter.” he spoke in an undisputable royal voice of a king that made the skinny man nod rapidly.

“Of course, marshal Ravenheart. Although I doubt you will find something beyond the obvious.” Mayor Ratcliffe added in a humbled tone. Letho thought it was as fake as a three-sided coin.

“Now, Sano&#235;. I need you to go to this Drunken Dog Tavern. I assume this is where the murder happened?” The mayor nodded and Letho continued. “Interrogate the barkeep and his employees. Hopefully it would give us a clearer picture of what happened.” He turned to the cat-girl next. “Rainee, I need you to visit Edward’s home and see if you can dig...” he paused, the allusion to her bestiality and digging profoundly unintentional. “...find something out. Was he a married man, this Edward?” Letho asked the Mayor again.

“Yes, indeed. His poor Vicky was left all alone with two mouths to feed. I don’t think you should bother...” but Letho already cut him short.

“Good. You visit his widow and ask if he had some history with Seth that could lead to this. I’ll stay here and have a little palaver with Seth. Report to me if you find anything.” he set his deputies on the way with a minute nod and a tip of his hat before he turned to the jailhouse. Mayor, seemingly lost and alone in the blistering wind, was left in the thick mist of dust lifted by the horses that took the females towards their tasks. Nobody liked a smartass.

The interior of the jailhouse reeked of damp decay and the mold that seemed to manifest itself across the uneven stonework of the sturdy walls. The place was rather straightforward, with three cells standing to the left and an additional two on the opposite side, leaving a small square space for a table and the guard. The two that kept watch were collapsed on the ground though, so Letho had no trouble striding past them and into the sullen shimmer of the torches that burned so low their flame was but an occasional flicker. It gave an ominous air to the room, the kind that made a person want to jump out of his own skin just to get out of the grasp of the disquieting light and the dank scent. But the swordsman seemed untouched by this, his gauntleted hand grabbing one of the chairs, towing it before the only occupied cell and setting it before the rusty barred door.

“Seth Dhalios!” he exclaimed with somewhat of a jovial voice as his hand took of the massive tawny gunblade and leant it onto the wall before the brawny warrior took a seat onto the chair. His visage was dominant, eternally caught in a smirk and a frown as he looked towards the shadow of the cell where the thief sat on his cot. “I honestly can’t say I’m surprised to see you enjoying this kind of lodging.” the man continued, leaning further into the chair and finally settling his back against the wooden support. Truth be told, Letho and Seth met only once and it was enough of a first impression for the knight to calculate what kind of a man he was dealing with. True, they were both the Chosen, but not even that forced them to be anything more then distant acquaintances and both seemed fine with that relationship. But regardless of that, there were rumors floating around, stories of a heartless demon that went as far to devour the soul of his very parents in blind craving for more power. And rumors were frivolous things.

“We have a saying in Savion that rumor goes around the world before the truth even manages to put on its pants. And the rumor has it that you are not here by mere accident, Seth. Now, tell me, what brings you to Pinetown? And spare me the petty riddles you served Rainee. Remember, that noose out there has your name on it and I’m the only one that can change that.”

[Dissinger]

"I figured last time I was here I didn't kill enough people, so I'm making up for lost time," Seth said coldly. The jovial manner of Letho not lost upon him. As yet another rock sailed through the window and landed on the floor in front of him he rubbed his eyes tiredly and droned, "Forty nine..."

He was fairly certain this man was the kind that boasted his deeds, the kind of man Seth would have been had he never touched the power that coursed through his veins. As he pondered how he would go about rebuking the man he smirked as he said, "Still I guess we all can't get what we want. I see the way you look at me, the way your mind works. You believe there’s some truth to the rumors, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here dealing with me."

He then looked at Letho his cold grey eyes boring into Letho's own as he continued shifting his position so he was hunched forward sitting on the cot, "Those riddles I gave were because if the person who knew the truth was found out, he'd join me at the gallows. I may have torn through the world of Althanas leaving a trail of cold dead bodies in my wake, but that was a young eager man, who knew not what the price of that power would get him."

He then spoke coldly, "I don't even know why I waste my breathe on the likes of you. Why the hell should I take comfort in knowing a man that’s already presumed me guilty, is going to be my defense? I can see it in your eyes Letho, you talk a big game, you speak of honor and loyalty, but deep down you know what you are, the same as me, a monster who simply hides his nature, who hides behind such frivolous concepts and Honor and Justice. Both of them are fine cloaks to hide yourself in, but in the end they reveal a beast who thirst for battle..."

"You want to know why I was here? Let me tell you," He said coldly, "Every season, every Spring, every Summer, every Winter, every Fall I must go to the Citadel, to slate this murderous intent in me, or I risk becoming my namesake again. I was on my way in order to prevent meaningless deaths, by killing and knowing my victim would live long after I finished the deed. Are you happy now? Does it make you happy to know that the death that happened last night was caused by me being on edge? But perhaps that’s what you wanted to hear?"

He snorted as he spat on the ground, "That’s what I think of your help, out of the two of you I've seen, I only believe one truly and whole heartedly believes I'm innocent, and she isn't in the room. If you want to question my intent why don't you ask her, ask her about Moriah, ask her about the Grey Braves War. I was in both with her; she can tell you who I am."

[Letho]

Though his visage didn’t show it, Seth’s sass deeply agitated the Marshal. Because here he was, holding out his helpful hand towards the thief, and the bastard was gnawing at it with an assertive smirk. All joviality was effaced now, shattered by the defiance of the prisoner and the reaction of a proud mind that was caught in a ponderous storm. He could have just walked away and let the mob do the rest. Hell, there was even a part of him that, even as his brown eyes observed the cocky murderer and his atrocious manners, wanted to just wait until the dust after the hanging settles. Scarce would be the ones that would weep because of the death of Thief Extraordinare and numerous those that would see it as final justice.

But though his tirade struck a handful of right chords within Letho (the one about the Beast yearning for a battle the most prominent one), there was one that the caged Demon severely missed. Honor and Justice weren’t just a cloak for the swordsman. Raised by the Old Code of the Savion knight, qualities like those two were paramount, they overruled, governed, pointed the magnetic needle of his moral compass. It was because of those two that he chose to quench the turmoil in the four town, and it was those two that made him investigate instead of waiting for the whole matter to just blow over.

“I find it rather amusing that you accuse me of being prejudiced when you are doing exactly the same, Seth. I guess it takes one biased bastard to know one.” Letho spoke in a strict tone, shifting in his chair a bit and leaning forwards before he continued. “But regardless of what demons dwell within us, you are the prisoner and right now you’re like a caged beast that bites on the hand that offers aid. I think you want to die and in all honesty I can’t say I would have something against that. You see, I don’t think there is some truth in those rumors. I know that there is some truth in them.” the swordsman’s face was ominous now, frowning blazing eyes peering through the bars. “And I swear to you, one day I won’t be restrained by the law from exacting the penance you deserve.” Their glances collided like energy beams, sharp enough to cut a melon.

“Alas, that is not my duty on this day. Whether you believe it or not, I am here to unravel whatever took place in the Wretched Dog Tavern on that night.” his voice lost the aggravation and gained the business tone that palavered on trivial matters. The husky man got back to his feet slowly, taking his gunblade and slinging it over his shoulder before he spoke to Seth again.

“Do you know why you should take comfort in me being your defense?” he asked before he leant towards the bars, once again meeting the keen eyes of the imprisoned thief. “It’s because I’m all you have, Seth. You can either accept that or rot for all I care.”

The conclusion was as bitter as Lavinian Ale and Letho thought it was well suited for any matter that had anything to do with the Demon from that land. Seth was of a breed that needed to have something bashed into their skulls, and needed to have it done over and over and over again until it connected with the gray matter that lingered beyond. Letho knew that, because it took one to know one after all.

“So, what did he tell you, Marshal Ravenheart?” the annoying weak voice of the Mayor inquired as the swordsman made his way out of the jailhouse.

“He told me how deep is the bottom of this matter.” Letho replied distantly, placing a chair on the dusty porch and planting himself into it as the harsh wind whipped over her body restlessly.

“What? How deep is it?” the suit seemed vexed by the statement, but Letho didn’t seem worried by the mental state of the Mayor. His reply was brash and simple.

“Much deeper then you want us to think.”

[Empyrean]

Sano&#235; knew what ale, wine, and alcohol smelled like. She could pick up the scent from across a crowded room. And why shouldn't she? Her brother was a connoisseur of the stuff. He brought her new samples every week and tried to develop her inexperienced knowledge of the art of fine wines and ales. Once when she refused, he had tried to slip the stuff into her coffee mug. Eliot came away with a throbbing lump on his head and the remains of what used to be a coffee cup. But even as often as her brother exposed her to drinks, bars, and the rowdy crowds that came with them, Sano&#235; abstained from alcohol. She hated the strong reek of it and didn't like the looks of a hangover. God knows, Eliot had a few of them. Aside from that, she was a jeweler, and in the business world, one couldn't afford addictions or sense-stealing pleasures.

It was for those reasons that Sano&#235; stood hesitantly outside the batwing doors of the Drunken Dog Tavern, ale and smoke and warmth radiating from its open windows. Men and women (though the inhabitants consisted mainly of men) laughed, whooped, boasted, moaned, and sang jovially for another round, another toast to the simple pleasures in Pinetown. God, I hate people.It was true - most of the time - that people disgusted her and annoyed her. Without two reasonably sensible people to count on in her life, Sano&#235; might have gone insane or gone hermit in the midst of so many idiots. There was, of course, the fact that while the idleness of the bar-dwellers irritated her, she envied their ability to relax, to act without caution, and she knew she would be like a cat venturing into a kennel of dogs.

She pinned the Coronian star beneath the fold of the collar on her coat, making sure it was covered. She was more likely to get easy answers without having a symbol of authority stuck on her chest for all to see. The jeweler put her pistol back in its holster, gave the tethered horse an absent-minded pat, and moved one batwing door just enough to slide in.

She walked close to the wooden walls, mostly, and as anonymously as possible. A upbeat, brassy tune was plinked slightly out of tune from a back wall where several entertainers clustered around the little stage. The people inside couldn't have numbered more than forty or fifty, but their noise was so raucous it felt as though Sano&#235; had just entered a very large ballroom full of nobles. If nobles smelled of soil and leather and wore large hats, anyhow. They all seemed like simple enough folk, ranging in age, all farmers or laborers, tanned and callused, and the everyone engaged mostly in games of poker or leaned back in their seats with pints and glasses. They seemed nearly to blend in with the brown and golden wood in the background, something that didn't surprise the jeweler. It was called "Pinetown," after all.

As she had anticipated, she received a few glances and puzzled stares. Reddening slightly as she cursed her city-bred look and angled eyes, she took a seat at the bar and tried to look the opposite of how she felt; nervous and inexperienced. She slouched back at first, but decided to just lean on one elbow after she nearly fell off the stool.

"What can I do yeh for, missy?" The bartender, though slightly less burly and brown-skinned than the others, fit the mold of a Pinetown man. He, wore his dark, gray-streaked hair back and his hands moved deftly about the bar, as ready to load and aim a gun as they were to mix a drink. Even so, he wasn't menacing in approach or demeanor, and Sano&#235; let herself relax by a margin.

"Nothing to drink for me, thanks," she said, noticing out of the corner of her eye that she was now the source of more than a few looks. The jeweler blushed furiously - she never knew she had an accent, but now she could tell the difference between the man's drawl, which stretched out the vowels and slurred words together, and her own callous voice that emphasized each syllable, especially the t's, and even had a slight trill around the r's. She practically screamed 'city.' "I was--I saw that scaffold outside..."

"Made ya sick, I bet," he said, swiping a tall bottle from the second shelf and pouring some frothy-looking stuff into a glass. The man two seats down from Sano&#235; took it as soon as it hit the counter and drained the thing in one gulp, the foam snaking down his chin and disappearing into his shirt.

"Yes...it did..." the jeweler answered slowly, watching the other man cradle his glass in morbid fascination, but then she shook herself away from curiousity. "What's it for? What would make someone build that monstrousity?"

The bartender stared at her in mild astonishment. "You ain't heard about Seth Dahlios?" The name roused some indignant shouts and rather crude suggestions from the bar patrons.

"Not as much as your clientele," Sano&#235; remarked as the crowd quieted down. "Er--your customers," she amended when the bartender didn't answer. "What's the story?"

"He's a monster, that's what," replied the bartender somewhat irritably. "Guy comes in here like he never did no wrong in his whole life, then he gets all riled up just 'cause Edward make some crack 'bout his parents. Everyone knows Edward never meant no harm like Dahlios took it."

"And Seth Dahlios killed him, then?" asked Sano&#235;, wondering why on earth Letho intended to investigate further into a cold blood murder.

"Practic'ly bit his head off, more like," volunteered a customer angrily. Several more shouts of "Yeah!" followed his outburst; Sanoe hadn't realized so many people had been listening in on her conversation.

"Do you know any other information about this Edward that might have prompted Dahlios to kill him?"

In the midst of mixing malt with a more obscure drink, the bartender opened his mouth, and then closed it again, looking at Sano&#235;'s mouth rather than her eyes. At first, Sano&#235; couldn't tell whether he'd become silent because he suspected the interrogatory tone in her voice, or because he didn't understand half of what she'd said. Then he answered slowly, "Like I said, Edward didn't ever hurt nobody."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you knew anything else that might have incriminated Edward, maybe something he had against Dahlios."

This time she knew he didn't answer because he didn't understand part of what she said, but he answered more angrily than she'd expected. "Now you just wait a goddamned minute. You can't come in here with yer questions and your little "I didn't ask you" and expect a straight answer, missy. I think yer pryin' into things you don't need to know nothing about. That's the law's job."

"You're absolutely right." Sano&#235; unfolded her collar so that the gleaming badge of Corone's Marshals sat pinned in plain sight, and then for good measure (and possibly just for kicks), pulled back her coat to display the pistol strapped to the belt on her waist. "And I would appreciate it if you would let me pry until my job is done." The bartender gaped at the badge, the gun, and then the jeweler's robe unveiled by Sano&#235;'s coat. With another flash of embarrassment, Sano&#235; let her coat drop so her robe was covered again. Though she felt somewhat invigorated by the power this little piece of metal held, she was annoyed that her real profession and its apparent gaudyness in these settings might have drawn more attention than the gun or the badge.

The room had gotten considerably quieter in the last few minutes. A few of the men were craning their necks to try and see her jeweled robe again. The bartender swallowed and chewed on his cheek, annoyed and unsure of what to do. Oh, alright, just sit there like a bump on a log. Bastard doesn't give a damn about his town's justice, he just wants to protect his little drunken friends, thought Sano&#235; savagely. Why can't anything ever be easy?

Before the bartender could find another excuse, one of the bar patrons sitting at a poker table called out, "Lady, you ain't gonna get an answer outta the old man. Doesn't give out his precious information 'less he gets compensation." The bartender glared at the patron from behind Sano&#235; and turned his back to both of them.

Clearly, she wasn't going to get another word out of the man, and the jeweler turned to leave, biting her lip and nearly making it bleed in order to keep from spewing curses at him, but the bar patron tugged on the side of her coat. Whirling around in irritation, she snapped, "What?"

The man was taller than most of his friends at the poker table, all bedecked with brown hats and a set of cards, but from his clothing, he appeared to be a rancher or a farm hand of some kind. "Lady, I s'pect you're doing this to help out. We all knew Edward, so I think you deserves to get all the info ya need."

His companions nodded firmly, grumbling their approval and their mutual contempt for Seth Dahlios, so Sano&#235; straightened her coat out and folded her arms, still decidedly skeptical of anything this group of laborers might provide. The bartender, his back still turned, had tilted his head so that one ear was intuned to anything the group might say. "I appreciate the offer. What can you tell me about Edward?"

"Well, the old man was right, he was a good man. Wouldn't hurt a flea, though he did like make a few jokes now and then. He had a wife and a kid, so it weren't like he had nothin' to lose."

"What were their names?" asked Sano&#235; matter-of-factly, though she didn't see how any of this would help.

"Vicky and...eh...well, kid was pretty young, don't know his name too well anyway. But Vicky was his wife." The laborers voiced their admiration of Vicky with several noises, some of which disgusted the jeweler. "She and the kid was all he'd talk about most days. And Owen, of course, him too."

"Owen?" Doesn't anyone have a surname around here?

The man nodded. "Yeah, Owen was his best friend. I mean, everyone knew Edward, but no one knew 'im like Owen did. When Edward wasn't with his wife, he was workin' the fields with Owen, gettin' drunk with Owen, everything. Owen was prob'ly the last guy to talk to Ed 'fore he died, except for the demon." More murmurs of contempt.

Surprised that she had gotten something that might prove to be useful in the long run, Sano&#235; allowed herself a faint smile. "I believe that's all I need to know. Thank you for your help."

"Y'welcome, lady. Though I know how you could thank me..." He made a very brief, very rude gesture with his hands, more to his hooting friends than to the jeweler.

Alarmed by such indecency from a man she'd almost considered kind, Sano&#235; smacked the man on the side of his head, knocking his hat to the ground. Amidst the outbursts from his friends, Sano&#235; grabbed one of the coins from the moneypouch Letho had given her, and tossed it onto the poker table on her way out, scowling. "A penny for your thoughts, once you find some intelligent ones!"

[Letho]

((The following post is written by Nekoprincess.))

A wife and a child...that was what the man had left behind. Rainee had questioned some of the town folks, at first many of them had be reluctant to give the cat-girl any information on this man called Edward. However, soon after Rainee had left the jail house, she had run into a brown-skinned man. He was small compared to most men in Pinetown, his hair was just a sandy mop of colored straw and his eyes were the color of a pale lake. But once Rainee had started to grease his wheels, meaning she had started to show some of the gold that Myrhia had given her back in the Sheriff's office in Willowtown. He had been more then happy to talk. The information the man had given her had been invaluable. As the two talked on the empty cobblestone road, Rainee had learned that Vicky as Edward's wife was dubbed, was currently being consoled by her deceased husband's best friend. She had also learned that the man had lived in a quiet little house surrounded by trees. The pale eyed man had said that Eddie's wife had begged him to get the little private spot. However something in the man's voice told Rainee that their was more to the story. After a bit more gold, she had learned that Owen had visited his best friend's wife quite a bit, there had been a few odd moments where the man had even been in the house when Edward wasn't there.

This made Rainee frown a bit, soon she had bid the man adieu and had found one other fella to talk to. He wasn't as forthcoming as the short man had been so Rainee had to flash her badge at him and show him some more gold. After he had learned that the petite cutie, as he seemed to dub her was a member of the law, he had been right quick with telling her that Owen was with his best freind's widow right now. This made Rainee frown before she paid the man a few more gold coins. Mounting her mare, she soon found herself following a quiet dirt path that led down to a quaint and charming wooden house.


Studying the wraparound porch and the pretty rocking chair. Rainee could tell that this was a place meant for a happy family. Dismounting, the cat-girl slowly tethered her horse to a nearby Pine tree. Straightening the soft hat she wore, she soon had pinned her Coronian Ranger back to the collar of her trenchcoat. Marching up the well tended path, she stopped for a moment to examine the multicolored array of flowers, noting that they were well-kept Rainee murmurs "She kept a happy home thats for sure, but I wonder...just why was her husband killed?" Sighing as she fnially reached the Pine wood front door, she knocked politely then waited.

It wasn't long before the door was opened, the man before her had long black hair, a bit unkempt and his eyes appeared watery. Rainee though the man might have been crying but she didn't think so. It seemed to her that he was drunk off some form of alcohol. Frowning as she flashed her badge she mutters" I'd like to talk to Edward's wife please."

The man's watery brown eyes looked Rainee up and down, a frown creased his tanned face when his eyes fell upon her badge. Stepping aside he said in a slightly slurred voice "Sure miss. Vicky is with her son right now though, so ya might want to wait a tad before questioning her."

A thin line graced Rainee's heart-shaped face as she stepped into the well-furnished living room. Studying it meticiously, the blue haired lass could see that everything was spic and span clean. Nothing was out of place, there looked to be a small alter set up. But the picture there was face down, as if the widow's time of mourning had aburptly ended. Moving closer, the cat-girl studied and sniffed at the white lilies that were in a simple brown vase. Looking up from them she murmurs "Why are you here? Shouldn't Vicky be mourning the death of her husband?"

Owen let out a slgiht laugh as he murmurs wryly "Listen lady, I'm here because Edward was my best friend. His widow Vicky was so distraught that she begged me to come and stay with her and her son. She told me that she had no one but me now and that she needed me help!"

Rainee nods softly as she moves away from the makeshift allter. Studying the house carefully, she could see that this woman took good care of her home. However there were a few things amiss, where there should have been some of her husband's things, it seemed that they had already been removed. Frowning as she walked down a narrow hallway, she studied a still shot painting of Vicky's baby, he was a pretty boy, with eyes like that of his mother's and what she thought would be his father's features. Smiling as she thought of her own Mylie, she soon had reached the baby's room.

Knocking politely she soon heard a soft female voice with a hint of an accent call "Come on in." Taking this as an invitation Rainee slowly and quietly pushed the door open.

The woman she saw was pretty, she had reddish brown curly mid-length hair. Her figure was average and she was singing softly to a sleeping baby boy. Sighing as Rainee walked in she murmurs "Ma'am? Miss Vicky I hate to do this to you, especially since you just put your child to bed but...I have to ask you questions involving your husband's murder."

The woman turned, her crystal clear green eyes narrowed as she softly asked "Your an officer of the law?" Moving closer the pretty woman studied the cat-girl for a bit before she murmurs "You look mighty young to be carrying a badge around."

Frowning softly Rainee moved torwards the woman as she murmurs "It looks like your trying to sidestep my question miss." Sighing as she resisted the urge to meow in frustration, Rainee begin to lead Vicky out of her child's bedroom. Once they were back in the living room area, Rainee almost hissed at the other man to sit down.

Vicky noting the anger in the young woman's yes softly called " Owen dear..can you please sit with me? This little missy here flashed a badge at me. Says she wants to ask me questions about my poor Eddie's murder."

Owen let out a soft growl of rage as he hisses "Listen here missy, it was that damn brute Seth Dahlios he did the crime! Poor Vicky here is as innocent as a docile and cute little lamb." Moving closer Owen moved to comfort a sniffling Vicky. Looking at Rainee he continued "She is distraught as any wife can be over her husband's murder. But! It'd be best to leave her be and let her recover before asking her anymore questions! She's already gotten enough of them from the mayor and some of the other curious town folks!"

Sighing as Rainee settled herself down in a wicker work chair that had a patchwork quilt thrown over it. Looking at the two she frowns as she murmurs "Listen all I need to know was why Eddie provoked Seth. I know the man personally and..."

Owen's eyes seem to narrow in rage at the mention of the demon's name. Rising to his feet he shouts "LEAVE THIS PLACE AT ONCE! I WON'T HAVE POOR VICKY HEAR THAT SCROUNDELS NAME AGAIN!"

Rainee had just about enough of Owen's obvious attitude. Rising to her own feet, she hissed softly as she carefully stated "You will sit down now Owen. Unless you'd rather share a jail cell with Seth Dahilos." Grinning coldly she continues "Now then, Vicky why did your husband provoke Seth?"

Vicky sniffles audibly as she moves to pat her eyes with a handerkerchief, in a trembly voice she stammers "I don't know miss officery my husband talked with Owen outside of the Drunken Dog. Then Owen came over here to say hi to my son for a bit, then he was suppose to go back and meet Eddie to take him home, but by the time he got there my poor Eddie was already dead!"

Rainee glared at the still raging Owen, she could see it in his eyes, he wanted her out of this house now. Looking closely at him she thought Why is he so eager to see me gone? Is he hiding something? Frowning softly she asks 'Alright Vicky, and when you found out your husband was dead what did you do?"

Shifting on the couch, Vicky's hand moved to grip Owen's as she stammered pitifully "I mourned for him! I begged for his spirit to return! I did what any proper wife would do when she lost her husband to a damn monster!"

Noting the anger, Rainee rises as she moves to leave. In a soft voice she murmurs "You know Vicky, it seems that you want to just forgot that your husband died. You want to make it seem like a bad dream! But, your husband the man you promised to be faithful til death do you part IS dead! What i'm trying to do is find out why, Seth is a friend of mine, and he has committed many a sin, but he doesnt' kill without a reason. Now then I'm either going to leave and bring back the other two officers i'm with to further question you! Or, you can tell me why your husband taunted Seth."

Turning to Owen her eyes narrowed as she murmurs "Or perhaps you can tell me why! Did you provoke him to tease Seth about a sensitive subject..perhaps to taunt him with his parent's death?" Noting the white face that Owen was now portraying, Rainee grins as she murmurs "Ah I see." Turning to open the door she murmurs "I think I have all the answers I need now."

Owen let out a low growl, before a restraining hand was placed on his shoulder. Looking into Vicky's sad eyes, he sighed before he murmurs "Just get you little pest."

Rainee let out a laugh as she opened the door and said cheerfully "Oh don't worry! I'll be back!"

[Letho]

On the porch of the jailhouse Letho was a sullen statue. His hat was pulled low, the collar of his leather coat brought high as a protection from the harsh wind, and with his arms folded before his bulky chest, he looked as if he was having an afternoon siesta common in these parts. Mayor at his side kept yammering on, speaking of things that needed fixing as if the Marshal was a goddamn construction contractor and not the hand of the law, so Letho stopped listening somewhere halfway through the irritating tirade. He would nod in what seemed liked the right places, fidget in his chair every once in a while just to assure Ratcliffe that he was still an interested party in this dialogue that ceased to be a dialogue about fifteen minutes ago.

It came as no surprise that the return of his deputies came as a sight for sore eyes (and not to mention, ears), the two females riding in only minutes apart. Letho’s hand tipped the hat about an inch higher, widening his line of sight substantially as he regained his footing and waited for the women to dismount. “If you will excuse us, Mayor, we have some issues to discuss.” the swordsman said to the snobbish self-proclaimed noble, stoically peering into his eyes for nearly half of minute for the man to understand that his presence is unwanted.

“Oh...Yes... right... You do your job. I have some things to take care of.” he muttered, clumsily trying to retain the grace he never had. The man was a bumpkin, clad in attire that fitted his demeanor as much as a dress would fit the swordsman. He did a chintzy bow, offering a cold smile as genuine as a wooden coin before he hurriedly made his way to the manor on the other side of the square. With the meddling man gone, Letho gathered the two women around himself and listened to their reports with an incisive set of eyes and attentive ears. And even as he did so, a story started to compile in his head, a replay of the events in the Drunken Dog Tavern. It was as if the pieces of the puzzle were turning, twisting, aligning, forming a larger image that backed up the thief’s testimony. Still, the evidence wasn’t completely circumstantial; telltales and keen looks are flimsy evidence when presented to the court of law, and he knew that in order to present the truth out in the open, he would have to lure it out.

“Nicely done, you two. I think we are ready to bring this matter to a deserved closure.” he spoke to the pair of females, his voice though rough and seemingly emotionless still gave out the air of respect towards the pair. “Now, I believe we share thoughts on what actually happened so no need to speak of it. Streets, like walls, tend to grow ears.” he spoke in a hushed manner, his gaze moving away from the luminous eyes of the women and giving the surroundings the glance of a hawk on watch. They seemed hollow and frigid and that’s what worried Letho most, because the entire town seemed to be dancing on the balls of their feet ever since they arrived, keeping behind their windows and peeking through the curtains. His eyes returned to the fair faces of the two deputies.

“Here’s what I need you two to do. I will send out a word that the decision has been made and that Seth is to face justice. We all know that the mob will be summoned in less than a flap of a raven’s wing. But I sincerely doubt Owen and Vicky will participate. They won’t risk the public exposure. I need you two to go to their place, but remain hidden.” his eyes once again moved away, tracked down a renegade tumbleweed, then returned to the refined glares of the females. “You see, once I announce the judgment, they will try to flee for certain, in fear from both Seth and us. I need you to apprehend them. Rainee, you stay with Vicky and her son. Sanoe, you restrain Owen and bring him to the gallows.” he assigned the two duties as he saw fit, seeing Sanoe as a significantly more levelheaded then the bestial woman. He would need level heads on the gallows, since there would be a shortage of them within the mob for certain.

“Now, go. I’ll be making the announcement shortly.” and with that said he dismissed them, moving away and back to his chair. The day around them slowly started to sink to a frigid bitch of an evening, biting his cheeks with each whiff of the wind, as the first lanterns were set ablaze. There were a lot of variables in his calculation, but as always, variables left space for improvisation and that was a game that Letho played well under pressure.

***

The word went around Pinetown faster then a rumor, and given the eminent fleetness of a rumor, that meant everybody in the small town knew what was going on in a matter of minutes. Every household was aroused by the decision that was anticipated even as Seth was jailed, and people rushed out into the night as if there was a circus tent instead of the pine gallows. Letho always wondered just why so many like to witness something as horrible as the death on the gallows. It was never a pretty sight, especially if the neck muscles and bones were hardy and survived the initial shock. And yet people rushed to it as if there was a free dinner and entertainment waiting for them on the square. Human stupidity sometimes really vexed the swordsman.

Regardless, the deed, however revolting, had to be done and Letho was once again standing before the door of Seth’s cell, holding a piece of rope in his hands and peering into the cell littered with small stones. “What’s the count?” he asked in a voice devoid of emotions, a question that really sought no answer, but was asked just to break the ice. Even though it seemed ice was something that both the Marshal and the thief liked. “You know how this goes, Seth. Turn around and approach the bars with your hands behind your back and let us be done with this.”

[Dissinger]

As Seth looked at Letho he sighed as he moved to the bars. Turning around so that his hands were together and behind his back he spoke his voice somewhat jovial, "Try not to act too excited to hang me. People might think you're doing your job or something..."

After his hands were bound he moved away from the bars. The door was unlocked and he was lead out as he remained still outside his cell. A rock sailed through the window before he sighed, "Well that’s sixty, I figured they'd have given me more presents before I died..."

Remaining silent form then on he felt Letho shove him forward and complied as he was marched to the gallows. As he made his way through town he saw the kids that ran along either side of the street. A few of the people that jeered at him as the crowds began to form. A rock was thrown with accuracy this time as it left a cut on his forehead. He stopped for a second and closed his eyes fighting back the urge to kill the offender before they opened again and he continued forth.

As he made his way up he stopped before the noose and waited patiently. He knew the process, they would read him a list of crimes, some bunk charges, many true, and then they would place the hood over his head; finally end with the noose and the jerk of the handle. He would gasp choke and cough for about a minute, until his wind was finally cut off. Jerk like a frightened animal and finally be still and within five minutes be dead. As he waited before the crowd he closed his eyes as he whispered softly, "Sorry Liliana, I won't see you like I planned...."

As the words left his lips he clenched his teeth with resolve as he waited. His dagger belt and satchel were at the gallows as if to taunt the thief with the possibility of walking away today. However he would have to fight through Letho unarmed, then Rainee and Sanoe to even stand a chance at the feat he could devise. A prospect better left to a true demon and monster. Gone was the Lavinian's pride and arrogance as he waited to just die, the fatigue of his life shining in his eyes, as he committed himself to death.

[Letho]

The lynching mob was a beast waiting to be fed. These common folk that on any given day would greet a person with an innocent heartily smile, an outstretched friendly hand and a wide-eyed face were caught in mass dementia, calling, screaming, yearning to see something as dreadful as an ending of a life. Letho knew the reason for that. A person was smart, incisive, reasonable, somebody who looked at matters with clarity. People on the other hand were a herd of bison, galloping down the flatland to the abyss of insanity. In the crowd they could lose themselves, become just another faceless voice, and as such, they fenced themselves from any judgment. A mob was a place where the darkest desires and wishes could be fulfilled with no consequences whatsoever. In the crowd even the most yellow coward found the guts to speak up.

Personally, Letho was disgusted with this. Cowardice was something that he loathed with a vengeance and to see it go unpunished was always a smear on the parchment of his moral values. That was why he was rather lighthearted and relaxed when he led Seth up the flight of stairs and on the wretched pine-wood stage, because he knew that today he was going to silence the cowardly beast that roared before him. He knew that his decision wouldn’t be accepted well, but law was not here to be liked, but to be just. And taking pleasure in it was just a bonus. Decayed fruit and vegetables joined the torrent of curses flung at the gallows and the Demon that took the life of one of his own. “Kill the bastard, hang the dirty knave, lower him slowly so his neck doesn’t break!” they shouted with an accompanying set of yeahs and woots and inarticulate hollers. Their torches enlightened the entire square, their bodies a tawny sea before the eyes of the Marshal. The hangman had a black hood over his face, but Letho was willing to bet every gold piece in his purse that the bastard was grinning. He could see it in his eyes. People sometimes really aggravated the caustic knight.

“Silence!” he raised his voice together with his meaty hands, but it failed to have the effect he desired since the yammering died down only fractionally. “I SAID, SILENCE!!!” this time he stabbed the Lawmaker gunblade into the floor before himself, his mighty voice overruling every other in the vicinity, its sheer royal power a commandment not to be broken. His frowning face looked down upon the loathsome pack of bewildered simpletons. His hand picked up a rather lengthy piece of parchment.

“This is the list of the crimes that this man committed.” he started and the first two rows started to boo, but once he whipped them with the flames of his hazel eyes, they were hushed instantly. His was tranquil as it held the icteric parchment that shivered in the night gale before it wrapped around it and crumpled it, ultimately throwing it away. “Rubbish. This man is not judged for his previous crimes here. What he had done in Salvar, Raiaera, Alerar, Antioch...” at the mention of the land that Coroninans hated the most there was a series of murmurs, but the Lawmaker was menacing and relentless. “...is not an issue here. I am here to pass judgment on the events that took place in Pinetown, Corone, several nights before.” Mayor Ratcliffe didn’t like where this was going, his hat being squeezed by his hands before him, his brow sweating profusely as he stood at an eminent place beside the gallows. Letho paid no heed to the sleazy man.

“And the judgment is this: Seth Dahlios killed Edward.” a roar of applauses and cheers from the crowds, countless hats thrown into the air never to find their true owner again. Letho abruptly lifted his hand again in an angry motion and the crowd fell dead once again. “But Seth Dahlios is not the one that will hang today.” he added and the wave of disbelief swept through the crowd, their eyes bulging and their brows creasing into a perplexed expression. “Yes, Seth is a bastard and a murderer and a lot of other things, but for this deed his is not guilty.” a series of nos and boos, disapproving. “SILENCE!!!” again Letho’s voice boomed and they obeyed. “You see, because he is all these things, his actions could be predicted, and were predicted by one of your own. Yes, this man was goaded into a murder, lured by an instigation of none other then Edward.”

“This is preposterous!! How dare you? Edward was a good man.” Mayor finally gathered enough guts to step forwards, his quaggy legs taking him up onto the gallows.

“So I heard. But I am not saying that Edward should be blamed for this either.” Letho spoke placidly, as if he was merely palavering over some menial matters.

“I call horseshit on all of this! Seth Dahlios must hang!!” a rather large, flabby man with curly black hair and a round face shouted from the first row, trying to awaken the crowd to support him. Letho’s hand moved in a blur, grasping the gargantuan gunblade and pointing it towards the man with surgical precision.

“You dare defy the Corone official?! I have one bullet for you and enough of a blade for the rest of you if you plan to start an uprising.” the demonic face behind the gunblade rumbled in a raspy voice. The man, caught in no man’s land, seemed smaller then a poppy grain.

“Calm yerself, laddy. Nobody be starting an uprising now.” an elderly voice of wisdom spoke, an ancient looking gray haired geezer stepping forwards and cooling the heathed heads. “What are ye saying then? If neither Ed nor the Demon are to blame, then who?”

Letho just smirked. All in due time. All in due time.

((As planned, Anna, you bust into Vicky’s place after the news gets to them, Gina, you bring the bastard to me.))

[Empyrean]

It was more out of curiosity than urgency that Sano&#235; spurred her horse on toward the isolated little residence on the edge of Pinetown. To tell the truth, she’d been surprised that a person like Owen was smart enough to have conceived the plan Letho believed he had. The jeweler had to wonder if there hadn’t just been some outside force initiating foul play amongst the people of Pinetown, because people like Owen and Vicky didn’t usually set off murder mysteries. Sano&#235; had always thought they’d be more like the type to express their intentions outright and settle it over cups of beer and challenges of duels to the death.

Or maybe that was just her brother.

She hadn’t expected a whole lot of drama from these country bumpkins, but if Seth Dahlios was indeed the infamous man he was rumored to be, maybe the drama was inevitable (In all honesty, Sano&#235; had no idea to what extent Seth’s crimes reached). Anxiousness clenched at her insides. She was alright when it came to confrontation, so she couldn’t decide exactly why she was so nervous. If Owen laughed at her poorly put-upon play of the justice-seeking hero, she could handle the humiliation. If he went after her, she was confident enough in her shooting skills not to be too afraid for her own life. If he escaped – she didn’t know what she would do.

Was that it? Was it simply failure that she was afraid of? Failure as an authority was such a trivial thing to worry about while on a wild goose chase for a man who had instigated a murder. I should be more worried about dodging bullets than losing some hick in the woods, thought Sano&#235; as she followed Rainee down the dusty path to Vicky’s house.

Eyeing the back of the hybrid’s deep blue ponytail, the jeweler had to admit the girl had been more useful than she’d originally thought. She’d certainly managed to retrieve more information than Sano&#235;, who was unaccountably suspicious of the hybrid. She knew, however, that this suspicion was only a ghost of the recent past, a shadow of what had happened in Antioch. As she leaned low over the horse’s neck, Sano&#235; convinced herself to let go of her doubts. Rainee was not Corin, and Rainee would not betray them or reveal any sort of inner vendetta characteristic of a criminal. Looking up at the girl in front of her again, Sano&#235; had to stifle a snort. What nonsense. The idea of Rainee as a criminal was more than laughable.

And then the house was before them. Only yards away sat a picturesque little residence, complete with a wraparound porch and a bed of well-kept flowers. Even the tall trees surrounding the property, their shadows stretching across the property in the vanishing sun like skeletal fingers, weren’t daunting enough to take away from the beauty of the home. And inside was a conspiratorial man who had wrecked his best friend’s family structure, and had brought an entire town to the gallows for a show.

Sano&#235; swallowed hard – her throat felt dry and leathery. “Rainee,” she said softly as the two women slowed to a stop in the right side of the house, which had fewer windows. “They may have heard about Seth’s execution by now, thought it’s unlikely, considering their location.” She quickly surveyed the back of the house and all the available exits. Not a single thing had changed – no one knew they were even there yet. The jeweler looked directly at Rainee, trying to communicate to her how crucial it was that they capture Owen. “If you go in the front and address Vicky, I can get in the back or the side, in case Owen tries to slip out. Don’t let her know I’m with you yet.” She wasn’t entirely sure of Rainee’s seriousness, to tell the truth, but she knew she was trustworthy. Sano&#235; reserved that belief for a scarce few people.

With that, the women dismounted. Sano&#235; was more nervous without the horse’s added height beneath her. She tethered the mount to one of the thinner trees and trekked carefully and quietly to the side door. She could hear Rainee knocking on the door, and when the jeweler pressed herself up against the white side door, she could hear Vicky’s forcibly hospitable voice echoing through the polished house.

“…already? I don’t know what this could be about this time, but we….what do you want with Owen? He’s my only help now, I told you that. No, I don’t want to hear your garbage about—“

The baby in Vicky’s arms had begun squalling, but underneath the noise, Sano&#235; could hear thick-soled boots tapping against the hardwood floor. Footsteps, and they were close.

Without warning, a tall, lean man wearing loose-fitting work clothes stumbled out of the door on Sano&#235;’s right, nearly tripping on the step. Matted black hair surrounded his profile and went just to his shoulders. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts as he straightened up and wiped his forehead. He had not yet seen the jeweler behind the door.

Just as he looked up at the two horses standing still at the peak of the hill, Sano&#235; reached for the gun at her waist. Her opal bracelet made a soft ringing noise as it bumped the metal of the gun. Owen spun around, his watery-looking eyes staring blankly at her in obvious alarm.

“You-you’re to go to the gallows,” began Sano&#235; as calmly as possible, her hand reaching instead for the rope hanging from the side of her belt. “Marshal Ravenheart is expecting you there; we’ve got business to take care of….”

“I didn’t do nothing,” he said flatly, his feet practically itching to move.

“Your innocence is something to discuss with Marshal Ravenheart, not me,” she replied loudly, the rope tight in her hand. “And either way, you are involved in this case, and whatever role you played will be judged at—“

“Aren’t you with that cat girl?” Owen interrupted sharply, noticing for the first the Coronian badge pinned to the chest pocket of Sano&#235;’s coat. The jeweler felt exceedingly uncomfortable under his unblinking gaze.

“That cat girl is a deputy, and yes, I’m with her. Now, if you’ll stop avoiding the subject, sir, you can come with—“

But the man bolted.

“Hey!” yelled Sano&#235; angrily, “Get back here!!” She began stretching out the rope so that it flew out behind her as she ran, her boots making hardly any noise against the dusty backyard. Owen’s weight, however, made his feet slap against the ground in a much louder fashion, his pace much longer than the jeweler’s. Sano&#235; began to panic as Owen’s stride carried him farther and farther away from the jeweler – she had never been very good at running. She could hear Vicky arguing fearfully at the back door with Rainee, the infant wailing.

Thinking fast, she called out after Owen, “If you won’t stop, we’ll take in Vicky, instead!’

It seemed that unconsciously, this made him slow down for a moment of contemplating, but it was enough – Sano&#235; doubled her speed and threw all of her weight into tackling the man in front of her. They landed roughly in the mix of dust and grass, the cloud attacking the jeweler’s lungs and making her cough loudly as soon as she’d drawn breath. Owen shoved Sano&#235; off with a heave of his back, his elbow landing on her shoulder, and scrambled to get off the ground again. Ignoring the throbbing in her shoulder blade, Sano&#235; gritted her teeth in frustration and yanked Owen’s leg backwards. As he fell, the jeweler wrapped her fingers around the pistol at her side and drew it out, pointing it squarely at Owen’s face as he landed on his side.

He turned over, fully prepared to hit the jeweler in the face, but found himself staring into the mouth of a gun. Breathing heavily, Owen gave Sano&#235; a look that would normally have scared her out of her wits, but this time she literally held the upper hand.

For one frightening moment, Sano&#235;’s finger nearly slipped on the trigger, but she clenched her free hand around a corner of Owen’s vest and steadied her trembling hands. “Enough of this,” she snapped, her patience long gone. “I have no reserves about shooting any one of your available limbs, so don’t tempt me. You’re expected in Pinetown and we’re late.”

---------------------------

The murmuring crowd that Sano&#235; had caught a glimpse of on the way to Vicky’s house had evolved into a jabbering, howling mass of laborers and townspeople. She could hardly believe that such a small town possessed so many inhabitants – every square inch of space available was filled by impatient, anxious-looking people. Atop the scaffold stood Letho, who seemed to be weathering the flying insults and vegetables being thrown toward him (which explained the rather large mound of rotted food littering the gallows); Mayor Ratcliffe was wringing his hands and watching Letho feverishly, as though the Marshal intended to use his gigantic sword on him at any time. Seth Dahlios was oddly the most calm out of them all, his head bent over dolefully, as though in meditation. The noise was almost deafening, thought the jeweler in disgust.

She inhaled deeply but didn’t loosen her grip on the rope bound painfully tight around Owen’s wrists behind his back. He’d given her a great deal of strife between Vicky’s house and the middle of Pinetown, but one wave of the pistol silenced him for the most part. Wholeheartedly grateful to soon be relieved of the burden on her hands, Sano&#235; approached the gallows confidently, leading Owen behind her, very aware of the dirt on her face and coat from her scuffle.

“Here’s your convict, Pinetown!” she shouted as she ascended the gallows, pushing Owen up ahead of her towards Letho. The massive throng of people before her was immediately quiet, but the silence was shortly followed by puzzled questions and shocked whispering. “This is the man for whom you should be considering a hanging.”

[Nekoprincess]

Rainee sat in th saddle of her mare for a few moments. The house still appeared the same, the flowers still were swaying gently in the breeze. Their happy colorful faces reaching up for the sun's rays. The path looked a little more worn now, the kitty girl knew the reason why though. Before this path had only been trod upon by feet, never by horse. Now with the presence of not one but two horses the soft dirt of the path was smeared from its perfect consistency. Shaking her head as she looked at the perfect docile home, the cat-girl murmurs soflty to herself "Its a real pity...that Vicky fell in love with an asshole...she had such a sweet man she seems..and she connived him and went for his best freind..." Dismounting from her mare, the cat-girl slowly strode to the front of the house. Her eyes remained straight on the pine door, she could hear Sanoe going around back. She knew presumably to get Owen. Her job was to keep Vicky occupied while Sanoe brought Owen to Marshal Ravenheart.

As she prepared to knock on the door, she could hear footsteps going around back. Sanoe was already back there and prepared, but she didn't know how Vicky would react to her appearence again. Her badge was pinned firmly to her purple trenchcoat when Vicky thrust the door open.

Anger filled woman's mild eyes as she shouted "What? Lass what are you doing back here?"

Noting that Vicky's son was in the woman's arms. Rainee sighed as she politely murmurs "Its best if we go back inside Ma'am."

Vicky shook her head firmly as she spit out "No! i know what you want miss officer! You want to bring Owen in!" Tears filled the woman's eyes as she shook her head and shouted "You can't! He's all I all I have! Why bring my only source of joy in?"

Taking note of the woman's histeria, Rainee moved to lead the woman inside the house. Carefully Rainee stated "What the hell? Some act you put on Vicky...you say you love your deceased husband.." Looking around as she entered the living area. She studied the pretty furtinure. Noting that any evidence of Eddie living there was gone she murmurs "If you loved your husband memories of him would be here!" Pausing for a moment, Rainee's eyes fell on the alter. Looking at Vicky carefully she asks "I'd like to see a picture of your husband..."

Vicky's pretty eyes narrowed, rocking her son to keep him quiet she murmurs cautiously "Why ma'am?"

Rainee laughed soflty as she murmurs " I want to figure something out."

Vicky thins her pretty lips, knowing full well that if she refused, she might get accused of something she reluctantly gave the cat-girl permission to see the picture of her deceased Eddie. However she couldn't help but spit out "Your sullying his memory by trying to find iniformation out that is best left undiscovered..."

Moving swiftly to the alter, Rainee picked up the oak frame that was lying face down. The picture of the man before her was decent, she could see that the man's eyes were soft but...sad...it seemed like he was a hard working man who would provide his family with what they needed. However..the sad eyes, the brown hair...for some reason Rainee could sense something was amiss. Turning around she placed the picture back in its a orignal position before she softly asked "Vicky..when I was here before you told me that your son was Eddie's, however he doesn't look anything like your husband. Were you telling me the truth to protect someone? Or did your son get recessive genes that are not common in your husband's family?"

Vicky's eyes widened before she let out a cough and murmurs "Please don't ask me anymore...please.."the woman's voice was shaky as if Rainee was just catching on to the truth.

The cat-girl let out a soft meow as she murmurs "I pity you lady Vicky, you seem to desire a quiet life. A shelter so to speak where problems don't enter your world. Well my dear woman." Moving to sit on the flower covered sofa she whispers "Your living in a fairy tale world." Moving to touch the woman's shoulder she whispers "I know the truth now." When Vicky looked away, her eyes staying on her son. Rainee followed her. Looking at the baby boy, she noted the black hair combined with Vicky's features. Recognizing them she finishes "You wanted a secure life...so you married Eddie for that, BUT you loved his best friend. A bad boy, a rebel...so you slept with Owen, you cheated on your husband behind his back. I'm pretty sure that your son is not your husband's.." Seeing the woman's eyes close she softly whispers "Am I wrong so far?"

Vicky's eyes closed as she shakily stuttered "N...no lass...your not wrong....I wanted a safe life, a happy home like this...and security..." Looking at her baby, she begin to coddle him as she whispers "Owen couldn't give me that, so I looked towards his best friend. Eddie was sweet caring a little dim witted..but he was good to me. So i agreed to marry him but...I coudln't let Owen go.."

Rainee held up a hand as she murmurs kindly "Thats enough Vicky...I understand. However, I can't let you go. Once Owen is done with his business with Marshal Ravenheart and Sanoe, they will come back here. It would be best to wait here and not run off." Seeing the fear in Vicky's eyes she murmurs "If you tell them the whole truth of the story, your punishment will not be so severe." Moving closer to Vicky she murmurs "But for now we can have some tea and wait, after all in in this time of judgement one cannot forgot their mannners as a hostess."

Vicky sighs as she stiffly rises and mutters coldly "Damn you you stupid officer, damn you..." Stiffly she headed for her son's room as she spat "Let me put my son to bed, I want him spared from this stupidity!" She then turned to leave the room as Rainee trailed behind murmuring softly "Say what you will Vicky, but your not getting away..."

[Letho]

“What is the meaning of this?!” Mayor Ratcliffe finally grew a spine, stepping towards the Marshal and the newly accused with a confounded expression on his sallow facial features. His hands kept tormenting the cylinder hat, his courage in just enough supply to bypass Seth and confront Letho and his incisive piercing gaze. The crowd seemed like a solitary entity, inhaling in unison and holding their breath as the play on the stage before them reached the climax. The Mayor’s hapless wail went unheeded. Letho seized the restrained man, his iron clutch locking itself just above Owen’s elbow as he ushered him to a spot right beneath the noose that seemed hungry for a straining neck.

“Let me go, you brute! Let me go! I didn’t do nothing!” Owen cried in a rebellious voice, his muscles flexing, his body attempting to squirm away from the Marshal and the doom that stared at him from above. But there was no escape from Letho’s superhuman strength. With his other hand the black knight grabbed the swaying rope and fastened it around Owen’s neck.

Letho wasn’t going to hang the man though. Owen might be the bastard that orchestrated the whole charade, the whisper in Edward’s ear, the push that the tipsy wide-eyed man needed to instigate Seth, but conspiring and masterminding a murder wasn’t punishable by death according to the Corone law. On the other hand, Letho was still lacking a piece of good hard evidence to be able to incriminate the man. Telltales, gossips and insinuations could lead a man on the right track, could reveal a solution to the puzzle, but in the eyes of the law only the solid evidence counted. And Letho wanted to do this by the book. It was a question of honor, a question of the morals he was trying to uphold and ultimately a perfect way to prove to himself, to these people and to the Lavinian Demon that he was not a monster. The answer was hidden in Owen and the chafing of the rugged rope was bound to draw it out.

“Are you insane, man!? Owen was Ed’s best friend. He was with him, for god sakes, when it happened!” the Mayor was fuming, sweating like a trekker in the desert at high noon. The mob was getting restless too, their murmurs turning into vocalizations of disapproval at first, before they were slowly amplified to a clamor of yells and shouts. “Owen’s a good feller! He was Ed’s bud! He has nothing to do with this! Law, my hairy ass! Hang Seth! He killed Ed, I saw it with my own eyes! We can’t let this happen!” those and a lot of more slowly turned into an inarticulate blare in the sea of faces that waited before the gallows as if Letho was about to hand out a free meal. The torches were lit, flickering faintly in the dusking light that painted the west red, as the torrent of cabbage, tomatoes and other vegetables once again showered the wooden contraption. It was only a matter of time before they get the bright idea to take the law into their own feeble hands.

“Please... I... I did nothing. You hear them. I was with him. He was my best friend.” Owen spoke, but the spiteful tone was gone from his voice. Cold sweat showered his forehead like a summoned rain, his glance panicky, shifting between the crowd, the Mayor and the grim reaper that carried the Corone Rangers badge. He was breaking alright. A stench of death lurking behind the corner can do that to a man. Letho’s face was unfazed, as if he transcended on a level where the turmoil that stirred around him was of no concern anymore. His hand moved slowly to the gunblade, pulled the weapon out of the rugged pine floorboards and pointed it towards the crowd. Before they even got a chance to wince or get away or just shut up the titanic weapon thundered like a miniature volcano, spewing fire through its massive gunmouth, nearly deafening the dozen people in the front row. The bullet shattered a wooden column in the distance as if it was made out of paper. The storm that the mass was stirring ceased instantly.

“Owen Wilson.” he started in the majestic, undaunted voice that echoed through the silent village, shattering the uneasy silence. “You are found guilty for conspiracy that resulted in death of Edward Martens.”

“No... No, I didn’t do it. Please... Mayor? Mayor, you know me. I would never...” the voice was quivering now, desperate, terrified, his brown eyes searching for the last straw in the ungainly Mayor.

“Marshal Ravenheart, this is preposterous!” the stately man tried to reason with Letho but he once again he was like a bothersome fly that annoyed everybody but made no significant difference in the end.

“I will tell you something about this man that you say is innocent.” Letho begun again, lowering the dehlar weapon on his shoulder. “Owen Wilson was a good friend. So good that he went out on a limb helping Edward even in such sacred things as pleasuring his wife. And when he finally got fed up with sharing the woman that wasn’t rightfully his, he developed a scheme to eliminate none other then the man who was a friend to him his whole life. He made use of Edward’s gullibility, luring him into provoking Seth Dahlios, hoping for the Lavinian Demon to act in accordance to his name. And he did. So tell me, good people of Pinetown, do you really want to release such a man? Tomorrow it might be your wife...” he pointed randomly at the crowd. “...or your daughter...” again, he pointed a finger, this time at an elderly geezer that spoke with wisdom some time ago. “...and you might end up tangled up in his web of lies and deceit.”

Not even a whiff of the wind dared to break the silence and answer the question.

“LIES!!!” Owen screamed. “Don’t listen to him!”

But the crowd suddenly became indifferent to his yowls. Because they maybe were simple folk, but they could add two and two and connect the dots of oddities that they’ve been neglecting in their head. And now it was strange how Owen often visited the Martens’ estate when poor Eddo wasn’t around. Now it was strange how Vicky’s little rascal didn’t resemble his father a whole lot. They started to recollect all the crotchets, pulling it out like dirt from beneath the carpet, until it was clear that there was something wrong with that Wilson lad. Letho knew that come tomorrow, half of the town will beat their chest and try to ensure the other half that they knew it all along. Everybody was a good general once the battle was done. Letho turned to Owen, his hand making certain that the noose was tight around the man’s neck.

“That’s it. Game over.” he said flatly, his eyes boring itself into the man’s mind with their emotionlessness before the Marshal made a move towards the lever.

“No, wait. I...” he uttered, pausing as Letho ceased his advance towards the death-bringing lever and half-turned to the man. “I did, it, alright? But Vicky had nothing to do with it. She knew nothing. I... I only wanted her, to be happy with her. But now... Now I just don’t want to see her hurt.”

There was sincerity in his voice, not the heartily honest kind, but the protective last-ditch-effort-salvage-what-you-can kind as his head sunk to his chest. She knew. Maybe not the whole plan, but she knew enough to close her eyes and walk over it as if nothing is stirring. But that was beside the point right now. All Letho wanted was a confession and that was what he got.

“I understand. Sano&#235;, escort this man to the jailhouse.” the swordsman said, removing the noose from around the man’s neck before allowing a small grin. Owen looked at Letho with a perplexed look, then shifted his eyes to the female. Letho just patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t get hanged for conspiracy, son.”

Letho approached Seth next. The crowd was breathless, as if they just saw the greatest show in Althanas that left them awed. “I have a feeling I’ll regret this, Dahlios. Do try to prove my gut feeling wrong.” the Marshal said with a minute sarcastic smirk as he roughly turned Seth around and unfastened his restrains.

[Dissinger]

Seth grabbed his gear feeling the eyes upon him as soon as he was released. His daggers placed in their proper place, the satchel across his shoulder. He was ready to leave, but something within him was stirring. A fierce anger the indignity of being a pawn in a piss ant's game. As he clenched his hand into a fist the gauntlet creaked in protest.

He then moved down the crowd still watching. For a moment it seemed someone was going to try an act of vigilante justice, until Seth glared at the man, his eyes ablaze with the fire of anger and hatred. The man stopped dead in his tracks transfixed by the severity before Seth moved swiftly heading straight for Owen. When he reached Owen however, he drew his blade and moved swiftly bringing it to a halt by Owen's fragile and sweaty neck.

"DAHLIOS!" The cry came from the Corone Ranger, and he was fairly certain Sano&#235; cried out too. Before he could register it the gunblade of Ravenheart was point first at his neck, a deadlock that the thief could instigate in a moment. Seth's eyes bore into Owen's as the man looked fearfully into Seth's eyes.

"You know what you are Owen?" Seth growled, his voice low, but carrying across the open dirt.

Owen seemed to try and stammer a response as Letho spoke up, "Stand down Seth, you're free to go, don't pull something stupid."

"I'll tell you, you are a gutless coward. You saw the thing you wanted, and rather than play by the rules, you killed your friend for a harlot. Think about it, if that woman slept with you when she was married to your friend, who else has she been sleeping with?" Seth began coldly.

"Vickie loves me!" Owen spat as he seemed to gain some courage.

Seth snorted derisively, "You killed a friend Owen, and it’s a mark that will never leave you. Much like this is a mark that will never leave me," at the words he reached up with a free hand and jerked open his shirt, revealing the brand for death from Scara Brae. He dropped his hand before he said, "The only difference is I never earned my mark, you however, did in spades. It takes a certain kind of filth to kill a trusted friend..."

"Dahlios, stand down, last warning..." Letho said. Seth looked at Letho a moment before he moved back a step. Before anyone could react he spun as nicked Owen on the neck before the blade twirled and was holstered.

As Seth turned to go he shouted out, "The benefits of my mark is that I can hide it should I need to, now anyone who's here will remember today every time they see your neck..." Moving swiftly he walked out of the town as the silence ensued, following behind him. What had been meant as a single night stop had turned into far too long a delay and already he could hear the seductive voices trying to call him back into depravity and desire. They wanted him to kill to torture to make men scream.

With the fading of the light Seth Dahlios moved into darkness, not for the first time, but perhaps for the last.

(Bunnying of Letho Approved! Like a profile...)

[Empyrean]

People were interesting, if not frustrating, creatures.

Up until a few moments ago, the entire multitude standing around the gallows had believed wholeheartedly that Seth Dahlios deserved full credit for Edward Martens’ death. Now they stood solemnly, waiting, and looking very much as though they would have liked to tear out Owen’s innards slowly and torturously. It had only been through the power of suggestion that they’d decided that, yes, Owen belonged to the guilty party. The answer had been more than obvious all along, and each person knew it – they had just chosen not to see it, whether involuntarily or not. Country folk were simple-minded, indeed, but to ignore the truth merely because of implicit commonality? Or because of the opinions of one’s peers? That was simply foolish.

Without Letho’s verbal declaration, would the citizens of Pinetown have lynched Seth Dahlios by mistake?

Probably. And that was why Sano&#235; hated people most of the time. Put together, they were blind and dim-witted, and probably weren’t any better off when broken down into individuals. Add to that a large hanging scaffold and a stupid Mayor and the result couldn’t be anything but bad.

Sano&#235;, however, did like one thing about a mass of stupid people: they always had a healthy supply of rotten vegetables on hand. And in this case, they understood the implications of a free Owen. The jeweler kept a tight grip on the rope bound around Owen’s hands as the crowd jostled one another in order to get close to the guilty man, a majority of them throwing well-aimed crops at him as they shouted infuriated obscenities. Letho looked a little tired after the spectacle on the gallows, but he’d adapted a poker face better than any Sano&#235; had seen. Owen was obviously disgruntled and startled by his second apprehension by Seth Dahlios, but seemed to endure the edible projectiles well (though he winced every time a particularly large vegetable hit him in the head). “What are you waiting for!?” he demanded through clenched teeth as he glared at the jeweler.

“What?” answered Sano&#235; mildly, well out of the way of the flying fruit and enjoying a grin at the man’s expense. “Can’t let good produce go to waste.”

------------------------

As Seth Dahlios exited the chaotic scene outside, Sano&#235; watched almost smugly as the guards inside the jailhouse locked Owen inside what had been Seth’s cell. She was rather proud of herself, both for having been able to handle the gun correctly and for having kept things under control. It was invigorating, this vigilante justice, not only for the glory, but for the sheer empowerment of having put away something decadent. In a way, the vigor it provided seemed as though it could end up dangerous in itself, but Sano&#235; was confident in her own self-control. A thing like glory had no stock in her mind, at least not enough to corrupt her morals.

“He deserved it!” came the sudden outburst from behind the jeweler. She stopped on her way out the door to look over her shoulder. Owen was sitting on the stool in the middle of his cell, his elbows perched jauntily on his knees in a glum posture. He looked more morose than furious. “Dumb bastard. A man who don’t even know that ain’t his son….”

Sano&#235; grunted in annoyance, folding her arms as she looked down at Owen. “The only dumb bastard in Pinetown is one who can’t let go of another man’s wife.”

“Seth killed him!” was the angry retort.

Sano&#235; could only look at him. This, perhaps, was the scariest thing about Althanas – all ethical duty shot to hell. She could hardly believe the stupidity of people, the greediness of them. They could barely restrain themselves. Being stuck in the middle of these country towns made the jeweler feel like the only sane person left in the world. If she’d been in this man’s place, in the very least she would have upheld her dignity after admitting a sin. There was an eerie quality about a person who believed in his own innocence after such an abomination.

“You killed him, too,” Sano&#235; said sharply, shoving the jailhouse door open and stalking through it. Something was very, very wrong with the world these people lived in.

---------------------------

“Letho, he’s put away,” the jeweler called as she crossed the threshold of the jailhouse. Stepping into the moonlit street, Sano&#235; could see a number of people still conversing amongst themselves as things quieted down, most of them shuffling off to their homes. The sky was unusually bright here, a clear blue streaked with deep violets from the vast horizon stretching across the desert town. Against this marvelous backdrop, the houses of Pinetown made a shadowy, stark contrast, the reds and browns of the ground muted into blues and grays. The air itself had quieted, leaving the street with an impression of being swept clean, the spectacles of the day washed away by this sweeping blue veil that had fallen upon the town.

Pinetown really was beautiful in its own way, this little village of simple folk.

Under the cover of the enveloping darkness, even by the street lamps being lit by laborers, Sano&#235; couldn’t see where Seth Dahlios had gone. She wasn’t sure what to make of him, other than that he seemed to have expected angst to crop up somewhere in the midst of the events. He’d certainly acted upon his feelings. The jeweler was glad to know that she would not be on the opposite side of him after having helped to clear his name – or at least, she hoped.

“Rainee’s still at Vicky’s house,” Sano&#235; informed the Marshal, brushing the dried mud and dust off her coat, and then unbuttoning it. She’d forgotten how hot it could get in this area. It was just then that she realized how tired, and in need of a bath, she really was. “I don’t think she had much trouble, since Vicky wouldn’t want to endanger her child. I’m ready to go when you are.”

She watched him closely as she untied her hair from its ponytail (ignoring Mayor Ratcliffe’s subtle attempts to make them leave), wondering what he made of all this. It seemed as though Letho was no stranger to turmoil – how could he be when he played the role of a weathered soldier so well? The man was a puzzle to her, but after all, she’d only known him for a day. The only conclusion she was able to make was that he knew what he was doing, and such a conclusion should be considered impressive after such a short period of time.

[Letho]

Seeing the crowd disperse gradually once Sano&#235; took Owen away was the best thing Letho saw all day for multiple reasons. First, he couldn’t help but smile (on the inside, of course) at the displeasure and disappointment on their faces as they grunted, whispered and ultimately crawled away into their lairs. They certainly didn’t get what they bargained for this evening, that damned Marshal refusing to break the monotony of their everyday life with a good hanging. Letho wasn’t certain how should a bad hanging look like according to them, but he was infinitely glad that the pine gallows failed to take a life today.

Of course, another reason was that despite the dark veil that stood wrapped around this occurrence, justice didn’t turn out to be blind after all. He did it by the numbers – well, more or less at least – he penetrated to the gist of the problem and he unfolded it in the eyes of the public. He couldn’t take all the glory for it though. Both of his deputies’ performance was admirable, levelheaded at the crucial junctions and reactive when needed. Letho suspected that the fact that they were females had a lot to do with that. You give a man a gun and a badge and he starts feeling a little bit like god and a whole lot like an asshole who fired first and asked questions later. Give a woman the same accessories and they saw it as just that, accessories, weapons that were to be used if it was absolutely necessarily. Of course, there were always exceptions, but as always, they were merely here to confirm the rule.

And then there was the lost look on Mayor’s face once the truth came out. Letho suspected that Ratcliffe knew more then he was saying from the second he met the man. He was too eager to bring this to a close, taut like a guitar wire and zealous to escort the Rangers out of his town. All of this was making him look bad, making Pinetown look like a carriage whose irresponsible driver dropped the reins. Letho was rather certain that he wouldn’t be elected again, but that was none of his concern. He was, after all, only here to establish order.

Letho listened to Sano&#235;’s report, looking at the bold woman with an unchanged stern look on his face, before he responded. “Very well. Mount up and wait for me. I’ll be there shortly.”

He then turned to the only person left on the square - the sleazy Mayor who looked almost as if Letho was to pass judgment on his actions as well. The swordsman had no intention of doing that. The community would do that when the election year comes. “Mayor Ratcliffe.” he addressed the man, his hand reaching into the interior of his leather coat, producing a yellowish scroll. His other hand fished through his pocket for a while, pushing by the money pouch and providing a small pen. “I need your signature here. It’s the usual document, stating that the order has been established. I will send this to Radasanth as soon as possible and they will provide a Marshal shortly.”

Mayor studied the document for a couple of second, his eyes struggling in the dim light of the twin torches that stood mounted on the gallows, before he signed on the bottom hastily. Letho was no telepath, but he was willing to put a considerable amount of money on the claim that even now Mayor was hoping that they wouldn’t send somebody like Marshal Ravenheart. And that was alright. Law wasn’t here to be liked after all. Letho took the parchment, rolled it carefully and proceeded to tip his hat to the man.

“Thank you, Mayor, and farewell.” the dark swordsman said with a professional courtesy before he walked away from the gallows. Mayor might have replied with something, but in all honesty Letho didn’t care anymore. Fatigue was slowly creeping into him and he was certain that the gallows and the Mayor stood at the epicenter of this invisible leech that drained his energy. People skills were something that Letho was still working on and it took an immense amount of patience and skill to handle people. Because people were like a wind, they were frivolous, prone to changes, surprising and most of the times the surprise wasn’t something to cheer about. To control such a thing was a fool's errand, and yet he spent an entire day doing just that. That was why when he mounted his steed and left the empty square, he felt a burden falling from his shoulders.

***

Sano&#235; led them to the Martens estate where Rainee’s horse was plucking on some sprouted weed. The animal regarded them with a dull gaze before it returned its attention to the meal below. The evening was advancing all around them, slowly turning into a full-grown night and the chill that swept down from the distant north mountains became more and more prominent in the gentle whiffs. Letho didn’t want to lose any more time here, but there was another matter that needed to be addressed before they could jump town.

Rainee and Vicky probably heard the horses’ hooves because even as the Marshal and his deputy neared the front porch, the two women stepped into the crispy darkness. The catgirl was tranquil enough, but Vicky seemed in panic, her sight jumping from one rider to the next with dying hopes to find a third one.

“Where is he? What have you done to my Owen?” she spoke, stumbling down the three stairs that led down the porch, nearly falling down before she regained her composure and approached the dark rider. She looked up at Letho with pleading, obscured eyes with tears forming at the edge of them.

“Rainee, we are leaving. Get your horse.” Letho said to the petite blue-haired woman, nodding towards her mount.

“Damn you, speak to me! You hanged him, didn’t you? How could you? He... He’s all I have.” she spoke, frenzied and miserable and scared out of her wits. Letho could almost feel sorry. But almost.

“Then you are a poor woman, Vicky, because all you have will likely spend the rest of his life with a ball and a chain. But he, at least, faced the judgment for the mischief he had done to your husband and he will bear the mark of a convict for.” the Marshal spoke to the woman, his voice relentless, almost too powerful for the calmness of the evening. “You are to bear the mark as well.” he added, pausing as the woman looked up, thinking he would take her to prison as well. But Letho was calm on his mount, like a stone sculpture carved from obsidian.

“You will see it every day in the people around you, you will hear it in the whispers and the gossips, you will feel it in the eyes that will accuse you day after day for your betrayal. And every day you will remember the life you cast away because of your weakness and your foolish lust. That is your sentence.”

“What... What am I going to do now?” she muttered, asking no-one in particular, her eyes sinking to the shivering hands she held before her.

“You should've thought of that before you turned your back on the man that loved you.” he answered it codly, before pulling on the reins of his horse and spurring the beast's flanks fiercely. With a cloud of dust lost in the sullen night, Letho and his two deputies left the broken woman, the picturesque estate and Pinetown, riding further into the West.

[Nekoprincess]

INTERLUDE
The pattering of hoofs was soft and quiet along the well worn dirt path. Rainee's head was bent as if she was lost in thought. She still couldn't believe what Vicky had done. The vows of marriage were suppose to be sacred, once they were given, they were suppose to be kept. Not broken and definatley not falsfied. What Vicky had done was a sin beyond measure. She had wanted one man, but one man could not provide for her in a way that she felt a husband should be able to. Instead, she had wedded her true love's best freind, had taken the sacred vows to be his and then she had almost immediately broken them. She had still slept with Owen and she had even been so bold as to have a child with the man who she had not wed. This still baffled the cat-girl as the trio entered a soft and quiet thicket of thick leafed green trees.

Hearing the soft crinkle and slurping of a creek. Rainee reined her horse in as the animal whinnied softly as if asking for rest. Running her petite hands over the mare's smooth brown mane she murmurs "Alright girl...alright..." Looking at Letho she murmurs "This place seems like just as good a place as any to rest...we might as well let our horses cool off an take a breather before moving on to Birchtown." The cat-girl then led her steed into the docile grove of trees.

Dismounting and stretching the cat-girl inhaled the peaceful scents before she plopped down on the ground. Pooling her arms behind her head, she stared through the soft green leaves. The sky seemed so blue, so lovely...Rainee could only assume it was from the good deed they had done in Pinetown. Order had been restored and thankfully Seth hadn't been killed for a crime he for once had not intentionally committed. The cat-girl was sure that Seth was back on the road, traveling and seeking to atone for whatever sins he was suffereing from.

However for now that was far from Rainee's lists of concerns. For now she would take this brief interlude to relax. After all the past few days had been harrowing and uncovering the truth behind the mysteries in Pinetown had not been an easy task. Looking over at the jeweler, Rainee meowed softly before she asked "You doing alright Sanoe? You seem rather shook up...i'm guessing it was from dealing with Owen?" Rainee had luckily had the easy job of dealing with the distraught Vicky. Pursing her lips as Rainee settled down to rest, the cat-girl thought soflty I hope that she learned her lesson and that she thinks twice before pulling anything like the stunt she did again....

[Empyrean]

It had to have been deep in the night by then. In this wide open setting, the moon gazed directly down upon them, blue irises amid a white sphere. Its stare provided enough light to ride by, and there was hardly any need for firelight, even into these early morning hours. Nevertheless, the beauty of the feral landscape went unnoticed by the jeweler, if not all three riders.

It seemed that the air was so thick with tension, even the animals beneath the Marshal and the deputies acted more subdued than usual. Rainee was hardly her normal upbeat self as the unusual group made their way along the path, and Letho was no different than he’d been all day. Stoic and tight-lipped, naturally, except for the few powerful outbursts he’d displayed at the gallows and at Vicky’s house. Hanging around someone with a disposition so similar to Sano&#235;’s own was strange, if not unsettling. In fact, the more she was frustrated by the Marshal’s peculiar disposition, the more puzzled she became with herself.

Is this what it’s like to deal with me?

She wasn’t left with much time to ponder it. Abruptly, the straight line the group had been traveling in broke apart as Rainee swerved off into a different direction, where a few trees dotted the countryside in a rather odd sort of grove. The jeweler hadn’t even noticed the tall shadows they cast over the three riders, shadows like the knobby limbs of an old grandfather. As Sano&#235; followed Letho and Rainee into the cluster of trees, she noticed than the wood had a distinctly different look to it. The trees in Pinetown had been broad and roughened, their growth thin and prickly, whereas these specimens were white. White wood, striped with jagged streaks of brown. After dismounting, the jeweler experimentally pinched at a piece of the bark from one of the tall trees, peeling it off. It was curiously smooth on the underside. She could have written a letter on it.

Smiling to herself, Sano&#235; tethered the horse to a lower branch and pocketed the bark, making sure not to let it crumble. Jora would appreciate the odd new stationary, maybe even get a laugh out of it. Feeling another twinge of homesickness, Sano&#235; looked up at the tree before her, admiring its spindly branches and trunk bent like the spine of a crone. Birchtown was close.

It was a moment or two before the jeweler registered the other sounds around her. She could hear the rustling of a creek only yards away, and Rainee’s soft, concerned voice. That girl was an abnormality amongst teenagers.

“I’m fine,” Sano&#235; answered automatically, not wanting to recall the events of the day, that horrific contraption. It had been so close, too close to drawing life out of another human being. She wished she’d never seen those lynching pictures.

“I just….” she began, settling herself against the base of a closer birch tree. “Nevermind. Owen was an idiot. Convinced himself that he wasn’t at fault.” She chanced a look at the hybrid, wondering vaguely whether or not she was thinking about how loony Sano&#235; was. “This place….all of Althanas, really. It’s got some screwed up values.”

She didn’t want to add that today had been the day she realized she had an accent, and a delicateness to her that implied vulnerability. It was the first time she truly felt like a foreigner, a stranger in a place that didn’t care to learn about her until she let it draw her in.

[Letho]

Even though he trekked a formidable number of leagues during his wandering days, Letho was still a terrible judge of distances. According to his calculations, they should have reached Birchtown before the night around them yielded to the dawning light. And yet even as the darkness faded away around them like a black cloak washed one time too many, the town was nowhere to be seen. On top of that, their mounts were slowly edging towards exhaustion, showing their discontent with an occasional whicker and sluggish responsiveness. So when Rainee suggested a break and led them to a sheltered grove of birch trees, the Marshal nodded solemnly, his face not giving out the fact that this wasn’t in the program he set up at the beginning of their endeavor. Otherwise he was at a risk to inspire doubt in his competence, and even if it would only be a whiff of it, it was something a leader couldn’t afford. People that doubted asked questions, and people that asked questions weren’t executing the issued orders.

The two dames settled themselves in accord with their idiosyncrasy, Rainee readily embracing the variable comfort of the grass below and Sano&#235; opting for a relatively more ennobling approach. Juxtaposed, the two weren’t exactly polar opposites, but the difference was becoming more conspicuous as the time passed. Rainee seemed more prone to impulsiveness, her extrovert nature making her shoot from the hip and go for the head every time. Given the bestial genes that she obviously had, that didn’t come as too much of a surprise. On the other hand, Sano&#235; was the embodiment of solidity, combining rigid efficiency with what seemed like shreds of egotism. The prominent idiom didn’t help much either, though it was less of an actual accent and more of an inadvertent manner in which she spoke and acted that made him think there might be a pinch of blue dye in her veins.

Letho paid little heed to these conclusions though. The three of them worked well as a team, passing the first waypoint and leaving a state of order behind, and that was all that mattered at the end of the day. He still had doubts though. It was one thing to survive a cannonade of venomous words and tense looks, and another to show courage under fire. Once that first bullet snaps by your ear like a cobra, you find out what you’re made of. And while the dark swordsman held the pair in high regards, he hoped that they won’t end up bombarded by sticks and stones in Birchtown.

Taking out three rations from one of the saddlebags, Letho joined the pair just in time to hear Sano&#235;’s contemplation of the previous day. Her brooding thoughts coincided with his own, drawing a mysterious smirk on his rugged face as he handed the two rations to the females before he situated himself under one of the pallid-barked birch trunks.

“It’s in their nature... In the nature of us all.” he finally spoke, his hands unwrapping the subtly-packed ration. The clean piece of thick cloth presented him with four strips of dried meat and a piece of bread hard enough to chip an old man’s tooth. But that was the only way to keep it edible on the road. “We all strive for more, chasing the things we don’t have. Most people end up losing themselves in that chase. Some people don’t. It all comes down to finding that reasonable boundary and deciding whether or not you want to step over it. You step over it enough times, it fades away and it becomes normal. And normal gives people repose.”

Though his words sounded like a lecture that a mentor gives to a class full of apprentices, his voice seemed far too earthy and mundane to serve as a patronization. He didn’t usually chew the fat, but when he did, he strived not to waste time and breath on unwise speeches. His weary eyes weren’t on any of the two members of his camaraderie, but rather on the bleaching east sky that was slowly coming to life beyond the trees. In the pale light that gave the birches a haunting disconcerting appearance, Letho looked old. Far too old.

The uncomfortable silence broke his solemn dreamy gaze though, making him put a defensive smirk as he took a bite of the piquant meat in his hands. The first birds woke around them as the dewy air grew colder around them, announcing a crispy morning. He hated dawns for some reason. They seemed so hollow, so disturbingly frigid with their blanched fatigued shadows and the fragile silence that made every sound unwelcome. Even the moon above seemed to yield to the decrepit lack of vitality, losing the argent glow more with each passing second as the blue overruled the black and extinguished the stars one by one. Dawns always put him in a grizzling mood.

[Letho]

((Bunny probably approved by NekoPrincess.))

Silence took reign, all three of them seemingly mulling on the words spoken, tossing and turning them in their heads like pieces of hot coal. Letho wanted to interrupt that silence with an inquiry that’s been a thorn in his side ever since he spoke to Seth Dahlios for the first time, but even as he wanted to ask Rainee about the events that took place in Moriah and the Gray Braves war, sound of hoofs penetrated the serenity of the moment. Letho’s brow furrowed instinctively, in sync with his sharpening senses, as he raised his head and focused on the sound. The rider came down the road in a gallop and the initial thought of the Marshal was that it might be just a passerby going by his business. However, once the rider passed the point where the trio broke of from the main road, he slowed down abruptly, then came to a full stop and turned his mount towards the grove where the three rested. Letho tossed his ration aside, getting up to his feet swiftly.

“Who goes there?” his voice rose with remarkable ease, sending his powerful gallant voice towards the approaching rider. It was the commanding voice, reverberating through the tranquil woods, the kind that always raised the hair on Myrhia’s scruff. Through the cluster of birches and with the sun still waiting for its cue below the horizon, he failed to see the visage of the rider.

“It’s me, sir, Sienna. I come bearing dire news.” a female voice spoke from beyond the last line of trees, the teenager dismounting swiftly and squirming herself and her beast through the undergrowth and into the clearing.

“Please. I told you not to call me sir. It makes me feel a hundred years old.” he spoke in a benevolent tone, inviting her closer. She pulled down her dark green serape and offered him one of her teasing warm smiles. He liked that smile. None of his two deputies tended to smile a whole lot.

“Alright.” the blonde spoke, tying her horse loosely to one of the lower branches before she approached the three. Her eyes were locked on Rainee and all the joviality was effaced from them. “It’s about Mylie.”

“What happened to her? Is she alright?” the blue haired girl jumped to her feet vigorously, getting closer to Sienna. Her face was far from the usual benignity, her eyes flashing with concern and even a touch of anger.

“She is for now, but Myrhia and I thought it would be best if you returned to her. She contracted a fever almost immediately after you left Willowtown. We got the local healers to take care of her, but they say that her recovery might take a while. I trust the presence of her mother could aid her greatly.” the young blonde spoke with incredible seriousness, uncanny for somebody who wasn’t even old enough to buy a pint of ale in the local taverns. Rainee’s eyes instantly went to Letho, but there was no need for a question.

“You should go to her. We’ll be able to take care of the rest.” the swordsman spoke, his hand gently grasping her shoulder and offering her a sympathetic smile.

“Thank you, Letho. I hope to see both of you soon.” the feline girl spoke, but lost no time after that. She packed her apparel hastily, mounting her mare and getting ready to leave faster then Letho thought any woman ever could.

“Pay her in full, Sienna, and make sure they have everything they need.” the Marshal instructed the blonde.

“You don’t need me here?” she asked. Her eyes flashed with eagerness, her fingers itchy. She wanted to help him not so much because the county needed help, but because she would be helping the man that was the embodiment of everything she ever sought in a man. It made him smirk amiably.

“No, we can handle it. Now take her by the fastest route back to Willowtown.”

“Yes, sir!”

The pair rode away with the first beams of sun at their tail, empowering the mist they pulled in tow. Letho looked after them until they dipped below the horizon, then returned to his spot under a leaning birch tree, getting back to his ration and his remaining companion. “Two is still better then one.” he said to himself, though it seemed to him that between the two of them there weren’t enough of social skills to talk a frog into jumping in a pond. He reckoned it was his duty to make the first step.

“I guess it’s just the two of us.” he begun with an inane statement, but given the fact that he was newer much of a diplomat it seemed like a good start. “So Sano&#235;, what brings you here in these lands? If you don’t mind me noticing, but you don’t sound or look like a common Corone adventurer. And trust me; I’ve seen my share of them in my time.”

((Chat a bit and suggest we get some rest or something.))

[Empyrean]

((Sorry it’s kind of long…I got a bit carried away with the backstory.)


“We all strive for more, chasing the things we don’t have. Most people end up losing themselves in that chase. Some people don’t.”

For a few spare moments, Sanoë found herself reviewing Letho’s words. She hadn’t been ignoring him before then, but of everything he’d said today, those words struck a chord with her.

Whether that chord had to do with her brother or herself, she didn’t know.

Eliot was chasing something down. Hell, he’d always been chasing something, and he probably would until the day he died. He was only fourteen when he’d taken it upon himself to research any family he might have, whether they were alive or dead, whether he was to be gratified or just disappointed in the end. He spent months trying to obtain permission to look over city papers – how he managed it, Sanoë never knew – only to be faced with the daunting task of poring over each and every one of them. He knew his father had been a soldier, so he started with military documents and worked his way through badges, background checks, licenses, histories, medical records, and finally, birth certificates.

He found that he, himself, had nothing to his name aside from a birth record. However, he was not alone in that name. He discovered that he had a half-sister who shared the same one.

Sanoë and Eliot Teriades.

They shared physical characteristics – slim build, sharp features, slanted blue eyes and brown hair. There were times when Sanoë was astounded by the little quirks and habits they both displayed, and there were times when she couldn’t imagine how in the world they had come to be related. Eliot was street-smart, but practicality he had not. He was stupid and unreasonable some of the time, and usually drunk for the rest of it, but he was driven. He could conquer a continent if given the resources (though he’d thankfully grown up with more morals than that). He had that ambition. If he eventually accomplished what he’d set out to do, he wouldn’t settle – he’d aim even higher. For Eliot, no sky was the limit.

But Sanoë? Sanoë was chasing after her brother, and keeping herself alive on odd-job money along the way. If she ever managed to cart his drunk ass back to Arsal, she’d spend her first day back sitting behind her desk, carving relentlessly into a hunk of crystal until her fingers blistered and bled, getting her weekly pay from deep-pocketed buffoons for the rest of her life.

“It all comes down to finding that reasonable boundary and deciding whether or not you want to step over it.”

Eliot’s ‘heroic’ future was unstable and unpredictable. Sanoë’s was secure, scheduled for the remainder of her days.

In the search for the self, who would be the loser?

“So, Sanoë, what brings you here in these lands?”

The jeweler looked up at once, feeling as though she’d been musing over Letho’s words for hours. She’d been watching out of the corner of her eye as Rainee sped away on her mount like a mad woman. She wasn’t sure whether she’d miss the hybrid or not – the girl’s time with them had been so sporadic, and her personality so bubbly, she seemed more evanescent than permanent, anyhow. It was still hard to believe that a girl as young as she had already been saddled with the duties of motherhood.

Not wanting to drift away on that subject, Sanoë sat up straighter and tore off a small piece of the dried meat to chew on. It was a bit bland, but she didn’t dislike it. “Well, you’re right. I don’t look or sound like a Corone adventurer because I’m not from Corone.” And I’m not an adventurer, either, she thought to herself cynically.

“I’m not from Althanas at all. I left my hometown a couple of weeks ago to look for my half-brother.” Half brother, not just brother, she decided. Their differences were still fresh in her mind. “He’s a – he’s kind of a….he’s a moron,” she concluded flatly. “He’s ambitious, but I thought when he picked up and left it was just the liquor talking. Now he wants to change the world, so I’ve got to get him out of trouble before he kills himself,” she said bitterly. “If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be so behind in my work, but thanks to him, business won’t pick up for months.”

Realizing that she might get a blank stare after all that, Sanoë finished lamely, “I’m a jeweler.” Of course, that fact should have been obvious by now – the jeweler’s robe was in full view with her coat undone.

After this poor excuse for a finale, Sanoë became aware of just how much she’d been talking for the past few minutes. Her face reddening, the jeweler stood up quickly and walked over to the horses, stuffing the remainder of her food into her satchel and pulling the bag and a blanket from the saddle. “We should probably get some sleep,” she added hastily as she sat back down in front of the birch tree, using her bag and the blanket as a headrest. “We only have a little time before we have to get up again,” the jeweler said, pointing to the slightly lighter sky.

She leaned back a bit too fast, shutting her eyes tight and exhaling slowly, hoping she wouldn’t have to see Letho’s bemused expression.

[Letho]

Letho wondered briefly on whether or not the world changing part of her brother’s agenda was just a figure of speech, but given the callous sincerity of her voice, he decided it wasn’t so. Still, it didn’t help the fact that it was a fool’s errand. To change the world you had to change the people. And to change the people you needed power. Whether it was the power of conquest, the power of persuasion, it didn’t matter, but sooner or latter even the best laid out plans take the low road. And you get tyrants that call themselves freedom fighters, and freedom fighters that call themselves the army of whatever heathen god they follow. And you suddenly realize that the road to hell was indeed paved with good intentions and you were stuck in the middle of it, unable to move any other way but forwards. He hoped her brother wasn’t on the same path.

“It is a noble thing what you are trying to do. Oftentimes the most confident fail to see farther then their own nose.” Letho commented in his usual unintentionally stern voice. He knew a thing or two about that. When you come with a royal heritage such as the one that coursed through his veins, you hear a plethora of stories of lords and kings that get the bright idea that they know what is best for all. And soon that idea becomes so bright that it scorches sanity from their very skulls.

Sano&#235; seemed quite hasty to conclude their conversation though, leaving no room for their dialogue to develop any further. Letho didn’t mind much. Neither of them really seemed too eager to swap stories about the good old days and he was certain she was no more interested in the dreadful tale of the fall of Savion then he was to hear of her childhood escapades. However, her profession was something that piqued his interest and though she opted to hit the sack and call it a day, he decided to take some mulling time. Myrhia wasn’t a big fan of what she called his dour hour, in which he would frown and ponder and withdraw into that thick skull of his, running in circles and chasing his own tail. But this time he moved with a purpose and before he drifted away to what he liked to call thin sleep that stood balanced on that fine line between dozing and sleeping, he formed a question that he would ask his companion when they awoke.

***

A merchant chariot – complete with an armed escort and big fat prissy blob of a merchant – passed by at a leisurely pace, but the clucking of the driver and the clumping of the horses was enough to snap Letho away from dreamless slumber. His eyes opened to a squint, just enough for him to notice that the day was bursting with life, sending the sun as its first emissary. Though the birch grove was rather humble in girth, it was vibrant with activity, a perfect display of a sunny Corone day. It was a good start, but the Marshal got a premonition – that always came shaped as a queer gut feeling – that it was bound to go downhill from that point. Despite the fact that their road actually went up a slope and to Birchtown. The sun broke through the leaf canopy above just enough to announce that the noon was coming to pass, bringing the heat in tow. They were a bit farther from the Comb Mountains now and the lack of the chilly breeze was more then a welcome change. Unfortunately, the nature had a peculiar tendency to overdo it sometimes.

Letho got up slowly, his back and knees crackling in sync, before he turned to his companion. He never knew how exactly to wake people up and not make it sound like an uncivil intrusion at their moment of serenity. “Khm...” it was a courteous cough. “Sano&#235;, we should get going.” he added, hoping it was enough to break her away from the well earned rest. With that taken care of, he decided to give her some privacy and attend to their horses.

“You said you were a jeweler when we spoke.” he begun once she joined them next to the horses. His voice was rather uncertain, uncanny compared to his usual adamant solidity that could be read from every fragment of his idiosyncrasy. “I... uhm... I have something rather special coming up soon. Remember Myrhia, the sleepy redhead, from back in Willowtown? Well, I plan to make her my wife some time soon and I wanted to get her something... you know, special.” Gods, how foolish and even infantile he sounded when he had to speak something other then rigorous orders and cryptic opinions. “And since you’re the only jeweler I know, I wondered if you would be willing to forge something unique for that occasion. You would be fully compensated, of course.”

((So yeah, answer to Letho and make us ride to the Birchtown outskirts. You can describe it a little bit, but leave it rather vague since Storm will come in and present most of the setting. Since that is his town. ;) ))

[Empyrean]

She was obviously more tired than she’d thought. Even nestled in an awkward position against the peeling birch tree, Sano&#235; had fallen into a deep sleep within a few minutes.

Without the drone of chattering merchants and the clink of metal coming in through her window, Sano&#235; had all the luxury she’d ever dreamed of – peace and quiet. And there were no alarms this time, no relentless ringing next door, no church bells at unholy hours of the morning….no evidence of businessmen, aristocrats, merchants, or socialites. No, this place was nothing like her hometown, nothing like Arsal. It hardly even seemed to be part of Althanas. This stillness was the only part of Corone Sano&#235; liked thus far, the only part worth making a voluntary trip to the country for. It was remarkable that in such wide open spaces, no sound reverberated or punctured the film of silence that hung heavily over the Corone countryside in the morning.

And so the conditions were ripe for slipping into that stage of sleep that reviews the day’s events and contorts them into wild fantasies. Sano&#235; always felt as though each dream were another leg of a journey she had to complete, a journey through the psyche, or just through blurry snapshots of her memories. She’d always thought that, as a woman with no big expectations, she didn’t have enough imagination to dream such things. In retrospect, that wasn’t true at all. It is often the least experienced, least exotic person who can cultivate the most thrilling stories.

Her dreams that morning were thrilling, alright, but not in a pleasant way. She kept seeing Eliot heading toward a sinisterly-swinging noose, walking up an endless flight of stairs, gazing at an ugly contraption of wood. Letho’s face popped up every now and then, repeating everything from quiet wisdom to strident declarations before a screaming mob. Sano&#235; found herself looking down the mouth of a pistol several times….

She blinked hard as light breached the nightmarish dream. When she turned her head to look over her shoulder, a carriage was rumbling along the main road and their little grove was alive with sunlight and the white noise of nature. Letho was already untying the horses from their posts. Still a little shaky, the jeweler yawned hugely, hearing her jaw pop, and joined the Marshal next to their horses. For a moment she wondered where Rainee had gotten to, and then remembered the previous night with a twinge of disappointment. With Rainee around, Sano&#235; hadn’t been expected to put forth a whole lot of effort in meaningless dialogue. Ah, well – she could get by. Fellow female company was overrated, anyhow.

She listened groggily as Letho went on awkwardly about Myrhia and his future intentions. So they were involved, and even more so than she’d thought. She couldn’t imagine two people less likely to marry, but somehow the giant Marshal and slender teenage redhead made sense, albeit in a very eccentric way. She was, however, a little surprised when he asked her about fashioning something for Myrhia. Most of her customers were looking for things for themselves or bribes for other people.

Then again, Letho wasn’t a customer. He was – temporarily, anyway – her boss, which brought forth the surprise.

“Hmm…” Sano&#235; began, becoming a little more alert upon the mention of a subject she knew so well. “It depends on what exactly you want made. Necklaces and bracelets are a bit hard, but I assume you’re talking about a ring, so….” She counted swiftly on her fingers. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be too hard, but it’s pricey. I’d need to stop somewhere for the materials. I didn’t really think I‘d be getting business on my odd jobs,” she added lightly, grinning at him for the first time as she pushed herself up onto the horse. “I have my tools, so just let me know what you want, and I’ll add up the cost. That compensation will come in handy there.”

Again she noticed that she had just spoken more than she had for several hours the day before, but she wasn’t bothered as much this time. As the two of them rejoined the dirt path, they spent a couple of minutes in silence before Sano&#235; felt compelled to start a conversation.

“Myrhia is a nice girl,” she said mildly.

----------------------------------

The number of white-and-brown streaked trees increased as Sano&#235; and Letho went quickly toward Birchtown, keeping note that it was already well into the afternoon. The birch trees grew larger as they went along, taller, each one more gnarled than the last. The path they headed along was well-beaten – this town had had several visitors recently, or it had always been very popular. She could see it even from this distance. It was a bit bigger than Pinetown and Willowtown, and seemed darker in both color and atmosphere. It was this, perhaps, that made it feel so much more alive than the deserted streets they had found back in Pinetown.

The jeweler hoped above all, as the two of them approached the entrance to the town, that this place had no steely death trap or lecherous men.

[Storm Veritas]

CHAPTER 2 – THE BAD

The tall, bearded man was husky and strong, but also fairly kind and fair. Steve Daigle went from shop to shop, home to home, his trusty notebook in one large mitt, the round-topped hat in the other. Behind somber, pitiful eyes, he took down information on the citizens of Birchtown: their payments, their leans, the occasional runaway or newborn or dead, and of course the very scarce outstanding debt.

It saddened him to hear of these debts, and he tried to dissolve the fear that he knew the citizens of the sleepy town were in their full right to own. It was a profitable town, with excessive stores of natural resources about, but the law was unforgiving and resolute. When a name went down on the script of paper, it was burned in stone, and the scratch of pen often brought families to tears. That said, he was an untouchable, and for this Steve Daigle was the second most feared man in Birchtown.


~*~

Receiving a shave in his reclined leather chair, Storm smiled at himself in the mirror, stretching his long and handsome jawline to create a stretched, taut surface for the barber. The sun was hot, and came in to warm his face through the glass to the small establishment. Beneath the catch-coat filled with whiskers, Storm’s usual attire – the full suit and tails, opulent and arrogant and terrible. Above him a skillful artist crafted clean the slate of face before him.

Though the elderly man fostered a desire to drive the knife handle deep into the throat of the lanky Veritas, the speed of the too-young vicious tyrant was uncanny. He may break the skin, but he’d heard tales of men blown clear in the air, some hundred feet by the sheer hate festering within this foul man. He’d learned better.

A clinking at the door, a small chime. The mountain of a man approached carefully, tenderly, keeping hands in sight and eyes on his own feet. A broken man.

“Sir, I come with the daily update” Daigle opted, handing over the rolled scripts to the self-appointed mayor. He knew better than to run, but wanted nothing more than to do just that. It was going to be a terrible day. He watched in terror as the long, limber arms of his employer unraveled the sheet and inspected it, almost hearing his eyes widen and hate grow.

“Wrap it up.” Storm curtly ordered to barber. “Looks like we’ve got business to attend to. Daigle, draw out this Douglas fool. Town center, right now. Five minutes ago.

“F*CKING MOVE!”

He leapt from his seat as the larger man hit the door in stride, wiping up his face with the catch-coat and offering the barber his usual fare of dick-shit-zero, as he had fondly referred to it. With a sling, his coat was on and he was out the door, a crowd gathering from the buildings about and whispers following. Horrible things. Terrible things. It wasn’t really happening, was it? Could this be real?

“Come on out folks. Come on out and see the man that has been cheating you all! Refusing to pay taxes, refusing to pitch in for his part, refusing to do his share. He refuses to pitch in for the protection of Birchwood! For the sake of his fellow man!”

The vilification of the townfolk was a necessary evil. Storm Veritas had owned this town for some years, and he knew that painting the presumed guilty in such a light led to less revolt. Not that the peasants could do much; two thirds were scared stiff and those that did act learned hard that a brave fool with a sidearm was no match for the gift.

And he mastered the gift.

David Douglas popped out from behind saloon doors, a defeated man shuffling before a fast-pressing Steve Daigle. His face was red, eyes watered. He knew. He stood alone in the dust of the street, allowing the silt to cake his face with a clownish mask of mud and grime. His auburn hair hung low over his face as he stood resigned, realizing that no string of words would touch the heart of the bastard who ran the show.

“It’s really not so complicated.” Storm began again, spinning and looking at all of them, all the poor and the oppressed folk of Birchwood that dare look him back in the eye. “You pay your taxes. I take care of you and protect you and provide you with a police force, running water, and even have brought electricity to town.”

He was articulate, heartless, profoundly untouched by the task at hand. “And this is how you are repaid. Betrayed, by one of your own.”

Without turning back to face the man, he extended his left hand to Douglas, a blasting, twisting bolt of electricity striking the ground by his feet. Burning, dancing, Storm forced the sizzle to persevere, a thin ring of electric hell surrounding him, the man pressed to dance like a fool with hot feet as the diatribe continued.

“I show you mercy. I show you justice. And yet I am drawn from my private time like a junk-yard dog to control the blasphemy that surrounds all of us!!!”

With this, a spinning pivot, his right hand thrusting forth a bolt ten-fold the power of the previous burn. A sizzling, terrible arc of electricity raced back to his fingertips in the grounding of the circle, and the struck Douglas was tossed some thirty feet back, launched up in the air as though struck by a charging elephant. Dead in the air, the pitiful man fell in a slump, landing horribly on his face and snapping his neck and back with a horrifying crack. A gasp was silenced by a hush, and Storm Veritas snapped his hands back down to his side. He turned back to face the people once more.

“You cheat me, you cheat EACH OTHER! I shall not tolerate infighting, and must protect you from yourselves!”

With a smooth and even gait, he walked again unaffected towards his manor at the end of town. The whispers slowly grew as the crowds parted, but none would stand before him.

This was Birchtown. This was his show.

[Letho]

“I found her in Scara Brae.” Letho begun as they moved down the dirt road at a steady gait. Between his reluctance to speak of the past and the uncomfortable silence that just waited for a chance to pounce and make itself prominent, he chose the lesser of two evils. His squinted eyes looked down the tawny line that cut through the landscape and led towards Birchtown. “I was sent to dispatch of a local small-time gang lord and she happened to be one of his slaves. As it turned out, he and his goons thought it was perfectly fine to rape and whip young girls and keep them in damp cellars for years. I asked them to let them go. I asked...” he paused, turned his face towards his companion, revealing a toothy, almost malicious grin. “...pretty hard, shall we say.”

His eyes returned to the road ahead, noticing first signs of activity at the outskirt farms of Birchtown. Peons labored under the afternoon sun, tiling the earth diligently, their stamina obviously aware of the fact that the day was drawing to a close and happy for that little fact. Letho checked if his Ranger badge was conspicuous enough, then pulled the massive gunblade from his back and checked the chamber. Cocked, locked and ready to rock. Though, given the first impression that the town left, there seemed to be nothing amiss.

“I left none alive.” he concluded somberly, then thought he needed to verify what he was talking about. “Back in Scara Brae. I left none alive. Justice has to be served. No matter what.”

And with that said he spurred his mount and sped up to a trot.

***

The place was significantly more developed then Pinetown, but in the Four Towns area that meant precious little. It meant a whorehouse, an extra saloon and a handful of summer houses that the hot shots from Radasanth used as sanctuaries from the humdrum life in the capitol. It meant that the vendor at the local general store had more then one type of wine for sale and that you could find a dozen literate people whose conversations didn’t always revolve around the crops, or the weather, or Betty the barmaid and her bootilicious bosom. Not much, but not to be disregarded.

Eyes fell on the two law enforcers like a downpour, some suspicious but most simply quizzical, lowering their hats to their chests and wiping their sweaty foreheads, trying to get a better look of the riders. With the first houses came the murmurs as well, sweeping through the streets as if carried by wind. Letho tipped his hat to the ladies, both those that looked like genuine ones that strolled in their voluminous dresses and those that looked like five-gold-piece floozies that stood on the balcony of what was called the House of Havenly Pleasure. Misspelt, of course. It seemed that if you sold flesh, you didn’t have to be the brightest bulb in the chandelier. A couple of suits with cylindrical hats disturbed the usual peasant attires and the men that looked up towards the Marshal and his deputy.

“He’s not going to like this.”

Letho thought he overheard something akin to that, but by the time he turned his head towards the origin, all he found was a toothless grin of a sunburnt yahoo that bowed his head courteously. Other that that, the town was calm. Too calm. Like the sky before the storm.

Wooden shacks gave way to regular houses that in turn gave way to a handful of brick buildings that stood huddled around the rather unremarkable main square. The fountain in the middle was surprisingly vibrant, clear water cascading down the white marble that seemed yellow in the dusking light. To the right of it, three figures stood around something charcoaled and smoldering. Letho directed his mount towards the three, but even before his eyes could ascertain what lay on the brownish dirt, his nose picked up the foul sickening scent from the air. Burnt flesh. Human flesh. It made him lift his serape over his nose.

“What happened here?” the Marshal spoke in a commanding, deep voice, looking over the three from his elevated position with the sun behind his back. The two that looked like regular peasants with their dirt-stained slacks and used-to-be-white undershirts looked rather flummoxed. The third one – a tall man that seemed a fraction higher on the hierarchy ladder given the rather tidy attire – merely turned around, smirked and shook his head once he saw the badge.

“Trust me, it’s none of your business, ranger. You’d be better off riding through.” he spoke, his voice callous and serene, as if he was the one with a big gun, calling the shots.

“I’m making it my business.” Letho, slightly agitated, growled from above, descending from his horse and stepping before the tall man. “I come in the name of Corone Government with an intention to reestablish order in Birchtown. Who is in charge here?”

The man didn’t even flinch. He nodded his head in false recognition, a mocking mimic of superiority that irked the Marshal. “There’s no disorder here and you’re not the law here. If you want to speak to the one in charge, head north towards the marble house. You can’t miss it.”

With that said, the man nonchalantly nodded towards the two that stood beside him. The pair grabbed the pile of charcoaled meat that might’ve been human once, tossed it on the nearby cart, and ambled away seemingly without a worry in their mind. Letho’s dour face was on like a mask.

“There’s something queer going on here, Sano&#235;. We need to stay on our toes. I’ll go check out this mansion in the north. You check out the local Marshal’s office and see if you can get some information.” he spoke, his eyes surveying the townsfolk that merely went with their business, bringing another day to a close.

((Empyrean, I thought it would be cool if, just as Letho and Sano&#235; were to part ways, there is a hooded figure in an adjacent side alley, calling the two to follow him. He (or she) could lead us into one of the basements or something. They could be like the local underground resistance, though a rather flimsy one at that. Storm, in your next post Storm can get a report from Steve Daigle that the law is back in town and Storm can return to the town or something to straighten it out. Just don’t make him know it’s Letho yet.))

[Empyrean]

Out of all the missing pieces of Letho’s persona, Sano&#235; felt that she had just been handed one of the most crucial ones. She knew all along that Letho did what he had to do and did it good, but he obviously thought it was his duty. Where did he get off thinking he was some kind of Angel of Justice?

After that initial impression, Sano&#235; scolded herself – a rare instance, indeed – for thinking cruelly of him. He’d saved the lives of slaves, one of whom had apparently become his fianc&#233;e. It was hard enough for Sano&#235; to realize that somewhere in the world, the archaic practice of slavery was still abounding, and revolved around young girls, no less. The fact that Myrhia, of all people, had been a – a sex slave, it was almost unbelievable. Almost. The girl’s frailty hadn’t been that hard to notice, and now Sano&#235; knew why. No wonder she stuck around him.

She was disturbed by the idea of righteous Letho at the heart of a massacre, but at the same time felt a grudging respect for his decision to save the red-headed teenager. Her esteem for petite, courteous Myrhia rose even more as the jeweler realized the strength it took to go through the seven circles of hell as a slave and still manage to be a decent human being. But all the same, the Marshal had said himself that he left none alive. And maybe these gang lords had deserved to die. Sano&#235; certainly wouldn’t have let anyone get away with such an atrocity, but Letho was a swordsman, while she was a jeweler, a woman who couldn’t dish out massive penalties without blinking an eye. But whose job was that, if not Letho’s?

With this in mind, Sano&#235; never could find the words to reply to Letho.

The jeweler had the feeling, just as they arrived at the entrance of Birchtown, that she was thinking about Letho’s character entirely too much.

--------------------------------

“There’s no disorder here and you’re not the law here.”

Two huge lies in one sentence wasn’t hard to believe when there was a smoldering corpse on the ground before the jeweler. What was hard to believe was the man’s composure when standing before the very same sight.

Already, Sano&#235; hated Birchtown. As bad as Pinetown had been with its mobs and lynchings, Birchtown could only be worse. It certainly didn’t look very unique from the other two Coronian towns. Well, it was a little more civilized in terms of landscaping. The whorehouse obviously had some money going for it, the town center was more adorned, and the people were out and about and certainly more fleshed out than the brown-and-red inhabitants of Pinetown. Underneath, however, the elements were the same: simplicity and hostility, with a dash of ignorance. This time, however, a new aspect made itself known.

People here were afraid.

And they certainly had good reason. After the stink of burned flesh invaded Sano&#235;’s throat and the spectacle of a dead man as black as charcoal, the smoke spiraling upward from his body, lay beside the fountain, the jeweler couldn’t blame these people. She could see how nervous they were when they’d spotted her and Letho, she could tell what was going on in their minds as they swept hurriedly past the charred body, pretending not to notice.

“Alright, if I find anything in the office,” said Sano&#235; in a low voice as the three men carted the pile of smoking body down the street, “I’m going to come straight back to follow you. Whatever did that to him could very well still be outside.” She didn’t immediately realize she was openly admitting that she was afraid.

She had hardly taken three steps before she heard a low whistle just to the right. Thinking it to be a catcall at first (and thus preparing herself to inflict bodily injury upon the offender), Sano&#235; looked over her shoulder. A thin alleyway between the whorehouse and the inn was not yet dark enough to hide the outline of a slender figure leaning against the moldy brick wall.

She couldn’t tell if it was male or female; the clothing he – or she – wore was voluminous enough to hide that factor. Before the jeweler could get a closer glimpse, the figure’s head inclined slightly, as though to nod to Letho, and then glanced sharply in the opposite direction.

“Letho,” Sano&#235; muttered, just loud enough so that only the Marshal would hear. She heard him stop just then, but she didn’t move; her eyes were trained on the figure, who had, by then, headed swiftly alongside the buildings toward a house adjacent to the inn, glancing sidelong at her the entire time.

Now she looked back at Letho, her blue eyes narrowed in the waning sunlight. “Before we do your plan, I think we should catch this guy, whoever he is.” She looked back toward where the figure had been walking and, with a jolt, realized she could no longer see him. Without checking to see if Letho was behind her, Sano&#235; followed the trail the figure had left, passing by the noisy inn. She could hear snippets of loud conversation, most of it involving “the law” and “newcomers.”

--------------------------------

By the time Letho caught up with her, Sano&#235; was tiptoeing down a short flight of stairs leading into the basement of a house close to the inn. She couldn’t tell for sure if this was where she’d been led, but instinct drove her forward. Inside the dark hallway after the steps, she could hear water dripping slowly into a makeshift drain, though she was unsure of where the water came from just inside a desert town. As she reached for the doorknob, Sano&#235; looked back once to make sure Letho was there – surprisingly, he had decided to follow her instead of going to the manor house. The jeweler opened the basement door to a dimly lit room.

The first thing she noticed was the abundance of paper in the room – paper stuck to the walls, maps and keywords plastered to notes on the table, papers littering the floor. The walls were just as moldy inside as they were outside, but this room was much lower in flair as well as hygiene. She didn’t have much time to inwardly comment, however – Sano&#235; found herself, for what seemed like the fiftieth time in the past two days – staring at the mouth of a gun.

Only this time, there was more than one.

[Storm Veritas]

The knock at the door was no more than a fleeting annoyance, but it still disturbed Storm from reading and pulled his concentration. The sound was hollow and deep, and made him jump from his seat. He’d been hair-triggered for a long time now, and couldn’t remember the days when he could hear a sound and not assume it was the reaper coming for him. The nightmares didn’t help.

“Come in” he ushered, his voice quick tempered and decisive. He removed the gold-rimmed glasses and lay them delicately on his reports. A snap of his head brought the ebony locks back in place behind his head.

“News, sir!” Stephen Daigle. Excited and a bit out of breath. His wide eyes were full of concern and a touch of fear, and his massive jaw quivered beneath a bushy beard. “Someone new. Someone in town, claiming to be ‘Law’. Big guy, looks serious. Girl too, but he’s the issue. Got a badge and everything, and says he’s on his way.”

Daigle then held his hat by the brim, close to his chest as Veritas rose from his seat quickly. A half smile was offered for the servant.

“Very well. Thank you Stephen. I think I’ll need you to stick around a bit, if you don’t mind too much.”

He knew the answer, and understood the need for a bit of diplomacy. In public he was the iron fist, but alone in his quarters, he could use a bit more finesse. Daigle was a powerful ally, and his allegiance was critical to the upholding of order. In addition, it wildly promoted his own inherent laziness.

The “Law” is in town, huh? I’ll be damned. Thought I paid those Marshalls well enough to stay the f*ck out of Birchtown. I think I may have to make an example of this Cowboy-Wannabe-Retard.

He slowly crept to the window now, looking out from the second floor over the town. The long, wide alley of Birchwood led to his home, and he could see the flat fronts of every building from here. A couple of taxpayers moved about, daily chores, a few shot the shit. There was nothing spectacular. And there was most certainly no big bad lawman coming to set things right. Heroes die quick.

Must have gone to the saloon to courage up over a few quick rounds. That’s fine with me, alcohol will carry the charge better.

He turned, still a thin grin across his face, and gave Daigle a firm pat upon the shoulder as he passed. Go time. He was on the stairs, by the door, mirror inspected and towards town center within a minute or two.

Moments later, saloon doors split, a wide burst. The lithe silhouette at the door was unmistakable, and was met with the silence he felt he deserved. A disarming smile, for now and he was saddling up to the bar, an invisible force field urging patrons to slide a few steps away, to make way for the mayor, and try not to be rude about getting the hell out of his way.

“Whiskey Sam. My stock, underneath. And if you’ll kindly point me to the smartass who thinks he’s going to ride in here high on the saddle and ruin MY lovely town, I’ll gladly pay for my drink and be on my way.”

It was simple, yet the paralyzed gapes he received indicated success. There was respect here, if nothing else, and yet a good steady wave of confusion. Something was awry; there was no glorious gunslinger that had stopped by here just yet.

[Letho]

Though he wasn’t surprised to see Sano&#235; – his deputy and a rather self-sufficient frigid woman - taking initiative and following the cryptic shadowy figure, Letho followed with a certain amount of reservation. His hand was calm on the holstered Lawmaker that was ready to go from dormant to battle-ready in a fraction of a second as his eyes monitored the surroundings with a keen look. Because this looked too much like a set up, too much like the good old trick with bait tied to a piece of string. When they left the streets and started descending to a damp moldy basement, this feeling of suspiciousness and anxiety doubled. However, before his intuition got a chance to issue a warning that would make Letho stop Sano&#235; from charging headlong into a trap, the trap sprung and they stood against about a dozen armed men.

Letho never got a chance to brandish his titanic gunblade. Luckily, he didn’t need to. Amidst the menagerie of faces that ranged from archaic and wrinkly to pale and beardless, there was a set of incisive brown eyes that peered at the Marshal as if they wanted to read him like a passage in a book. The flintlock pistol that stood before those veteran eyes was the first one to move from a threatening position to a holster at the man’s hip.

“You’re not one of his Marshals, are you?” the man finally broke the silence that started to drift to the kind where fingers got itchy and slippery. He moved with a distinct limp, holding to his left hip as he circled around the desk littered with gun parts and tools in complete disarray. His sooty hair was trimmed short, army short by Letho’s reckoning, though the Marshal was rather certain that this cellar was the only garrison that this man had nowadays.

“I know not of who you speak of. We come in the name of Corone Government to establish order in Brichtown.” Letho replied, his voice once again regal, powerful, as confident as if he had a posse behind his back with their weapons pointed towards the ringleader of this flimsy underground organization.

“So did the others.” the leader continued, his eyes straying away from the Marshal and his deputy and descending to the desk below as his hands picked up what seemed like a revolver barrel. “And then he paid them to look away and leave the town at his mercy. Though he showed precious little of it so far.”

“Who is this man you speak of?”

“He calls himself Storm Veritas. He came to Birchtown a short while after the defeat of the Lawmen and claimed dominion over it. Few that wanted to oppose him were scorched just like poor David today. He’s a powerful mage, you see...”

But Letho heard enough. He heard enough the second Storm’s name was spoken. To say that Letho and Storm had a run-in or two already wouldn’t just be an understatement. It would’ve been a lie, a clever distortion of what truly transpired during the journey to the land of Nyd, a ruse to cover up the one moment in time where a knave such as Storm was a better man then him. Storm’s name was the very epitaph of Letho’s humanity, the one thing that reminded him of the life he took in his blind rage. Needless to say, the Marshal had a hard time preventing the surprise creeping across his facial lines.

“Storm Veritas? You’re telling me that Storm Veritas is the tyrant of Brichtown?” the swordsman finally spoke, taking a step closer to the table much to the dismay of the armed men that still refused to holster their armaments.

“You sound like you know him.”

“We have a history.”

“What kind?”

“The bad kind.”

Letho would say no more. Some stories should never be disclosed, but rather left a memory that, no matter how much it fades away, still keeps the vague outline that reminds you of words spoken and deeds done. Storm was such a memory, rejuvenated by this unlikely encounter, and Letho wanted the fading to proceed with its natural course. He turned from the seated man ardently, making his way towards the door, both Sano&#235; and him still the target of about ten armed men in the room.

“Where are you going, Marshal?” the leader of the posse asked, stopping the tedious job of cleaning the gun barrel and setting his eyes on Letho once again.

“I’m going to take care of Storm.” he spoke, and then turned his eyes to Sano&#235;. His frowned look was a wordless statement that needed no verification, an order shown instead of spoken. But he decided to add: “Alone.”

He left no room for rebuttal, leaving the basement, the feeble rebels, their keen-eyed leader and Sano&#235; behind. The only thing that managed to find its way through the fleet sound of his footsteps climbing up the flight of stairs was one of the men speaking something about Storm being at the nearby tavern. Even better, Letho thought. At least he wouldn’t have to flush him from the hole he called home like vermin.

The batwing door swung inwards about a minute after the Marshal left the makeshift headquarters of the local freedom fighters and the entire room became a still frame. The musician missed a chord or two on the honky-tonk piano before melting into the sea of silence. Letho moved forward with agonizing slowness, the spurs on his boots clinking like demented chimes, the leathery sound of his cloak louder them the gingerly whispers of the hypnotized patrons. His cowboy hat was tipped low, low enough to cast a shadow over his piercing eyes that focused on the lanky rogue, but he had no intention to play hide and seek. Instead Letho took a seat on a barstool some two seats away from Storm, dislodged his gunblade on the wooden surface, spilling Storm’s drink and replacing it with a clear “Lawmaker” inscription that stood on the tawny blade of his weapon.

“There’s a word that somebody is terrorizing the local populace.” Letho begun in a tranquil voice, his eyes looking over the brim of the hat and at the black-haired knave in a large mirror that stood on the other side of the bar. “And you seem to be that somebody, Storm Veritas.”

Still, there was no eye contact between the two. Just a tension that seemed electric, magnetic, only the two of them weren’t the polar opposites. They were both monsters and the fact that one of them failed to admit that did nothing to change the facts. Letho took out the Rangers badge out of his pocket and let it slide down the length of his blade and right in front of Storm.

“We can do this easy or we can do this real easy.”

[Storm Veritas]

He’d seen him come in, felt the heads turn, and had known exactly who the so-called do gooder was. Word spread fast in a small town, especially when every third man is on the take. When the heads of the little bar snapped to the silhouette by the sunlight, he just kept milking his whiskey, sucking down the bitter venom smooth and sweet. The rustle of the massive swordsman was a long way from subtle, and whatever mindless diatribe he’d launch into would surely sicken Storm upon a less sedated stomach.

Letho Ravenheart was a ghost he kept running into, the monkey on his back that he just couldn’t shake. What once could have been a friend turned foul, and things had only gotten worse since then. The physical superiority of that abominable thing didn’t bother Storm much, because this was his town, a mantra that held some truth to it.

Not here, Tex. Ain’t so big and goddamned tough in here. I’ve seen you move, and you’re fast… but not THAT fast. I’ll always be a quicker hand, always the itchier fingers. You know that, I know you know that.

When Letho handed down some sort of hokey, asinine ultimatum, it was all the wiry mayor could do to keep from laughing at his very face. This was obviously not well thought, and Ravenheart likely didn’t see that six of the large, thick and whiskered types had all since stopped drinking their beer.

Storm hadn’t risen to the top on the heels of a singular aid, and although his man Daigle made a fine first mate, there were more than a few vigilante tough-guy types that would open a hand and close their eyes, or look forward to a scrap with a little bit of cash on the back end of it. For a lot of cash, poor farmers could get very brave very quickly, and the bustle in the bar was growing in whispery form.

“So you come in, knock over my drink, and think you’re gonna muscle ME around?” Storm smiled now, spinning his chair to face the newcomer. He kicked his feet on the bar now, knocking that obscene sword aside as he leaned back in his seat. Hands knitted fingers on his belt as a broad grin told of infinite confidence.

“Birchtown is a proud town, Letho, just not one that can be operated outside the laws. I keep things even, keep things level, and force people honest. Medicine doesn’t always taste good, but it usually does deliver when you need it.”

A few men stood, screeching chairs and squeaking floorboards under the weight of men far larger and burlier than Storm. They matched Letho for size, although these were merely farm-strong type, and not the same hardened and combat trained warriors that Veritas knew the “stranger” to be. Their guns, although iron and poorly crafted, would still pack a punch.

“This isn’t your place to go putting that self-serving nose in others’ business. I left you in Nyd, and hoped you for dead after that idiocy in Serenti. The last man in Althanas I want to lay eyes upon.

“Now let me make things a bit more clear for you. Leave. Skip town, and don’t look back. Because whether you head up out of here on your horse or in the back of a wagon doesn’t make two shits of a difference to me.”

A laugh from behind him, and a bit more rustling. A tinny clicking sound announced the arrival of a revolver, and from his periphery Storm was delighted to see that it wasn’t pointed at him.

God-damn… it’s good to be king.

[Empyrean]

“But - Oh, for God’s sake!” said Sano&#235; in exasperation, forgetting where she was. But Letho was gone, even the sound of his boots hitting the cement and the sand growing faint. She was starting to get sick of his little hero shtick coming into play more often than his common sense. If he’d had any of the latter at all, he would know that going after the man responsible for this town required gun power, and not just from one man. He needed backup, and he needed to quit relying on that grotesquely huge sword for intimidation. Sano&#235; knew from past experience that having a big weapon did not necessarily make one the automatic winner.

The most annoying thing, however, was that he probably knew it. Yet he’d gone on by himself anyway, and worst of all, he’d left Sano&#235; behind to deal with a bunch of armed men who were probably still deciding on her trustworthiness.

She was going to have words with Letho Ravenheart the next time she saw him.

“Ma’am…”

The jeweler turned around, unable to keep her irritation from showing on her face. The dozen or so men had not lowered their guns, but they looked considerably less suspicious of her intentions. “Sorry," she said stiffly. "You can stand down now; it should be fairly obvious that we’re not against you.”

Their ringleader bit his lip momentarily, and then decided she was right. As he looked at either side of him, his men lowered their guns, though not all at once, and clustered a little more around the table in the makeshift conference room. This sober-looking bunch was clearly not the most impressive regiment, but they were resilient and focused, and armed at the very least.

“On our side you might be, but it ain’t going to last long,” began the ringleader, his dark eyes intent on a list underneath his gun on the table. “You have no idea how many men they’ve sent to Birchtown hoping to regain order. Sure, they talk big and make promises, but in the end they can’t keep ‘em. All it takes is money or bullets. You’re either on his payroll or dead on the street.”

Sano&#235; listened quietly, taking a closer look at the list beneath the man’s hard gaze. It was a litany of names, and at the top was a title that read, “Recently Deceased….”

“Now, I can’t guarantee that your Marshal there is gonna follow in the same footsteps as the other lawmen, but he sure as hell isn’t going to leave Birchtown unmarked.”

“If you’re so pessimistic about getting your town back,” started Sano&#235; skeptically, “Then why the hell did you lead us here?”

A few of the men looked away, sheepish. Their ringleader gave her a hard look.

“What else are we supposed to do? No one else will join us. We’re looking for someone who hasn’t been pulled in by Veritas yet, someone who might have a chance against him.” He looked past her, at the door. “That Marshal might be it, but going in alone? He’s screwed himself over. The tavern is full of the ‘mayor’s’ lackeys.”

A thought came to Sano&#235; just then. She approached the table and pressed her palms down on it, thinking. “Wait...” She stared up at the leader for a moment. “What’s your name?”

He looked a little taken aback at her sudden keenness, but folded his arms, businesslike. “Frank.”

“Frank. Alright then, about how big is that tavern?”

“Seats about forty or fifty, at least…” volunteered one of the older, bearded men next to Frank.

Sano&#235; was silent, and then removed the rifle that had been slung around her back, setting it loudly on the table over Frank’s supplies. It was still fully loaded – as of yet, she hadn’t had a chance to use it. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” demanded Frank, his dark eyes puzzled.

“Up to the tavern. We’re going to get Letho out of whatever sticky situation he put himself in, because--”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said, lady? It’s full of Storm’s men, not to mention Storm himself, probably sitting up there, cozy as you please—“

“What the hell are you fighting for, anyway, Frank?” Sano&#235; interrupted angrily, fitting the rifle in her arms as she spoke. It wasn’t too heavy, thankfully. “There’s enough of us, and then there’s Letho, who you said yourself could have a chance against him. If you’re ever going to get your ass out of this cellar and do something, now’s the time.”

He looked wary enough to say no, but Frank nodded silently.

----------------------------------------

Once outside, Sano&#235; followed Frank to the corner just next to the entrance of the tavern, his armed men right behind the jeweler. Frank leaned over slightly, peering into the window of the tavern beneath the curtain, and then ducked back into the alleyway, using cover of darkness in the alley to hide the pistol tight in his grip.

“You were right, ma’am.”

“It’s Sano&#235;. Who all is in there?” the jeweler whispered, checking every now and then to make sure Frank’s men were still behind her. Their faces were a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

“The Marshal is facing Storm and five or six of his paid men with guns.”

“Shit….we’ve got to get in there now.” Sano&#235; drew in a shaky breath, certain that she was closer to death than she’d ever been in Pinetown. The rifle clicked as she adjusted to its weight on her arms, and she moved ahead of Frank, giving him one last glance as she nodded at the batwing doors.

The men moved quicker than she’d expected. Each one burst in through the swinging doors at once, pointing their guns at every man who was already armed and aiming at Letho. Frank was close behind them, coming up further and shouting for everyone to "Hold it!" as he aimed his pistol at one of the burliest-looking men behind the Mayor. This gave Sano&#235; time to come in along the side wall and swiftly approach Letho’s right side as she pointed the rifle’s mouth directly at the man who wore a taunting expression as he stared down the Marshal. His surprise wasn’t hard to notice as Sano&#235; sighed inwardly in relief that she’d at least gotten inside without killing herself – yet.

“Letho isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I,” she said in response to what she’d heard the ‘Mayor’ saying to Letho last. She grimaced a little at herself – she never had been one for tough talk, least of all while dealing with guns. Her stomach was turning in her nervousness, but the jeweler made sure to keep her face from showing it. She was glad for that little gold badge pinned to her coat - even in this situation, it gave her a sense of security.

“You and your five men can stand down now, and save the fourteen of us all the trouble.”

[Letho]

Storm’s cocky litany was to be expected. The man was, after all, a smoothie, a golden-tongued jesting murderer with a knack for speechmaking. Or perhaps it was the other way around. It could be that he was a murderous jester with that same knack. Either way, his words went in the one ear, out the other, failing to impress anybody save the roughnecks that sat around with antsy I-so-don’t-want-to-be-here expression on their faces. Letho heard enough of these feeble threats in his life to know just how redundant they were. He wasn’t riding out of Birchtown any more the Storm would just hand over the keys to the town and put the tail between his legs. Oh no, this dog both barked and bit.

As if to substantiate this little fact, half dozen of about twenty patrons took Storm’s side, taking out their weapons and aiming them at the Marshal. This too Letho predicted and paid no heed to the flimsy weapons and the itchy inexperienced fingers that held it. Because he could’ve taken the tavern by force if he wanted to, he could’ve made a fight out of this little rendezvous before the first word was spoken, but he decided to give Storm a chance. Not because he owed the man something, not because that was his duty as a law enforcer, and certainly not because he had philanthropic intentions. It was because face-offs like these usually brought a lot of collateral damage in tow, a lot of lives needlessly squandered while the battle raged. Perhaps a life of a peon meant nothing to Storm, but it meant something to Letho. He maybe was a monster, but he wasn’t that much of a monster.

However, by the time that the swordsman wanted to speak his riposte – something about Storm picking the real easy way – Sano&#235; made her unexpected entry. The armaments that were pointed at Letho minutes ago now became his allies, all directed towards the scallywag’s personal guard, the fingers holding them not just callow, but fearful. Because their little rebellion finally went on public display and there was no way back from this. And it was something both terrifying and relieving. Sano&#235; – a rather unimposing jeweler that, without her coat, looked like someone who got lost from a royal party – was the most ardent of the bunch, pointing her rifle at Storm. She maybe was relatively cold when it came to causerie and socialization, but when the shit hit the fan, she brought the goods with ferocity.

“I guess this doesn’t add to the clarity of things, Storm Veritas.” Letho finally broke the gravely silence that followed Sano&#235;’s brisk words, standing up from his chair and picking up the gunblade that Storm knocked from the bar. The six brigands reacted to this motion by stiffening and reaffirming their aim, but Sano&#235;’s bunch did the same, confirming the maintenance of the current stalemate.

“Now, let me make it more clear for you.” he continued, leaning closer to the black-haired murderer with the Lawmaker still in his hand. He wouldn’t strike, both of them knew that much. It wasn’t how these things went down, or at least it wasn’t how Letho made the things go down. “You have until noon tomorrow to leave. If I see you and your men with anything that looks even remotely like a weapon, there will be no talking, no reminiscing, no attempts at apprehension. If you’re not out of Birchtown by tomorrow, I’m going to kill you.”

The Marshal spoke no more, turning away from Storm confidently and marching through the armed figures of his allies and out through the batwing doors. Sano&#235; and her platoon of insurgents waited for a couple of seconds for the reaction of their opposition before they too withdrew from the inn, their guns still cocked and locked as they backpedaled and made their exit.

“This won’t end well.” the leader of the group spoke once they were all once again in the dusty street, whipped by the afternoon sun. He held his flintlock pistol in his hand, half-expecting to see Storm bursting out of the tavern, flailing lightning bolts and turning them all into human roasts. Well done, no doubt.

“Perhaps. But it will end, and that is well.” Letho responded, placing the gunblade on his back calmly before turning to the man that didn’t seem terribly satisfied with the answer.

“Easy for you to say, Marshal. I have a wife, two kids. I... I don’t know what will become of them if I die tomorrow.” he spoke and the rest mumbled in support. They were no fighters and whatever Sano&#235; did to get them this far was wearing off, transforming them back to what they were; simple farmer folk.

“And yet you stepped forward today.” the swordsman spoke and when there was no reply but a shrug of their shoulders, he continued in a rather unsympathetic tone. “You’re no good to me if you’re not willing to fight. That goes for the rest of you. If you don’t want to oppose this oppressor tomorrow in order to get your freedom back, then stay home. If you want to live under his boot for the rest of your life then, by all means, stay home. An unwilling man is just a nuisance on the battlefield. My deputy and I are going to stand against him tomorrow, fighting for your town. What will you do?”

Some opened their mouths in order to retort to the harsh words, but Letho gave them no chance to do so, striding away from the flimsy dozen. He knew that they needed a wake up call, a slap on the face that would make them see the reality that was gnawing at their bones for a while now, decaying them from the inside out. Tomorrow they had a chance to make their stand, make a mark for themselves as either cowards or heroes. Which of the two, however, wasn’t Letho’s choice to make.

That left him with only one matter to attend to; Sano&#235;. He remembered quite well that he ordered her to stay behind and she disobeyed. And that didn’t sit well with the Marshal. Storm and his band of goons was his business and he was able to handle it without her aid. The two of them walked across the empty square at a steady pace. The daily afternoon bustle of people finishing up the day’s work wasn’t present, most of the locals probably hearing the rumor of the newcomers and decided to wrap up their daily chores early to avoid the trouble. This allowed the pair to make their way to the Marshal Office that lay in ruin for what seemed like years. The windows were broken, the doors slanted as they hung on a single hinge, and the tawny street dust was blown over the front porch and further into the interior. Most of the furniture – including the guncase, of course – was either broken or missing, but Letho managed to procure a pair of chairs for them to sit on.

“We need to talk, Sano&#235;.” he told her sternly, placing the two chairs on the front porch and, after taking off the holster in which his gunblade stood, sitting on the right one that creaked under his weight, but didn’t crumble. “I thought I told you that this was a matter I would attend to alone. You may or may not agree with that, but while you work for me, you will obey my orders.”

[Empyrean]

Still feeling wobbly at the knees, Sano&#235; followed Letho to what was, apparently, once a Marshal’s office. The goosebumps all along her body began to disappear as she walked off the tension in her body, but all the while she couldn’t help but remember the moment she’d pointed the gun in that tavern, expecting to die. The jeweler let her breath whoosh out all at once, wanting to lift the weight off her shoulders. She hadn’t been nearly so uneasy in Pinetown, but then, they hadn’t been nearly as in danger as they were now.

Then again, she’d carried things through – she and the rebels had succeeded in creating a stalemate, and she’d gotten out alive. She’d even managed to keep from sounding too much like an idiot the whole time. For a moment, Sano&#235; smiled, feeling invigorated by the powerof that rifle, heavy in her arms, but the euphoria faded when she realized what that stalemate meant for her – and for Letho, the rebels, and everyone else in Birchtown.

This was it. The rebels could no longer disguise themselves and feign submission to the false Mayor. The people of Birchtown, whether they were liberated or remained imprisoned, were in for some trouble and big changes. And Sano&#235; and Letho could very well die within twenty-four hours.

All Althanas is good for is threatening me with an impending doom, thought Sano&#235; wryly. As if on cue, several of the people she and Letho passed gave them a guarded glance and hurried out of the way.

Well, I wouldn’t want to infect you with my bad luck, the jeweler said under her breath, already sick of wary townspeople.

She watched, puzzled, as Letho retrieved two rickety-looking chairs from inside the broken-down office. For a moment, she thought they were simply going to take a breather from all of the excitement, but from the rigid expression on his face, she had a feeling that they weren’t going for any R and R. She sat down in the chair he offered her, ignoring its ominous squeaks as she looked at him with reservation.

“I thought I told you that this was a matter I would attend to alone.”

Her mouth fell open a little, but she closed it quickly. The words that Sano&#235; had been planning on having with Letho would have to wait.

But not for long.

“You may or may no disagree with that, but while you work for me, you will obey my orders.”

“Tch!” She found herself scoffing before she could stop herself. “’Alone’ is hardly an order! You left me in a basement with people who were more inclined to shoot me than help me. And what nerve, to go after a murderer with half a dozen armed cronies behind him and then lecture me for trying to help you! What was I supposed to do?” Her eyes were narrowed almost down to slits. She knew she was being disrespectful, ruining her chances to gain the Marshal’s trust, but she’d been holding it in long enough. She was mad – why stop now?

“What were you thinking, trying to take him on by yourself? I don’t care how skillful you might be, you need to stop relying on your confidence and your sword and think!”

Sano&#235; leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and exhaling. If there was any chance to salvage the situation, she might as well take it. “Look, Letho…” she began, sounding tired. “I don’t mean to….I trust your judgment and of course I’ll obey your orders, but….you….come on, that was a stupid move,” she said finally, throwing her hands out in frustration. “You can’t blame me for being worried.”

She crossed her legs, annoyed with herself and trying to find something to occupy herself after her embarrassing outburst. She hated when she did that to herself. She had a knack for creating awkward situations, that was for sure. And even a knack for saying things she didn’t mean to when in the heat of anger. Letho didn’t need to know she’d been worried.

Suddenly she noticed the yellow sun reflected in the facets of the jewels on her skirt (and she remembered then that she’d left her coat in the rebels’ basement.) The sunset looked spectacular on the horizon just past the miniature skyline of Birchtown and the outlines of birch trees surrounding the town. Everyone was heading home, even some of the rebels who’d been dumbfounded by Letho’s lecture. Some of them looked at her for a moment, having heard parts of her tirade.

Glancing back at Letho, Sano&#235; felt her face growing hot. She hadn’t known she was quite that loud. “Well….if we’re going to be up early to make sure he leaves, we should get some rest,” she finished stiffly. “Did you have plans for where we’re staying tonight?”

She could only hope that Letho would forget about her outburst eventually. At the same time, she could only hope that wherever they stayed had a bath. She needed to be rid of all this dust just as much as she needed to be rid of her doubts.

[Storm Veritas]

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.

The words sang to him, a touching thought to a past life. Merely a day before, he was the king of the mountain, and yet the morning came early to Storm Veritas, the pink-painted sky beautiful and tragically ephemeral. His last, perhaps, and he knew it. Each motion, be it his bath or shave or even cup of coffee, came with a tender touch that he wished to remember.

Yet maybe not the last.

He was not so foolish as to presume he would actually win. He knew Letho, and saw the fire in the eyes of the woman at his side. The numbers didn’t work either. Whatever fate came north of noon would be a terrible one for him, and his death would likely come on the wings of metal, too many bullets to stop, too many pistols raised high. They would sing, the town would celebrate, and order would be restored.

Yet there was some satisfaction in knowing that he would leave behind more than just a sack of flesh, but rather a legacy. He puffed proudly on a thick cigar as he waited for destiny on the steps of his estate’s mahogany porch, a rocking chair beneath his ass gently swaying back and forth, time moving too quickly, his smile steadfast in spite of the inevitable. They would never forget him. Not after this life, not after these deeds, and not after today.

The body dies, but the name will live forever. You’ll tell your children of the great and terrible Veritas, the man that smiled at the Reaper.

He wasn’t sure when he had decided upon it. Perhaps it was long ago, when he took to the town with a chip on his shoulder and an axe to grind. Perhaps it was merely yesterday, watching his men cower as the cavalry arrived. Perhaps it was the night before, when he dismissed the fair and brave Daigle. Perhaps it came with the sun. Whichever the case, today would be the day for judgment, and he was ready.

His white hat settled taut over his brow, a striking irony. The pressed cotton shirt was snug over a thin and hard-hammered sheet of iron, one thin to not be seen yet thick enough to stop an errant round. A second plate sat at his back, a more likely target, well guised beneath a thin linen black vest. His pants were black as well, tailored, tucked snug over the plate and suited to fit him perfectly, creases pressed beneath the iron and perfect. There was no gun, yet daggers hung from narrow hips like revolvers, far more fatal and defiant than the men that stood behind him one day ago.

The shadows were growing short, and so was time. His breath was coming in quicker gasps now, his heart elevating a bit. They’d come for him soon, and there was nothing else to do.

A long, slow drag from the cigar filled his mouth with a sweet taste of tobacco. He exhaled with a haughty deliberation as he fired the remaining piece from the porch, looking down at a town that was beginning to gather. The bustle of morning business was finally ceasing, and a quiet was beginning to gather. It was time.

[Letho]

Though Letho had a good idea that his lonewolf actions were bound to provoke a rather rigorous reaction, when Sano&#235; finally unleashed her pending comments, he had to admit he was rather floored by the ferocity in her voice. It was a substantial deviation from her cool nerveless disposition, an eruption of issues she kept in check so efficiently. But though she was out of line, he let her speak her mind, his keen frown regarding her with a steely, seemingly emotionless glare. The only time his facial expression changed was when she started to cool down and mention that she was worried. At this Letho couldn’t suppress a rather dismal grin. It was a while since anybody except Myrhia worried for his wellbeing, and even if this was strictly business, it was a component that linked the Marshal and his Deputy that much closer, reaffirming this little camaraderie of two.

“I don’t blame you for worrying, Sano&#235;, and I’m not angry at you.” he started in a measured, calm tone, his eyes drifting to the shades of orange that enflamed the western sky. “And perhaps I should’ve clarified my reasons back there. I didn’t go out to face Storm alone because of my ego or my pride or even because I believed my fighting prowess was enough to defeat him and his men. There is some history between us, that is true, a score that will probably never be settled.”

Letho paused there, his drifting towards dire and gloomy as his mind diligently rewound the memory of Nyd and the monster he became back then. He closed his eyes, pushed it away with some difficulty, before he continued: “But that has nothing to do with the predicament we have here. I wanted to meet him alone because I know he won’t duck and run tomorrow. And because of that I didn’t want him to know that he won’t be facing just one man tomorrow. The rebels were supposed to be our surprise, an ace up our sleeve so to say. Now we have to play with the cards we have.”

It was unfair to shift the blame on her and he wouldn’t allow for that to happen. What he said was only one side of the coin. He spoke of the other one as he turned his face to her and offered a grin that finally didn’t look like it was chiseled out of stone. “But you couldn’t know that. And there was always an outside chance that I wouldn’t get out of there alive if I was alone. So in the end, it turns out that I risked and you played it safe. Hopefully it will pay off tomorrow.”

“As for the lodgings...” he added rather jovially, his smile widening a little bit as he nodded towards the ransacked interior of the Marshal’s Office. “Home, sweet home. I fear that if we stay in the inn, we might wake up with a knife in our back. And between that and a whorehouse, I think this is an all together better option. I'll take care of the watch.”

***

Letho wasn’t certain how many of the rebels would return in the morning. He spent the entire night pondering on it – amongst other things, Sano&#235; and her fire-and-ice demeanor included – sitting on the front porch of the crumbling Marshal’s Office. Birchtown seemed genuinely dead during the night, especially once the last tavern patrons waddled to their homes and the lights went out, allowing a dense veil of darkness to consume the streets. He mulled, he dozed, then a coyote’s howl would break his thin slumber and he would mull some more. He had no idea how many men Storm had under his command. A dozen? Two dozen? Fifty? How many rebels would find enough balls to stick their necks up for their friends, their families, their town... themselves? It didn’t matter in the end. This thing was going down either way and after noon tomorrow there will either be a new hero to praise or an old tyrant to fear.

About an hour before dawn, when the sky was just starting to lose its prominent nightly blackness and the silvery gems above only begun to fade away and Letho was once again slipping towards dozing, first of the rebels came. A young man, probably not even in his twenties, with a clumsy looking flintlock pistol and a beardless face. “Of course.” the Marshal thought. “Young, foolish, nothing to lose. Nothing except the long years of his life that ought to follow.”

Only he wasn’t the only one. Even as he stepped before the Marshal’s Office, he was joined by two others, their reluctant gait from yesterday replaced by an ardent one, their posture steeled and firm. They didn’t speak; there was nothing to be said. Letho said his share back yesterday and they could either acknowledge it and do something about it or turn a blind eye and weather the storm. By the time the sky was pale gray and the sun was breaking, there was a dozen of them, all standing lined up in a relatively square formation, like troops ready for inspection. The last one to come was Frank, their leader, his eyes once again stabbing at the Marshal with their sharpness.

“We’re ready to fight, Marshal.” he spoke sternly, his voice almost unwelcome in the morning silence. The usual bustle that would start with the dawn was postponed today, majority of the locals finding wisdom in staying within the sanctuary of their homes until all of this madness blows over.

“Are you ready to die?” Letho replied, not getting up from the rickety chair, not acknowledging the gathering before him with anything save his voice. His question brought upon them deathly silence once again. And then a single isolated aye came from one of the men and soon the remaining followed. All except Frank who stepped upon the porch, his limp distinctive but resolute, and offered his hand to the Marshal.

“Aye.” he finally said with a grin. “But let’s not focus on the die part.”

Letho nodded his head minutely, like a king that sat on his throne that was satisfied with the monthly report, before he accepted the hand and got back on his feet. “Agreed.” he spoke in his gruff voice, his hand returning the iron grasp of Frank the Rebel Leader.

“And I might just have something that might aid you in this battle, Marshal. That weapon that you’re lugging around, broken down to the essentials it’s basically a fourteen millimeter single action hunting rifle, right?” Frank asked him and Letho nodded affirmatively, picking up the gunblade and presenting it to the gray-haired man. “I have this here gizmo that would allow you to load it with six shots, just like a revolver. And it won’t jam like I know it does.”

It really did jam. The damn thing always picked the worst moments to do it too, favoring those climaxing do-or-die occurrences to lock up and leave him with his pants down. “If you can fix it by noon, go right ahead.” Letho finally said and the man snatched the titanic weapon for him and lugged it into the interior of the Office.

“You better rise and shine, little lady. It is bound to be a busy day.” Frank said to Sano&#235;, laying the Lawmaker on the desk and starting to work on it hurriedly. The Marshal followed him in, but paid little heed to what the man was doing. He didn’t have to know how the blasted thing worked as long as it spewed bullets when he needed it to. Instead he looked Sano&#235;’s face still dreamy from the rather uncomfortable slumber and spoke with another reserved but soft smirk.

“Good morning, Sano&#235;. Well, maybe not good, but better then it could’ve been. Still, we need to prepare.”

[Empyrean]

Sano&#235; buried her head deeper into the couch cushion at the sound of Frank’s voice, muddled but intrusive. She felt as though she had only just let her head drop onto the cushion to fall asleep, as troubled a sleep as it was. She had dreamed, but didn’t remember anything – even in sleep, she felt as though she stood on the edge of a knife, waiting for a judgment that would soon take place. She’d spent almost all of her nights in Althanas in an uneasy slumber, if she even slept at all. Would she ever sleep well again?

“Mmyeah, I’m up,” she mumbled through a yawn. She hoisted herself up from the couch, trying mentally to sweep away from her anxiety. Through her tousled hair, she could see Frank bending over Letho’s monstrous sword, working diligently, and Letho saying something about preparation. Sano&#235; groaned under her breath at this remark, noticing for the first time the hazy line between twilight and dawn outside, light blue with a tinge of yellow at the bottom of the horizon. Surprisingly enough, there were already a dozen or so men standing outside the ransacked Marshal’s office, most of whom Sano&#235; recognized as Frank’s assembled rebels. They leaned against the unstable porch, filling their time with small talk and murmured acknowledgements that this very well could be their last day alive. Some of them had to be even younger than Sano&#235; herself.

A little embarrassed to find that she was the last one sleeping, the jeweler busied herself with looking like she was ready to go. She pulled the hair back from her face into a high ponytail, not wanting to have to deal with the possibility of an impaired vision just because of her braids. She needed to be able to move as easily as possible. She unbuckled her jeweler’s belt and laid it across the arm of the couch so that the only thing weighing down her waist was the much smaller one that held her bullets and pistol.

She looked back at her jeweler’s belt, feeling a lot lighter without it, and then had an idea. She braced her hands against the back to the couch and pushed hard, moving it with a loud creak towards the back wall. When she was sure had enough space, she stopped, then sat doggedly in the middle of the floor. Wondering when she would hear the wary comments start making their way to her ears, she made the shape of a circle on the floor with her hand, then traced the inner circle with her middle and index fingers, the hardwood floor beneath her fingers smooth but dust-covered. With a soft, humming sound, the Empyrean Table sparked itself to life, the circles turning into a blue-tinted white against the wood of the floor.

Sano&#235; was always reserved about showing off what little magical ability she had, especially because gemstone magic, to the untrained eye, looked suspicious and smacked of witchcraft. Back home it had never been much of a problem, because it was controlled and businesslike.

In Althanas, however, even with all the magic activity pulsing in the air in a vast, invisible field, the few people who had seen her use this magic were disturbed by it. Maybe it was because it seemed so much more arcane to these people. And Sano&#235; hadn’t exactly been using it for business. Now, however, Sano&#235; glanced up at the Marshal, at Frank, at the young men peering at this curious spectacle through the broken door. If Sano&#235; was reserved about using magic, then these small-town people were probably overly cautious, maybe even hostile to the idea. Maybe even Letho, stoic and authoritative, didn’t like the idea of magic.

Sano&#235; wasn’t doing much to help people trust her, it seemed. Oh well, she thought determinedly, turning her attention back to the glowing circles. If I’m going to keep myself alive, I’m going to take every necessary precaution.

She dug out two triangular tiger’s eye stones from one of the pockets on her jeweler’s belt and placed them in the second shift of the third level. Two, not just one for herself. She felt that she owed it to Letho to repay him for her tirade the night before. She still knew that she was right, and it was a smart move for him to have recognized it, but she still watched with satisfaction as the two stones were outlined with light and flashed a bright amber color. She also wanted him to forget that she’d been worried. She was as much of a loner as he seemed to be, probably more so, and anyhow, her worry had been purely platonic - Letho was, despite his flaws, a good man. Sano&#235; had spent a majority of her lifetime making herself independent, and she didn’t need anyone getting the wrong idea about her.

“Here,” she said finally, standing up and holding one bright tiger’s eye out to Letho, whom she was sure had watched her little exercise in magic with a suspicious eye. Even Frank had chanced a look every now and then. She’d stuck the other tiger’s eye into a spare pocket on the gunbelt, and the one in her hand felt warm from its recent touch with magic.

“I know a lot of people here aren’t used to…this sort of thing, so if you don’t want it, leave it here. It’ll help your physical accuracy, so you might want to take it with you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few of the rebels laughing at something one of the younger, beardless ones said. He had to be Eliot’s age – she saw traces of her brother’s laidback humor and laugh in him. Suddenly, she found herself really missing her brother’s company.

“I wish I had more of these for them,” she added solemnly, looking out at the men.


---------------------------------


The residents of Birchtown, while a cowardly sort of folk, were smart, at least. They knew when pandemonium was heading their way, and they could scatter like leaves in a harsh wind. As Sano&#235; walked beside Letho, Frank, and his company of insurgents, she saw a few of the townspeople dashing through their midday chores, and retreating to the safety of their houses without so much as a second glance at the motley group making their death march to the Mayor.

Sano&#235; had always thought the stories about heroes confronting their criminals were rather clich&#233;, but walking down the deserted street surrounded by what suddenly felt like a ghost town, the finale only minutes away, she couldn’t say she felt different from the protagonists in those tall tales.

Before they left, she’d placed her pistol loosely in the gunbelt around her waist so it had easy access, the Winchester rifle slung around her shoulder. She didn’t need to reload either gun, but she checked anyway. She had always made sure to make herself well-prepared, but there was never a time when she did it as apprehensively as today. Everything she had ever been taught about keeping herself alive, every rationale and every practical thing she knew was screaming at her to stop, to go back, because this was wrong. No matter how she tried to convince herself that everything would be fine, she knew something was going to happen.

She’d already gotten through these two days on unbelievable luck. Even with the tiger’s eye stone in her pocket, she didn’t expect that good luck to last.

As if to prove her point, she heard the scuffing of boots on hard-packed sand, and realized everyone else had stopped. Sano&#235; halted her steps, her right hand tight around the barrel of the Winchester rifle as she stared ahead. Storm Veritas, Birchtown’s own tall tale villain, sat idly in a rocking chair on the large house’s porch, unarmed and dressed too nicely for a gunfight.

She could just see his face beneath the odd white hat, and realized that he was actually younger than she’d thought. Almost all of the people involved in this showdown had several years left in their lives – whether or not they would get to live them through, however, was a question that would be answered within the next few minutes, beneath the midday sun.

[Storm Veritas]

So this is it then… the end of days…

They came to him on the whisper of the wind, and the sun told the time just fine. There would be no clocktower today to strike twelve, no single chime that would mark the fall of either Birchwood or civilization. The non-existent shadows were good enough to call it noon, and they marched at him gleaming in the sun. Aside from the massive Letho stood the diminutive yet defiant one, a striking woman with pistols that hung naturally by alluring hips. The band of fools followed by them, marching in tow as the citizens sought both shelter and a good view.

It had occurred to him that victory was no simple task today. Striking down the man-beast was not enough, for Letho was one of two from out of town. The rest, the brigands, the mutineers would have to be struck down as well. Every last one of them needed to be stopped, lest he press down one weed to watch three more sprout by its side. Conversely, he considered the inconvenient truth that his own downfall would signal victory to the upheaval. One man wouldn’t fare well against a dozen pistols, no matter how quick his fingers were. He bit hard on his tongue as he rose to meet them, his fingers and toes feeling numb with fear.

Not a duel so much as an execution, but I’ll be goddamned if I go quietly.

With a quick glance to his home, he stepped down off the porch. Here he was vulnerable, nearly defenseless, yet strode down the steps with supreme confidence exuded. Behind him, he knew what was happening, and he could almost feel Stephen’s pull as the red flag was raised behind his home. It was time to see if his good will had been well invested.

“Well, Ravenheart, I knew you wouldn’t come for me alone. Behind the sheath of nobility sits a coward. Predictable, per usual, so I invited a few friends.”

The “good will” which he passed out was doled in sacks that jingled, and the grand master of men spoke volumes as Birchwood’s worst made their presence felt. Eight men, appearing in rooftop positions, methodically yet quickly popped from windows and doors and unto balconies. Long, polished rifles made of iron and hate were cocked and loaded, and Storm smiled at the fish-in barrels before him. Daigle had served him well. Of course, he worried about those that he had defied firing a less than unintentionally errant shot his way, but disclosing such trepidation was the last thing from the strategist’s mind.

It’s time.

The uprising was sixty feet before him now, well within earshot, easily within gunshot. They had numbers, he had position. They had skill and strength, he had nothing to lose.

Far too many…

A sweat began to bead fast as he grabbed and discarded his hat, the long strands of jet black spattering his forehead and adhering to the moisture. A few more of the brave band pointed pistols at him, but this wasn’t news. He was dizzy now, overwhelmed with fear and a sense of the moment. His fingers began to buzz, and he could smell the delicious odor of ozone open his lungs. He’d miss that smell in the afterlife.

No chance… They only want to kill YOU.

His smile was crooked, maniacal, and clearly nervous, but his feet planted hard beneath him. The fingertips felt hot, and he held them at his hips with the hand of death wrapping cold fingers around his throat. The second the hands came up, the bullets would fly, and the time had come for his luck to run dry.

I’ll be dead in minutes…

No words were necessary. No thoughts were processed. The battle began not with the chime of a clocktower, but rather a thunderclap of gunfire. Who shot first didn’t matter, and time stood still as destiny took hold. His hands fired forward, and the sizzling white fury flowed forth in a cackling, splitting spray of electric energy. He wouldn’t get them all.

…but I’ll be a legend in hell.

[Letho]

No sane man was without fear when standing at the verge of a battle that might very well be the last chapter of his life. Stories that grandiloquently spoke of intrepid heroes that rode into a battle with an air of ultimate courage wrapped around them like a cloak were a sugarcoated heap of baloney. Letho knew that because countless times before he was the protagonist, the champion, the hero, and not once did he feel the absence of fear. And that was what kept him alive. Fear imbued a man with respect for his adversary, with this queasy disconcerting feeling in the gut that gave a man enough comprehension of the situation to know that this very well might be his final hour. It was a cold feeling, a monster that wanted to claw its way in the other direction. And true courage was to oppose it and stand true.

“I remember coming for you alone yesterday, Storm Veritas, and I wound up with half a dozen guns pointed at my back. So don’t you give me lectures of cowardice, scallywag.” Letho retorted, his riposte bitter and as cold as ice. There was a definite intention in the Marshal to give the slick-haired tyrant another chance at bailing town, but the eight gunners that sprouted up from the various positions on the manor made him cancel the pussyfooting. Letho’s hand calmly gripped the handle of the gunblade on his back, his incisive brown eyes measuring every movement over the brim of his cowboy hat. The silence was like glue in the air, dense and hard to penetrate, a harbinger of the bedlam that was bound to open up in a matter of seconds and swallow them. The fingers touching the triggers of the brandished weapons weren’t itching anymore, they ached to unleash hell and put an end to the eerily calm.

And then, without even a grin or a wink or any kind of, it started.

The rifle from the first floor balcony thundered and a blonde haired man that was the first one to step forward this morning spun backwards like a rag doll with half of his head missing. “SCATTER! GET TO COVER!” Letho bawled, yanking out his gunblade and lining it up with Storm. The gizmo that Frank installed was actually an adjusted Winchester reloading system, but before he even got a chance to put it to test, the sizzling fingers of the knave before him unleashed an attack that the swordsman knew all about. He was, after all, at the far end of it once again. The Lawmaker was swung aside, the left dragonscale gauntlet moving into position to block the maverick trajectory of the lightning. Bullets whizzed around him like flies. Two more of his posse fell, but most found some coherent cover, Frank limping away towards a nearby tree while the others ducked under the surrounding brick fence.

The bolt struck him like a horse’s hoof, pushing his splayed hand out of the way and blasting the rest of his bulk five feet backwards. “Bloody hell!” Letho spoke as his left hand once again fell limp at his flank, his right pushing the wounded beast up. “You’ve got stronger, you bastard!”

A rifle round took his hat off, another ricocheting off the voluminous dehlar weapon. They would perforate him if he didn’t move. So he moved. In less then a second his body exploded in size, a white aura distinctive in the dry heat that raised tendrils from the scorched soil. Letho’s eyes were blank, his muscles unhealthily large, and like a behemoth he charged straight at Storm. A round caught him in the shoulder, but in his current form it was like firing a slingshot at an incoming meteor. Storm was as slick as a snake and blistering fast, but in his current form Letho was more then adequate to match him blow for blow. And unlike the rogue, there was much more muscle behind his punches. Back in the Serenti finals when the two last met, the Marshal fought to lose, taking the fall out of desperation and anguish. But today there was no obstacle that stood between him and his foe. There would be no mercy, no holding back.

Halfway up the shingle trail that led to the manor, Letho fired his gunblade single-handedly, his weapon thrice as loud as any in the proximity. It was a good shot given the fact that it was fired while sprinting, but his aim was off just enough for the bullet to strike the porch column instead. Vaguely, though the turmoil of the heated battle, he remembered that Sano&#235; gave him a magical stone that was bound to improve his accuracy. And he remembered slipping it into Frank’s pocket just before they left the Marshal’s Office. Too bad. He could’ve used it with that shot. Instead of a head-sized hole in the pillar and a myriad of splinters, he could’ve rid Storm of his face. As it was, he had to get the job done the old fashioned way.

He ran straight at Storm, attracting most of the gunfire and evading the most as well with his hasty advance. The Lawmaker swooshed down relentlessly, the attack unhinged and bound to cleave the man in half. And even if he ducked beneath it, Letho’s shoulder was bound to drive him through the house wall.

[Empyrean]

From the moment she heard the first gunshot rattling through the tense, thickened air, Sano&#235; was moving. She moved faster than she’d ever moved before, sprinting from the middle of the street to the shelter of a small metal dumpster sitting against the side of an alley. She knew how close she was to falling off the edge of that knife from her dreams, so close that she could feel the metal tip between her shoulder blades. She felt the spray of warm blood from the young blonde man’s shattered skull on the back of her legs.

Shit, shit, shit…

She scrambled behind the dumpster, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as she flattened herself against the side of it. No thoughts were crossing her mind other than her gratefulness for the metal shield at her back – the shots were not entirely focused on her, but she knew she was an imperative target – she was the Marshal’s right hand. Sooner or later, she would have to face the music, and it could easily be the tolling of funeral bells.

She cried out and pulled her legs further into the thin shade of the dumpster. A bullet had bitten into the dusty earth just in front of her exposed left foot, sending an explosion of dust into her face. Alarmed, she scanned the noon sky above her, making sure that there were no extra sharpshooters aiming down at her. If she stayed, they would find a way to reach her eventually. If she moved, she was screwed. The bullets were ricocheting off the thin metal of the dumpster in rapid motion. She cocked her rifle, gripped it so tightly she could have made dents in the shape of her fingers into the barrel. She couldn’t hide and take a shot at once. They were going to see her.

The jeweler exhaled, surprised to hear her own voice choking out some consolation to herself, and shoved herself away from the wall of the dumpster, leaning clearly into sight. From here she saw two of the gunmen on the end of the balcony of the manor. The one on the right was tall and red-haired and looking right at her—

Sano&#235; didn’t think; she just tilted the mouth of the gun and clenched her finger against the trigger. The report from the rifle was ringing in her ears with its volume, but she didn’t hear it. She could only see the man grab his right shoulder, blood slowly spreading the length of his side, staining his shirt. Thank goodness for the tiger's eye. The other man was ducking behind the door of the balcony.

She couldn’t stay here forever - she had time to move, and no time to think.

Her legs kicked and she was off and running underneath the awning of the office. She heard the shots coming her way, but plunged ahead, the bullets lodging themselves into the wall she had just passed. One bullet came so close, she could feel the heat from it whizzing in front of her, the slight ripple of wind it created as it broke through a window.

The sound seemed to wake Sano&#235; up from her brief panic. She bolted forward, glancing to her right into the street as she did so. Most of the rebels were visible just inside the windows of open rooms, behind pillars, barrels and birch trees – Frank was one of them. Despite his bad leg, the rebel leader seemed surprisingly able to aim at an awkward angle from behind the thick trunk of a tree. At the sound of a gargling cry just above her on the balcony, she caught Frank’s eyes momentarily, and he gave her a wink, his rifle still smoking from a shot he’d fired at a gunman aiming at Sano&#235;.

The jeweler made a small motion with her hand as she neared the shade beneath the large house, signaling to Frank that he should follow her (and immediately regretted it, remembering his limp). She darted across the sandy ground, bullets raining on the ground behind her, but she only concentrated on her destination – the side of the tall, elegant manor house where Storm had sat just minutes ago. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Letho running doggedly toward the Mayor, but then the safe side of the house came into view, and she pushed herself toward it.

Almost there…

There was, thank God, a side porch to shield her from the sharpshooters. She turned the corner and dove behind it, rolling on the ground and almost crying with relief. Before she could get even the tiniest bit emotional, though, she peered cautiously through the screen of the porch. Her men were still clustered behind various hiding spots. A few had seen her sprinting the length of the houses, thankfully.

“You’ve got some guts, little lady…”

Her heart jumping into her throat, she spun around on the ground, her hands fumbling with the rifle and aiming at what had been behind her. With a jolt, she recognized the crew cut and slightly bent body of the rebel leader.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy on the trigger finger,” he said, his hands outspread as he approached her, his body still close to the wall. He looked just as harried as she was.

“Oh, fuck!” breathed Sano&#235;, staring at the leader as she lowered the mouth of her rifle. “Don’t do that to me!” she said angrily, the constant ping! of bullets hitting every solid surface almost enveloping her words in noise.

“I had to come around the other side of the house. I couldn’t run it like you, least of all across the front line,” he said, tapping the side of his bad leg. “Besides, we got four of ‘em already.” Sano&#235; noticed blood running down his left arm, unsure of where it had come from. Without warning, Frank moved just in front of the porch, put his fingers to his mouth, and blew a long, sharp whistle. When he’d ducked back behind the porch, smartly avoiding any shots coming his way, Sano&#235; was watching him fearfully.

“Are you nuts?!” she asked.

“Maybe a little.” Grinning, he motioned for her to look through the screen, which she did. Another balcony shooter had been shot squarely in the chest – the one Sano&#235; had injured – and fell over the balcony’s railing. As he landed crookedly on the ground, the remaining eight or nine of Frank’s rebels were slowly but surely making their way toward the side porch where Frank and the jeweler now hid.

“Let them get here and we’ll all aim for the rest of the Mayor’s men," said Frank firmly. "Only three of them are left standin’….and then we’ll — DOWN!”

They both shoved their heads downward instinctively, and not too soon – a bullet tore through the screen just where they had been looking through only a moment ago. Sano&#235; backed toward the wall and looked through once more.

A tall, brown-haired man was staring down at her from a high balcony on the office where Sano&#235; had been hiding. His round-topped hat still perched atop his head as the breeze blew through his hair, he watched Frank and Sano&#235;’s position with unreadable eyes.

Both the jeweler and the rebel leader began to empty their bullets at him, their most dangerous enemy at this point. As Frank made a particularly good, close shot at the man’s head, he shouted in uncharacteristic frustration, “It's fucking Daigle! He's got us pinned here!"

[Storm Veritas]

To say that things were going according to plan would be unfair. There was never a plan in such affairs of controlled chaos, as the only sense of “control” would be position. In that sense, he was relieved to know that they still held position, and that he felt air pump in and out of his lungs. His bolt hit Letho hard this time, looked like he knocked the huge bastard back a spell, not the same shrugged off child’s play that failed to shake him in Serenti. The bolt was strong now, but it still didn’t stop him.

Shit.

The man-beast did his morph thing again, something Storm had seen on the high seas and other times before. Letho once felled some terrible sea serpent with this incredible giant werewolf monstrosity form, and he maintained enough control to fire a round that hissed by the head of the slick-haired Veritas with a loud crack behind it. Fifty feet between them were gobbled in a flash of an eye by the fleet-footed overgrowth, and Storm had but one thought in mind all the while. Avoid the big f*cking blade.

He did, moving the only place that the massive sword wouldn’t slash through. Tight into Ravenheart, a shoulder charge that closed the gap and moved him inside the massive arc of the oncoming steel. Sadly for the foolishly brave mayor, the hands still came down bludgeoning him, and hitting the body of Letho Ravenheart’s wolfthing form headlong is akin to a fly combating the charging rhino. Thrown back, disoriented, he was a human rock flying back through a closed door. The front door rocked open violently, the hinge thankfully yielding and sending the wiry mage rocketing into the base of the stairs. Conscious yet wildly confused, he tried to keep his wits as he scanned.

The dark of the house and the distant chaos was a bizarre combination. Shards of glass littered the hardwood floor as windows above had been shot out, but there seemed to be no one on the bottom floor. Alone, he was the puppeteer of sorts, although far from in any sort of control of the situation. A massive silhouette in the doorway had to be the attacker, the looming beast Ravenheart. Of course, the dull fog around the shadow leaned towards a great lack of clarity in the shadow’s identity. Either way, he had to kill it, had to separate himself from it, finding sanctuary in the home.

My home, my stand.

A stumbling hand raised, dagger pointing at the large support ballast over the door. It was good, solid wood, but it was old, and suddenly Veritas thanked his lucky stars for the disgusting red bellied ants that he had found devouring his fine estate. The termites could be his little saviors.

A blast of electricity rocketed to the ballast, and Storm felt the whole house shift as he began to prop himself on the railing. He was hurt, probably broken ribs and lost wind, but not incapacitated. The door frame was another story. Wood splintered and shattered, the beam splitting and the house began to crumble over the sill. Perhaps the home would be a death-trap for both of them, but no visitor from this place would likely escape such a collapse.

Sadly, Letho Ravenheart was not of this place, and Storm feared the speed of the beast could be too much to slow.

[Letho]

It should have felt good hitting Storm and seeing him crash through a closed door, but it didn’t. Letho’s wounded shoulder connected with the substantially lither opponent and his benumbed electrocuted arm sprung to life with throbbing pain. The expansion of his muscles didn’t help either, his accelerated metabolism making his wound gush bountifully. Marshal’s face winced instinctively at this, his mind uttering a scream that echoed only within the walls of his skull before the transformed swordsman stepped onto the porch boldly. Pain was like fear; it was an essential part of combat and you could either grit your teeth and move forward or make yourself scarce from the struggle. And Letho wouldn’t make himself scarce, not when Storm Veritas, his nemesis, his own personal ghost, lay dazed within the manor he arrogated from the real Birchtown mayor.

“You should have fled, Storm Veritas.” Letho spoke in a callous voice, his right hand reloading the gunblade with a single-handed snap of his wrist. Above and around him the mayhem wasn’t dying down, gunfire interrupted with sporadic afflictive outcries the only distinctive sound in the vicinity. In the back of his mind, he hoped that Sano&#235; is still alive and kicking, but the majority of his focus was now bent on the seemingly kayoed rogue. On the kill. “If you did, you would have a chance...”

But that’s as far as his righteous tantrum would get this time. Even though clearly stunned, Storm launched another one of his conjured bolts and Letho’s left was in no shape to block it this time. Luckily, it seemed that there was no need for an intervention because the mage’s aim was awry, sending the lightning above Letho’s head. That made them even in duds, the swordsman thought, but the crackle and moan of shifting wood in the entire front part of the manor made him reconsider that statement. Because before he even got a chance to shoot the tricky bastard in the face, the walls came crashing down at him like an avalanche. Wood and stone and roughcast collapsed as if the entire place was made of cards, knocking the Lawmaker from Letho’s right hand, cutting his forehead, pressing down on his shoulders and immobilizing him efficiently.

Not taking him out though. Sure, he had about a ton of debris on his back and a jagged piece of broken beam pushing into the wound on his shoulder, but Letho was in situation such as this one before. He once entered a trivial battle with a vampire named Vorin and in the arena of the fabled Corone Citadel he found himself buried in stone. And he knew that he had to do now what he did back then. He had to conserve his strength, gather it all up and try not to breathe in too much of the dust that rose around the collapsed wing of the manor like a cloud. Not a cute puffy one that always reminded Myrhia of a bunny. No, the mist around him was like smoke, only not nearly as smooth, trying to encroach up his nostrils and make him breathe bitter, tangible air. He would wait for the dust to subside and then he would make the bastard pay for outfoxing him.

The gunfight between Storm’s lackeys and the insurgents came to an abrupt halt with the collapsing of the portion of the lofty manor, the unpredicted event surely not something either side foresaw even in their wildest predictions. Dust in the air was like sand, falling down with the barely audible sound of million tiny particles hitting the solid surface. Letho prepared, doing his best to bend his knees as much as the rubble allowed.

“If you did...” he reiterated the sentence that he intended to speak before the house fell on his head, his voice muffled by feet and feet of debris. “...you would have a chance at getting out of here alive.”

His legs pushed vehemently, sending his bulky frame through the detritus like a cannonball, the precipitous drilling motion nearly breaking both his collar bone and his neck. But they didn’t break, his massive muscles supporting his bulk, protecting his skeleton, and he burst out of the junk pile with an audible irritated groan. His forehead was bloody, his face matted with gray powder, his frown as thick as ever, peering down at Storm that stood in the remnants of the hall. The manor looked ridiculous now, a large part of it missing as if somebody cut it out, revealing the bedroom above and the adjacent bathroom in full detail.

But Letho paid no heed to the sectional view of the building. His blank white eyes were locked on the black-haired varlet that nearly buried him alive, his lips curled into a grin that seemed somewhere between malicious and satisfactory. His right hand was raised before his filthy face, a tight squeeze of the swordsman’s fist producing a foot-long jagged talon that impaired his vision only for a second. And then the Marshal was on the move again.

He leapt from his elevated position, the arc of his trajectory sharp and low, rifling Letho at the mage by the shortest route. His right talon came in a downwards slash, a foreseeable attack that Storm was bound to dodge if he wanted to live. But Letho knew that as well. He fought the black-haired murderer once before, on the heated dust of Serenti coliseum. That’s why, even as the swordsman finished his predictable move, his left squeezed tight as well. The result was twofold; his shoulder wounds spurted with fresh blood and his left gauntlet produced another talon that was trust at Storm’s gut.

[Empyrean]

Together, the jeweler and the rebel leader could keep Stephen Daigle at bay for hours if they had to, but they knew subconsciously that they couldn’t. Whatever strange agility Frank had shown before was fleeting – the fatigue from the duration of the shootout revealed itself in the sweat running down the side of his face and the back of his neck. Every chance he got, he collapsed against the side porch and put pressure on the wound on his shoulder with his sturdy hand.

Sano&#235;, once exhilarated by the authority in holding a gun, now only wanted to let it drop from her hands like a hot potato. Every time she reloaded, she seemed to draw more of her strength from her body and into the sleek black cylinder of the Winchester rifle, into each bullet that came roaring out of the mouth and through the tattered screen. She was getting tired, and because her fellow insurgents had trouble joining her and the rebel leader, she had no idea how many of them were left. Stephen Daigle was getting lazy in his shots, but no less deadly. One slip of the finger on the trigger didn’t mean just an off-place shot – it meant a reckless, unpredictable bullet, and that was never good. The one thing Sano&#235; felt that she controlled was the direction of her enemy’s gunfire.

Her heart jumped about a mile at the sound of pure, crackling energy very close by, then a loud snap like the splintering of a large tree. It took a moment, but every gun that had been firing, every sharp metallic ringing caused by zigzagging bullets suddenly ceased. In the wake of such a showdown, the silence was unbelievable. Every head turned toward the manor house, where the entire frame of the building was trembling, hissing as the wood began to tear. Frank clenched the side of the porch, watching the trembling frame with uneasy eyes. Storm’s gunmen standing on the second-level balcony lowered their rifles, looked down, bewildered, at the floor beneath their feet.

Snap!

C-c-crrrack!

“Sano&#235;, move!” yelled the rebel leader, tugging at Sano&#235;’s sleeve and dragging her up with him as he bolted dangerously out into the open. The jeweler didn’t need to be told twice – her ponytail flying out behind her, she ran after Frank, more anxious about saving Frank from an untimely death than the threat of falling debris. The manor caved in, its front side splitting in two and ripping apart the walls that used to house parts of the various rooms in the house. With it came two of the remaining gunmen on Storm Veritas’s side, who tumbled through the torn balcony and into the mountain of wood and stone in front of the main entrance. The third was smart enough to jump, though rather haphazardly, into the streets, where he stood in full view, as stunned by this turn of events as anyone else who had been watching.

In the midst of her confusion, Sano&#235; thought of Letho, whom she was sure had been inside when the house collapsed. And then, briefly, of Stephen Daigle, who had disappeared from his vantage point on the office building. Maybe he ran, she thought vaguely, beginning to panic at both thoughts.

Frank bent forward on his good leg, rifle in hand. He cocked it and pulled the trigger, and suddenly, even the third gunman, Storm’s last accessory, was destroyed along with the house, falling forward onto the already-bloodied sand with a wound straight through the heart visible from the stain on his back. The rebel leader stood straight up again, surveying the area around him with a sharp, critical brown eye, even as the seven remaining rebels rose from their hiding spots to peer through the cloud of dust in front of the manor.

“Frank…” whispered Sano&#235;, her rifle loose in her hand. The tip of it touched the ground, and she looked hesitantly at the older man, as if waiting for a confirmation.

Frank didn’t answer for a moment. After looking at every possible nook and cranny, he turned swiftly to the jeweler, his eyes wide with unexpected elation. “We’re done,” he replied confidently, though his gaze strayed back and forth from the manor house to the young woman before him. “They’re…they’re all gone,” he decided, raising the tip of his rifle to his lips and blowing across the top of it, seemingly in jest.

In spite of herself, Sano&#235; laughed. She laughed for the first time since arriving in the Four Towns district, laughed as though she had just passed a test, and momentarily, she felt as though she had. All of the tensions that had built up for the past couple of nights seemed to take to the air, the afternoon sun suddenly feeling wonderful on her skin.

And then, all at once, her senses went into action. She saw Frank’s kind brown eyes turn hard as he looked off to the side. And she heard the clicking of a metal trigger similar to the one she’d been hearing for the past half hour; she felt the rebel leader shoving her with both hands away from him, making her stumble onto the pavement near the crumbling manor as her rifle flew out of her hands. She could smell and feel the heat of a bullet heading just where she’d been standing moments ago. Where Frank stood now.

No, no, no…

She whirled around just in time to see the older man plummet to the ground, his bad leg crumpling beneath him and his chest turning red from the blood seeping into the cheap threads of his shirt. Her eyes lingered on him for only a second, because Stephen Daigle stood a few feet away, staring at the same grotesque sight before he turned his doleful brown eyes to Sano&#235;, who stood like a statue at first.

She reacted fast, too immunized to the sight of bullets to think too much for once. This was the knife’s edge, and it ended with the man standing only feet from her. And she wasn’t immortal – she would tip to one side or the other. Her fingers felt only air as she reached for the rifle, remembering that Frank had accidentally knocked it out of her hands. Instead, her fingers wrapped themselves around the pistol in her belt.

Stephen was already aiming for her, but Sano&#235; wanted to be faster, and without the rifle strapped to her, she was. She aimed the pistol at his head – and began to move slightly to the right.

They both shot at once, but only one reached its original target. Stephen’s bullet lodged itself near Sano&#235;’s left shoulder instead of her heart. Sano&#235;’s bullet caught Stephen in the neck.

She didn’t get to see how he died, she only knew that he had. She was looking down at her chest in open-mouthed shock, touching the spot where the bullet had gone through her flesh. Her hand came away bloody. As her breathing became shallower from the agonizing pain, her vision began to swim. She was unconscious before she even hit the ground.

[Storm Veritas]

He wasn’t sure how, but he had managed to elude bullets in the gunfight only to approach death by old-fashioned bludgeoning. When Letho emerged from the wreckage, the combination of soot and silt and dust and smoke was difficult to discern yet freakishly not surprising. Nothing would stop Ravenheart, and the once-cocky mayor knew it. His strength was not limited to any human boundary, his endurance and speed outrageous.

Fortunately, his brainpower was something that gave Veritas great opportunity.

That’s it, you big retard. Give me the ole’ bull charge, horns down and out of control. Come on down!

Letho didn’t disappoint. The man-beast charged forward with a reckless abandon, flailing arms and blades out from all directions. He also skittered close to the ground, making the job of the wiry mage altogether easier. Though battered and bruised, Storm had taken the time to recover as the man-monster emerged from the ashes, and by the time the transient mammoth had scampered unto him, the scoundrel had bounded into the air, clasping hard to a low-slung rafter and rocketing down back into him.

He came down fast at the backside of the beast, daggers drawn and stretched taut. His body was a missile, hard and lean and composed, hell bent on driving himself into Letho. If this were to be the last stand, it would be a mighty one.

[Letho]

In the aftermath of the partial manor collapse, the faint dusty mist obscured Letho’s vision just enough to prevent him from adjusting his attack to Storm’s tremendous leap. But he did see the mage leap, springing skywards like an acrobat on a trampoline, and he knew that the counterattack would come immediately afterwards. The Marshal had to time his defense immaculately. If he moved too soon, he would only prolong this turn-based game that the two initiated. If he moved too late, he would have a pair of daggers poking at his kidneys. The two extremities were separated with mere fractions of a second. Letho hoped that he picked the right cue.

When he moved, he was every bit as fast as Storm, stepping forwards and throwing his hand in a backswing. His talon clashed with the incoming daggers, pushing them aside by the sheer force of the swing, and completing the first part of the spin. The second brought Letho face to face with the varlet, his wounded left grabbing the man by the neck. Though their height was similar, the Marshal held Storm’s feet above the ground effortlessly, moving him like a stray cat and slamming him into the fraction of a wall that still stood upright. The talon of his right made a reappearance, its tip making the contact with Storm’s cheek, pricking the skin ever so minutely. Letho’s face - frowned, white-eyed and grinning - stood inches away from Storm’s.

Letho’s left squeezed. Despite the pain that exploded in his shoulder and spread the pain down the nervous system, begging his muscles to cease their function, his gauntleted left squeezed. He could’ve just snapped Storm’s neck, but he wanted to see life slipping away from him, he wanted to feel his desperate inability to draw breath. For all that perished under his boot. For all those that sought mercy at his hand and found none. For justice.

No.

Not for justice.

Letho’s ivory aura shimmered like an old light bulb and then quelled completely, transforming him back into the weary-eyed swordsman. His grip loosened minutely, just before his hand swung Storm sideways like a sack of bones, discarding him further inside the crumbling house. Killing the rogue wasn’t justice, wasn’t right, regardless of how much he wanted to do it. Several months ago, in the frozen land of Nyd, Storm had every right to take Letho’s life and when given a chance to do so, he opted against it. The reasons didn’t matter. The circumstances didn’t matter. In the essence it was the same situation. One could rightfully kill the other and didn’t. Now was the time to settle the score.

“Get as far away from here as you can, Storm.” the Marshal spoke, not looking at the crumbled knave. “You spared my life in Nyd. Now we’re even.”

Letho turned his back to Storm tenaciously, leaving the man in the dusty remnants of the manor and climbing over the mountain of rubble that stood before it. It took him several minutes to fish out his gunblade from the debris and once he did, he left the collapsed edifice behind it, burying it and Storm in his memory.

The aftermath of the battle awaited him in the courtyard, where the remaining rebels collected their wounded. Frank was as dead as doornail, his hand still wrapped around his pistol in a deathly cramp. His eyes were closed, but his face was anything but tranquil, twisted and haunting for the Marshal. Another ghost to stalk his dreams, Frank and his wife and two children he left behind. Sometimes being the hero meant killing a lot of people. Sometimes it meant dying. Frank’s path took him to the latter, much to the regret of both Letho and the seven insurgents.

“Missus Sano&#235; is hurt pretty badly, Marshal.” one of the rebels spoke, leading the swordsman towards the thick shade of a large birch tree where the jeweler lay unconscious. Her left shoulder was gushing with blood, tainting her majestic robes and threatening to kill her by blood loss. Letho placed his gunblade in a holster at his back before gathering her lithe body into his arms.

“Collect the dead, both ours and theirs, and give them a proper burial.” he spoke to the remaining men in a rough, sinister tone, taking one last look at the battlefield before walking away with Sano&#235; in his arms.

***

The Marshal’s Office of Birchtown wasn’t bustling with activity just yet, but it was bound to first thing tomorrow. Letho named one of the remaining rebels a marshal, made two more his deputies and told them to clean this place first thing in the morning and start doing their bloody job. Frank was his first choice, but Frank was already pushing up the daisies. His wife screamed and wailed and cried her eyes out, but never did she incriminate the Marshal for what happened to her husband. She was as strong woman. She would make it through.

Sano&#235; was a strong woman too. True, she was still unconscious while he patched up her shoulder wound, but the way she led the men on that day was nothing short of impressive. And coming from Letho Ravenheart, that meant a lot. Right now, the jeweler was still sleeping on the dusty sofa, her bloody robes pulled over her like a blanket. Her face was serene though, Letho’s healing touch dousing most of the ache out of her system, leaving her with the rest she rightfully deserved. Letho reckoned she’d be mighty pissed about the taint on her robes, but given the fact that she was luckier then six other sods that reached their final destination six feet under the dry soil of Birchtown.

Letho sat at the desk as tranquil as a stiff, his hat – that now had a nasty thumb-sized hole – tipped low, his feet resting on the table surface. He had to move on to the next town, the last one in the Four Town area, but he couldn’t go without saying goodbye to Sano&#235;. Not because he was sentimental or because he was terribly concerned that she would be upset if he didn’t do it, but because the jeweler was a true comrade and when shit hit the fan, she stood fast. And that was something Letho truly respected.

[Empyrean]

Sanoë opened her eyes. All she could remember was a sharp pain in her chest and a dark stain on her hand, and then blackness. She didn’t dream at all, and somehow, it was worse than having a nightmare.

It took Sanoë a little time to remember what had happened. She blinked lazily, trying to keep her eyesight from fluttering every which way, and slowly she felt the weight of her body again. There was still a painful ache in her chest, but it was duller than before, and when she touched it, there was no blood. Only a tenderness that made her wince and pull her hand away. When her vision had returned to normal, she realized that she was laid out on the old sofa in the Marshal’s Office, covered by her bloodied jeweler’s robe and wearing just her long undershirt and pants. Oh….shit. The robe was strained with trails of blood and traces of dirt and sand. Damned thing would be ruined if she didn’t wash it soon. She pulled the robe off of her body, feeling a bit too smothered and hot.

And then the jeweler’s mind was suddenly flooded with images: a young man’s head shot into a gory oblivion. Herself, crammed into an alley and gathering up any courage she might have left to shoot at her enemy. Watching Frank, the rebel leader, collapse in the sand with a bullet hole in his chest, his fingers wrapped around his gun as though the remainder of his life depended on it.

Stephen Daigle’s head separating from his body as Sanoë’s last shot tore through his neck.

The jeweler’s eyes closed again, tightly. God…. She was trying her best not to cry, but she could feel those goddamned tears rising beneath her eyelids. Don’t cry, you dumbass. You don’t cry, especially not when you knew what you were getting yourself into.

Sanoë tilted her head up – but only slightly, since it hurt too much to move anything close to her left arm – and saw Letho, looking as though he’d just spent a rough day at the office and looking as though he wanted to catch a few Z’s. She wanted to laugh at the sight, to laugh about something stupid and forget what had happened, but after just inhaling, she knew laughing would hurt like a series of dagger wounds all at once.

Still, she was too glad, too relieved to be alive and well – or alive, at least – not to manage a small grin. “Letho,” she said aloud, the volume of her voice much softer than she’d expected. It seemed rather unlike her, but she’d caught the Marshal’s attention. “Thank you. For getting me out of there and taking care of this,” she added, nodding slightly in the direction of her wound. She was a little shy without the jeweler’s robe on for some reason, but she kept her face as serious as it usually was.

She struggled over what to say at first; there was too much running through her mind for her to just focus on one thing. So she settled on the subject of Frank. “I want to make sure Frank is….is treated accordingly when they bury him. He doesn’t deserve anything less, because he saved me once or twice. If it weren’t for him, he would be on this couch and I would be out there,” she said gravely, looking out the front window. The men were hauling bodies into separate carts to be buried. Thinking of the older man, she inhaled slowly, trying to keep from even looking like she might have to cry. “I’d like to speak with his widow later.”

Sanoë shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t used to voicing her concerns point-blank, but this was a debt that seemed to require it of her. There was a reason she’d gotten away with just a bullet in her chest.

She looked back at Letho, realizing for the first time that he had all of his things with him, looking as though he were ready to leave. She knew that there was one town left and that he had to go alone, but she unexpectedly wanted to go with him. She couldn’t, obviously, but as unpleasant as this business was, she had slowly been adjusting to the status of Deputy, hating the implications of carrying a gun but feeling like it was made to fit in her hands. Most of the time she caught herself thinking that she would have been good in this business, just as she was with jewelry.

But she didn’t want to go solely for that reason – she had adjusted to Letho’s company like she had adjusted to the rifle. Sure, neither of them were the best talkers, but they worked together easily. And Letho was a good man – not for acting the part of the hero, not for seeking justice for people he barely knew – but because of the way he was with people, the way he ignored their initial impressions on him. The way he was with Myrhia, staying with the frail redhead not out of pity, but out of love. The way he was with Sanoë, getting past her frigidity and her temper tantrums and quirks.

The jeweler knew she wouldn’t have been nearly so genial.

“I should be thanking you, too, before you go,” she said finally, her awkwardness visible in her expression. “So thank you. I think, even after all that…I’m a little glad I took the job, and more glad to have met you. I’d rather be on your side than against you,” she chuckled lightly, her blue eyes self-conscious. “And don’t forget about your present for Myrhia. I can’t turn down a business transaction.”

She managed to push herself up a little higher, so she was sitting up more than lying down. “And…you can keep that tiger’s eye stone. I don’t know how much good it’ll do when it wears off, but I don’t want to have to come and save your reckless ass again.” She smiled then. She smiled despite the pain in her body and the emotional unease she had after revealing what felt like too much of herself, because she was alive, and she could never take that for granted after the past few days. And she smiled because Letho deserved it, after so many frowns.

Sanoë found that she couldn’t judge him for trying to do what was right anymore. When there were people in the world like Letho, whose job was it to be a justice-seeker, if not Letho’s?

[Storm Veritas]

He was tossed aside, his assault thwarted and he was taken in hand far too easily. Letho Ravenheart had grown far too strong to battle with. He could make a fine argument that the air of sanctity the lawmaker tried to bring was absurd, but it would fall upon deaf ears. His own moral equity had been long since expended in this town. The massive, hulking Ravenheart squeezed his head and face, Storm now helpless to stop the assault. The end had come, and he had gone down fighting.

And yet, in a few impossibly cruel seconds, he was left twisting in the wind, his own destiny extended. Letho discarded him like trash, moving to leave the manor after threatening him with his life. Veritas was shamed, a broken man, laying in the rubble of his own broken home. His fortunes could be carried elsewhere, but the broken reputation would follow.

Better to have killed me. That son of a bitch probably knew as much. Now it’s time to wither and die, I suppose.

He couldn’t move from the scraps for some time, his body beaten and mangled, his ego deflated and soul crushed. It felt like hours, but was a full minute before he could stand again. The silt-filled air was thick and quiet, and the circular stairway to the second floor was far too quiet, the lack of people coming down a frightening, disconcerting situation.

Daigle… no!

Storm stood and formed the best semblance of a run he could muster up the stairs, each step accompanied by pain and suffering. He knew what he would find up there, but he had to see it. His heart fell through his stomach to find the brave and fair Stephen Daigle no more than a bloody heap. The head had actually left the body, and Veritas found himself seconds later on the first floor, crying. Half of him thought he was mourning for the loss of a good man – a family man. Half realized that Stephen Daigle was his last tie to humanity.

And this one actually cared. This one mattered. I’m sorry, Steve.

He knew moving into battle that their lives could be lost. He was prepared and ready for his own to go. The impending self-sacrifice made the fine lives he put on the line much more justifiable. Daigle was to be a warrior, not a martyr, but fate had a funny way of making the rules as it went along. Now the good man was dead, and Storm was left shamed. He would have to leave town. He would have to start over. There was no use seeking refuge in Birchtown; they would scorn him, kill him if they could. The family of Daigle would be well compensated – theirs was the fortune that Storm had once called his own. He wouldn’t be needing it where he was going.

Not that he knew where that was, besides away. Birchtown was done with him, and he couldn’t return. Letho had seen to that. Now he felt a certain score to settle, but knew it was petty jealousy speaking. He knew that he hadn’t been spared so much as simply discarded, a useless heap thrown to the wreckage pile. Ravenheart was too big now, anyway. He had claimed the town with that beautiful girl, and now they would start anew, Veritas supposed. But it didn’t matter. Letho was history now, and though it was a storied one, he wanted it behind him. There were other worlds than this, and this world would no longer be his. He knew it never should have been his to begin with, and the loss of Daigle cemented his own impugn. The law was not served, but justice certainly was.

[Letho]

Letho hated goodbyes as much as the next man. Goodbyes were like an ending of a book; you felt a sense of accomplishment once you flipped that last page and read that last word, but when you stepped back, took a deep breath and let your thoughts run rampant, you discovered the desire for more. And despite being what Myrhia liked to call an Incurable Loner, the Marshal wanted more. More of Sano&#235;’s company, more of their camaraderie, more of the stand-offish behavior and stubborn demeanor on both sides. The jeweler was a good fighter, able to withstand pressure and make critical decisions at critical times. But more importantly, underneath that heavy fa&#231;ade – that barely differed from his own – there was a good person. A bit bitchy, a bit headstrong, but a good soul nonetheless. And that was a rare find in the world today.

When Sano&#235; spoke, her voice was dire and Letho’s face was stern and solid in response as he tipped his hat higher and listened to her words. It was clear that, despite the chaotic conclusion to their companionship, they were indeed well met. He earned her respect, she earned his, and bond that Letho seldom allowed was formed between the Marshal and his hired Deputy. A bond of true friendship. It was rather unfortunate that it came at such a high price.

“The feeling of gratitude is mutual, Sano&#235;.” he finally spoke, stoic and unmoving in his chair for the time being. “I have to admit that I had my doubts in the beginning, but you proved to be a worthy companion...” a pause, long enough for his lips to curve into a mild smirk as his keen eyes peered at her from below the brim of his hat. “...and a true friend.”

He dropped his feet on the ground, his spurs jingling like rusty bells, and got back on his feet. “A damn shame for Frank though. He was a good man, probably would’ve been a mayor if he survived.” Letho spoke, approaching the crumbling door that still stood slanted, hanging on just one hinge. His weary eyes were on the folk in the street and birch caskets that held the dead within. He thought about mentioning that Sano&#235;’s tiger’s eyes was in one of those coffins, together with the Frank’s corpse, but decided that it was a detail she didn’t need to know. That nobody needed to know. Frank was a hero and a bit of a martyr and there shouldn’t be anything to blemish that title.

“I’m sure his widow would appreciate some company, especially if it was somebody who spent those last minutes with her man.” It was a lie. He wasn’t sure. Agony of such a grave loss oftentimes produced various results, ranging from lethargy to fury. But she did need somebody to talk to, and Sano&#235; seemed levelheaded enough to do just that.

“But rest first and let the wound heal properly. You did your job admirably. I couldn’t have asked for a better Deputy, Sano&#235;.” he said, his figure still leant on the doorframe and his eyes still on the cortege that passed soundlessly.

“As for me, I have to proceed.” Letho added after a short period of silence, interrupted only by the occasional whimper coming from the outside and the shuffling of the feet making their way down the dirt road. He turned around, fished a small canvas purse and set it on the unremarkable desk. “Oaktown is still lawless and I have no knowledge of the situation there, which means either everything is right or everything is wrong. And somehow I fear the latter.”

The Marshal approached the wounded woman more precariously then he wanted to, as if he was somehow afraid to break the serene grimness of the farewell moment. His right hand found its way to her healthy shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze accompanied with a smile. It was a salute of Savion Knights, and even though the Knighthood of his home kingdom perished years ago, Letho still maintained the tradition and greeted true friends in a truly friendly manner.

“Goodbye, Sano&#235;. Hopefully we’ll meet under less hectic circumstances again.” he said, his hand steady on her shoulder for a couple of seconds before he made a move towards the door. He paused only to add: “And we will meet again. I will hold you to your word about the transaction. Leave a note here at the Office where I can find you.”

And with a final courtly tip of his hat and a subtle bow, Letho left Sano&#235; and departed from Birchtown. His heading was set on the final stop of the rather long and troublesome journey; Oaktown.

[Letho]

INTERLUDE

Letho thought that he wouldn’t mind riding alone. He was, after all, a lonewolf, an island, somebody that spent years and years wandering with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Half a day of trotting down the dusty Corone roads should’ve been a breeze to him. But as he rode out of Birchtown with the sun reddening his bearded face by its dusking hues, he realized that the time of solitude seemed eons in the past.

He knew Myrhia almost a full year now – a best year of his life, he would say, better even then the one he spent with Kristiniel back in Savion – and from the moment they met on the bridge that overlooked a murky river that drooled through Scara Brae he was seldom alone. The redhead was always at his side, chirpy and blissfully wide-eyed, and suddenly his little company of one turned into a pair. Sometimes more, when they would join forces with some other adventurers, but never less then two. And only now that he was alone again – even though only temporarily – he realized that his ability to withstand the silence of the loneliness got effaced, bleached out into oblivion by Myrhia’s sprightliness and almost childish vigor.

That was probably why he hired deputies in the first place. Even though it would probably take twice as long, he was rather confident that he would be able to deal with all of this on his own. But he didn’t want to. Solitude was like a stubborn mistress that forced you to get used to all her bad sides and walked around with a scorned face if you finally managed to turn your back on her.

His attempts to keep himself busy with pondering on multitude of things proved to be a bad idea. When he tried to think of sweet Myrhia and her coy smiles and how her skin smelled when she would curl next to him during the night, all he could think about was how he was unable to feel that tonight. When he tried to think of Sano&#235; and Rainee, all he could think about was how after two towns he lost both of them due to circumstances. When he tried to think about Storm, all he could think about was how that was now a closed book, the kind that he would put on one of the high shelves of his memory and let the dust cover it. When he tried to think about Oaktown, he realized that he was fishing in murky waters because he had no idea what awaited him.

Luckily for him, the four towns were placed fairly closed to one another, and before the crescent moon reached the apex of his trip over the night sky, Letho Ravenheart could see Oaktown in the distance. He decided to rest at the eaves of the adjacent forest until the morning and then finish the job.

[Molotov]

CHAPTER 3 - THE UGLY

Oaktown was not a particularly pleasant place. Cigarettes cost way too much and the people were a bit too conservative for Molotov’s taste. Every time he actually entered the city, people gave him odd looks and children gawked about his mohawk. While the mutant had learned to take the gabs from children in stride, he could have done without the smart aleck comments from shopkeepers every time he attempted to buy a pot of country liquor or a packet of cigarettes. It was a particularly doleful assignment, but Molotov didn’t mind it. The pay was acceptable, it was just enough to cover the drinks, food and cigarettes he consumed, and it was for a good cause. Given the city’s needs, it would be unlikely that they would find anyone nearly as good for the money they could afford.

Thus, Molotov stayed, and he hated himself for it. However, the town needed him. He guarded the gates of the town, and every time that someone tried to cross at night, the mutant stopped them. It would have normally seemed like a trite assignment, but everyone who left Oaktown seemed to never come back. There was some kind of siren song that lured people out towards the woods surrounding the town, and all of them seemed unable to do anything but follow. The mutant had heard it as well, but he seemed to be immune.

“Every time I hear that sodding cacophony I bloody tell the singer ‘don’t tell me what to do,’” Molotov recalled as he sat outside the wall smoking a cigarette aimlessly. He had drunk three pots of liquor, and the mutant had begun to wonder if he hadn’t grown too much of a tolerance for the drink. He was as sober as he was when he’d started his watch, and it made his job particularly dull.

He hummed to himself tunelessly, as if he hoped someone inside would complain about the noise. At the very least that would be some entertainment. Doing good work was supposed to be its own reward, but according to the mutant, good work was an albatross that hung around his neck and was made tolerable only by large amounts of liquor. Now, Molotov was searching for some form of entertainment, something that would pass the time until morning when he’d get an opportunity to pass out from the enduring boredom that was his life.

“Almost makes me pine for the days as a serial killer,” the mutant thought to himself. “Any bloody thing would be better than sitting around here all night, throwing stones at the sodded wolves that stop by every now and then…”

It was a thankless task. Somehow, despite his best efforts, people continued to escape. Even when Molotov had managed to stop them, they never thanked him in the morning, even after they had put up a substantial fight. The mutant had already suffered three black eyes and a few bruised shins from some of the more belligerent townspeople, and was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t be perpetually decked in spikes.

“Bloody getting a needle of delyn in the arm isn’t as bad as being killed,” Molotov rationalized to himself. However the mutant still was reluctant to be anything but cordial. It had been his intention to gain redemption, something that might be undermined if he were to act on his most snide thoughts.

It left Molotov with nothing for amusement, and a long night to pass. What was particularly annoying was the fact that he was almost out of cigarettes.

(If this isn't what you wanted, let me know. I'm writing this with a bit of beer in me, which means a mistake isn't that unlikely)

[Letho]

Oaktown was hemmed in by what seemed to Letho like hastily built palisades – oaken palisades, of course – and that could almost be expected. After years of suffering the tyranny of the Lawmen, the citizens of the Four Towns area were finally liberated and it came as no surprise that some of them wanted to make sure they remained that way. The Marshal reckoned that they probably had some sort of local militia as well, something akin to those yahoos back in Pinetown that waved their guns at everything that stood out of their daily routine. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it wasn’t the right thing either. And that was why Letho was here, to clean out the trash, bring in the just hand of the law and make things right.

However, while the flimsy fortification failed to surprise the Marshal, what happened once he planted himself beneath one of the oaks on the eaves of the forest left him stupefied. There was a buzz in the air, a nondescript tune that seemed to crawl in between the trees like a mist comprised out of genteel sounds. There seemed to be no words accompanying this buzz at first, and Letho decided to make nothing of it. His mind, however, thought otherwise. It soon started to interpret the sounds, translate them inadvertently and soon in the midst of all the dulcet tones there was a promise that there was a better place to rest deeper in the forest. That there was a merry creek with the water crystal clear and cool. That there was a red-haired maiden that caught her leg in one of the bear traps. Those and countless other promises swarmed his mind all at once and soon he caught himself rationalizing and almost negotiating with this voice that wanted him to venture deeper into the woods. It was a fight against a mental pull and Letho’s willpower was making a firm stand for the time being.

But by the time the voice in his head started to inspire deadly curiosity in his head, the Marshal almost succumbed to the eerily call. His reason kept telling him that curiosity killed the cat, but his mind was cooing that he was a pretty tough cat to kill. Luckily, even though that explanation almost tipped the scales and made him explore the forest, there was something that drew his attention from the luring tune. A human figure walked through the meadow at a gait that seemed weary, coming from the direction of Oaktown. Once it got close enough for Letho’s eyes to be able to ascertain him in full detail, the Marshal could see that the weary gait was actually dreamy. And why not? The man was in his long johns and a simple linen tunic, sleepwalking in his slippers that were now brown from the mud he stepped into. His mouth was muttering incomprehensible gibberish in a whisper.

“Hey, you there.” Letho said, setting aside his palaver with his own deluded mind and getting back to his feet. “What are you doing out here at such a late hour?”

No response. Just the same jabber and the same slow walk that somehow managed to guide the man through the trees without hitting one. Letho heard of this sleepwalking phenomena once or twice, but the only remedy he knew for it was waking up, so he approached the man and caught him by the shoulder. The formerly closed eyes sprung wide open instantly, looking at and through the Marshal but clearly not seeing too much.

“Must have cake!” the man bawled, trying to push past Letho, but to no avail. The hand held his shoulder unyieldingly, provoking an instant contortion of the sleepy face, transforming it into an angry grimace. “CAKE!”

His hand punched at Letho’s forearm feebly and then the man came growling forward in an attempt to bite the swordsman’s face off. Before his teeth got even close to the Marshal’s face, a hand slapped him across the mouth, rendering him unconscious instantly. Well, more unconscious then he was while searching for some cake in the forest during the night.

“A lunatic. A perfect way to start my job in Oaktown.” Letho thought as he picked the man up and threw him across the saddle of his horse like a corpse. The voices in his head were returning now, but he exiled them with a following thought. “Might as well make my visit early.”

He led his steed and the incapacitated noctambulist from the forest and down the dirt road that led towards what seemed like closed heavyset gate that barred entrance to the town. Next to the entrance, jutting over the uneven palisades, was what seemed like a shabby guard tower and even though there was plenty of moonlight, Letho was unable to see if there was a sentry posted. Nonetheless, he called out in a firm tone, his fist striking the gate and making it quiver substantially.

“Open up! I have a crazed man here that went for a walk in the forest in his nightclothes. I believe he’s one of your own.”

[Molotov]

The booming voice startled Molotov at first. Everything had been so quiet, the loud voice was particularly jarring. A shiver fell down the mutant’s spine and his cigarette fell from his hands. It took the mutant a few seconds to gather himself and pick up his weapons before he approached the gate. There he saw a stranger, a rather well built one who seemed a bit too competent to really have any business in Oaktown. However, Molotov was appreciative. It had seemed that this stranger had managed to catch one of the residents of Oaktown that had eluded his grasp.

“And its Thurbold,” the mutant observed. “Bloody wanker has tried to escape eight times already, and every sodded time the bugger manages to hit me in the shins and say some fuck thing about cake…”

Impressed, Molotov sheathed his weapons before approaching the stranger. Given that it was late at night and the disappearances around Oaktown were becoming increasingly notorious, the mutant thought it best that he not appear like much of a threat. If necessary, he would have had enough magic to fight this stranger, but he doubted any one considerate enough to bring Thurbold back in one piece would have come to Oaktown looking for a fight. Perhaps the stranger would want a bit of compensation, but the situation seemed like nothing that couldn’t be solved without resorting to violence.

“Hello,” the mutant said. “I’m sorry, but I’m a bit reluctant to let you in, even though you did bring back Thurbold right now… Problem is, some bugger or something is in those woods, making people disappear. I don’t bloody know you, and you don’t seem like much trouble, but I don’t want to let you into a city where everyone is sleeping… hope you can see the logic there.”

Molotov was pretty sure this stranger would agree. He didn’t think it likely that anyone would really want to be around Thurbold’s company any longer than they had to. Not only was the man one of the more belligerent people to recapture, but he was a deceitful merchant that few people in Oaktown even cared for. A few times, the mutant had wondered if he wouldn’t have been doing the town a favor by just letting Thurbold walk into the forest and never be seen again. However, the mutant had always relented, as annoying as Thurbold was, Molotov had never thought that the man deserved to die.

“Just give me the sod there, and we’ll be off,” Molotov said, holding out his hands to take Thurbold from the stranger. “If you want some quid for this, in the morning I’ll talk to the village elders and get something worked out…”

[Letho]

There were some things that a person never forgot. Sometimes it was because those things were milestone moments in ones life, from the feverish first kisses to the greatest moments of embarrassment that always made a comeback when a person least wanted them to. On other occasions, these things were oddities that simply struck you in an uncanny way and just deep enough to stick. Letho had a collection of these curios details that just crept into his gray matter and amongst them was probably the weirdest hairdo that he ever saw in his life. The color was different now, but the mohawk – accompanied by the queer idiom – was unique to a rather disturbing man that the Marshal met on only one occasion. And one was more then enough for people like Molotov.

Apparently, the mutant was the militia that Letho predicted and he seemed rather protective in his disposition. The swordsman couldn’t really blame him; regardless of how amicable a person seemed – and Letho wasn’t known for being amicable-looking – if he knocked on your door at some hour after midnight, you were bound to think twice before letting him in.

“Molotov, right?” the Marshal said once the man was done. “We escorted that brat Aidos in Haidia together some time ago, remember? Wound up killing a dragon and dancing in the king’s hall?”

Letho remembered the needlessly perilous journey in Haidia where they ended up facing a dragon because prince Aidos wanted to experience real adventure. Luckily for them, the wyrm that they faced was plagued with dementia just enough to practically kill itself. The king gave them a royal welcome and made them the prime attraction of the pompous ball. Letho danced with Myrhia, Molotov was stuck with Rheawien, an uncanny pair if Letho ever saw one.

“But I’m not here to reminisce.” the bearded swordsman said, moving the hem of his leather duster, displaying the golden badge that seemed argent in the bright moonlight. “I’m the Marshal of the Corone Rangers and I’m here to reinstate the order in Oaktown. So I doubt you’ll get in trouble for not letting me in. In fact, you just might get in trouble if you don’t.”

There was no hostility in Letho’s voice, but the sternness was there, clearly stating that he meant business. It was a rugged kind of diplomacy that Letho practiced, a strange mixture of domination, intimidation and benevolence. In a way, it was like saying: “I’m don’t want to strongarm you, but I will if you don’t do what I say.” It was the kind of a presence that any lawman had to establish in order to get respect and the Marshal thought he was doing a good job so far. He waited for Molotov to unlock the gates before his hand pushed against it, opening it fully.

“I heard the thing you speak of.” Letho started, once his horse was behind the wooden barricade and the gates were shut once again. “I stopped for rest at the edge of the forest, waiting for the morning to ride into Oaktown. It seems like strong magic. That’s where I found your friend. You say that people have been disappearing for a while now? Were there any actual attacks on the town? I reckon they were since they built a wall.”

Beyond the gates, the town was slumbering serenely, tucked in under the silvery sheet of the moonlight. Nothing but the sound of the crickets and the perpetual humming could be heard, the latter seemingly ignorant to the distance, equally strong even now that Letho stood some half a mile from the forest, behind a thick wall made out of solid oak.

[Molotov]

Molotov blinked. He found it hard to believe that this was Letho. “Bloody hell…” the mutant exclaimed to himself. “Of all the people to show up…” A visible smile of genuine welcome now appeared on the mutant’s face. While he was a bit embarrassed not to have recognized one of the people who had been so responsible in helping him change his ways, the mutant now just wanted to mend fences. He was a bit curious as to what had happened to Myrhia, and was fearing for the worst. To the mutant’s recollection, the former slave had never seemed all that comfortable away from Letho.

“Bloody hell, it’s too dark out here to tell,” Molotov said, now offering his hand out to the ranger. “You don’t have to tell me about some sodded rank that the Queen has given you, bloody hell… I know you well enough. Didn’t recognize you without that red headed bird though, how’s she been?”

Without waiting for an answer, Molotov figured he should explain the situation. Despite the fact the mutant didn’t care much for official titles, he could tell that Letho did. Plus, Molotov was amused by the fact that he had been able to carry on a bit of a conversation with a law enforcement official without the threat of arrest ever coming up. For Molotov that was a considerable rarity. As such, as long as there was something else to discuss other than his criminal record, Molotov was more than content to discuss it.

“Anyways, there is something bloody weird going on here,” the mutant explained. “People bloody get out of their beds every night to sod off into the forest and they don’t ever return… it’s bloody annoying. This is the first time I’ve actually been doing security, most of the time its catching wankers like Thurbold here and sending them back where they belong…”

Molotov let that sink in for a bit as he took a long drag of his cigarette. He wasn’t sure how he would explain what was going on to Letho, and if he were to explain his suspicions would the ranger not think him to be slightly insane. “Anyways…” Molotov began tentatively. “I think there is some kind of bloody siren song, I keep hearing it myself, but I bloody just tell whatever fuck bird is singing it to bugger off… Not sure if Thurbold is capable of doing anything intelligent, so he probably mistakes the song for his first semblance of an intelligent thought…”

Now that he had explained the entire situation, Molotov wondered if he shouldn’t just let Letho into Oaktown and then run. The mutant was certain that the ranger’s priorities would be in the right place, but even then Molotov doubted that he would be safe once Thurbold had been returned to his bed. Still, though he knew it was rational, the mutant regretted that he had to leave. As much as he hated the job, he felt there was something fulfilling about the kind of honest work he was doing in Oaktown.

“Now that you know all that, I’ll let you head on in,” Molotov said. He pulled out a key he had been given and opened the padlock to the gates of the city proper. “Just drop Thurbold over by the first pigsty you find… that’s what I’d bloody do with that wanker…”

[Letho]

Letho listened to Molotov’s disposition attentively, his squinted eyes monitoring the surroundings while his mind did its best to compile an idea about what was going on in Oaktown exactly. The enchanting musical hum was intertwined through his every thought – right now telling him that Myrhia was in danger and that she was waiting for him in the forest – but with the constant influx of mutant’s words, it wasn’t hard to block this ruse out. It seemed that this siren song picked the weak-willed first, people like this Thurbold that was still kayoed and riding on Letho’s horse like a human saddlebag. So the locals erected a wall that would physically prevent them from loitering out the town premises and into the forest during the night. Not a bad idea, but obviously the oaken palisades weren’t as sturdy and as impervious as they looked from the outside.

“Myrhia is fine. She’s back home, in Willowtown.” Letho responded to Molotov’s initial question as they made their way down the cobbles of the main street. “It’s because of troublesome business such as this that I didn’t want to bring her along. I’ve been through both Pinetown and Birchtown the last two days, trying to reinstate the law and order, and there’s been nothing but problems on the way. The bad kind. The kind that got good people killed. And it seems it’s the same story here.”

They passed by a humble looking farmstead, but the Marshal didn’t listen to Molotov’s advice and just threw the charmed Thurbold over the fence and into the mud. Instead he led his horse to the front porch of the sleeping cottage, laying the man down on the rugged doormat that might’ve said “WELCOME” once, before the wear and tear erased the E’s and half of W. With that taken care of, he returned to the mutant and the palaver under the stars. The buzz in the air was singing a sweet, but treacherous lullaby, carried on the wings of a midnight breeze.

“That voice, it’s pretty damn persistent, huh?” Letho said, nodding his head towards the black patch in the west from which the tune crawled over the wooden ramparts and into the tranquil town. “I reckon it’s even more so once people are asleep and not fully aware of it. Good thing we’re both stubborn bastards.”

He concluded with a smirk, but it wasn’t the heartily jesting kind. There was something terribly wrong here and whatever that voice was, it took its time, slowly abrading the resolve of the townsfolk until they yielded to its dreamy power. It could be a week or a month or even a year, but sooner or later Oaktown would become a ghost town, the population gradually depleted by whatever lurked through the woods. And Letho couldn’t allow that to happen. It was his job and duty to prevent such things from happening, and even if it wasn’t, it was the right thing to do. Because there was still a knight sleeping somewhere below the rugged exterior and it still clung to the Old Code.

Molotov, however, probably had no such inner laws that governed his actions. He wasn’t necessarily a bad person, not a goody two-shoes either, but lost somewhere in the gray part of the specter. As such, Letho knew the man would probably need some incentive for joining him an endeavor that he was about to initiate.

“I’m going to go and check out the forest, chase out whatever is causing all this mess.” the Marshal said, eyes once again peering into the line of trees beyond the palisades. “It’s probably some mage playing tricks, but if it’s not, I could use an able fighter at my side. Since this is official business of Corone Rangers, I can offer you five hundred gold pieces for accompanying me. Here, you can even become a temporary Deputy.”

Letho fished out another badge from the pocket of his leather coat and threw it towards Molotov lightly, with a flick of his thumb. He knew that the mutant probably didn’t give a damn about some banal insignia, but at least it was a clear sign that once in his life he officially brushed shoulders with the good guys.

[Molotov]

The offer was too good to refuse. Molotov accepted the insignia and smiled. The chance to be a Corone Deputy was a considerably greater reward than five hundred mere pieces of gold. That much money was nothing to sneeze at, especially when it was offered by the Corone government. As far as the mutant was concerned, the politicians in Radasanth had far more money than they deserved anyways. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but five hundred of their coins would be better off in his hands than theirs.

The insignia represented so much more. With it, Molotov was ensured free lodging in even the most remote parts of Corone and could also keep himself beyond reproach from most of the island’s constabulary. The badge would legitimate his vigilante actions, without forcing him to undergo any of the commitment that people like Letho had to endure.

Still, for a moment, Molotov hesitated. He wondered if he shouldn’t ask Letho to grant him clemency as well. However, the mutant knew that he shouldn’t press his luck any farther than he already had. Any added knowledge of his past crimes might cause the ranger to withdraw the offer. “Better not be too greedy…” the mutant thought to himself. “A few hours you had nothing better to do than bloody sing to yourself to pass the time…”

With that, Molotov extended his hand. “Our best bet if we want to catch these buggers is to go after them at night…” he said. “During the day, for whatever reason, they don’t seem to really call anyone out. I can’t tell you anything beyond that, just remember that the people in Oaktown haven’t been too keen about going out and chasing these sods. I don’t know why, I’ve been bloody asking that they let me go out there one night, but they keep saying some bloody nonsense about how they didn’t hire me to do anything more…”

The mutant sighed. He hoped that Letho wouldn’t want to talk it over with the village elders in Oaktown. There were too many of them, and Molotov didn’t particularly care much for their deliberation. None of them had ever been noteworthy warriors, and none of them could ever really think the way he did. While Molotov never really spoke of it, a lot of his intentions had changed after Gisela. It had given him a sense of perspective to go beyond his natural sense of ambition. The success he had experienced there had been more addicting than his liquor or cigarettes. It always left him thinking more about how to make future events glorious.

Letho seemed to think like him. They were both not interested in just stemming the problem. Instead they wanted to destroy the source of trouble. Getting anyone else involved would just complicate matters. They were the only two in Oaktown who had the potential to lead meaningful lives on an intercontinental scale. They were similar men, save for one difference. Molotov didn’t live in the same world of good and bad. Instead, he did what he could, sometimes for himself, sometimes for others. This time, he was serving Oaktown, but in other cases he was as susceptible to vengeance or rage.

Having thought through all this, Molotov spit and lit himself another cigarette. He hated pontificating for all that long. Ambition had often left him with better things to do.

[Letho]

At first sight, Molotov wasn’t the kind you’d hire for an official Government job. The second sight – that usually consisted of looking into the thick dossier that the Corone Armed Forces had on him – reaffirmed that which was concluded at the first sight. But if somebody bothered to look again, there was more to be seen. That same Molotov that at times seemed like a ruthless murderer was the same one that once upon a time liberated the town of Lud in Scara Brae from the renegade mages. And he was the same one that saved Myrhia from a suicidal dragon in the depths of Haidia cave. Such examples of benevolence – even if they were mere occasional spasms – were something that Letho had to take into account, if for no other reason, then because it confirmed the philosophy that Myrhia liked to use; there was something good in everyone.

So, even though that good part seemed overshadowed by all the criminal activities and the uncanny exterior, the Marshal was glad to see that Molotov agreed to join him. Letho thought the decision was influenced greatly by the wage offered, but that didn’t matter. Mercs weren’t necessarily a bad thing if you knew how to distinguish the good ones from the rotten ones, and Molotov seemed more of the former then the latter. There was even a trace of enthusiasm in his voice as he offered his opinion on what their approach should be.

“I think the night is their best chance to catch us as well.” Letho responded, not terribly elated by the plan the mutant laid out, but acknowledging it as the only course of action. “But it’s not like we have a choice. If whatever is in that forest doesn’t play its treacherous tune during the day, we have no trace to follow and there is too much forest to sweep with just two pair of eyes. So lock up the gates, Molotov. We’re moving out straightaway.”

***

Homing in on a singing voice and trying to remain silent wasn’t an easy task to perform in a benighted forest. Letho was never prone to stealth and pussyfooting, usually opting for a head-on approach whenever possible. However, given the nature of their mission, it seemed rather idiotic to go running through the forest with a bull’s eye pinned to his back. If he did that and the creature that did the singing was stronger then them, he was running straight into a trap. If the creature was weaker, it would run away and they’d have to seek it out again tomorrow. So for the sake of the mission, the Marshal forsook his modus operandi and did his best to creep amidst the mighty oaks as soundlessly as he could, evading the obstacles that might crackle and snap underneath his feet.

The tune and the voices in his head were a cacophony now, or rather an orchestra in which every fiddler played his own tune. They all spoke of different things, all using different tactic to lure the warrior into the same thing; to lose the control and accede to the charm. At first it was easy to block it out - to outrationalize the voices - but slowly it was becoming cumbersome for his mind and Letho wasn’t certain if he could keep his head now that the density of the incoming attacks became nearly unbearable.

Fortunately for him and his companion, they reached their goal before losing their minds. In front of them was a small grassy knoll on top of which a set of ruins was standing, basking in the gentle silver of the moonlight. That wasn’t an uncanny sight for these parts. What sat on one of the larger stones with an irritated look on her face most definitely was. The naked woman that seemed irked didn’t look like an ordinary, mine run woman at all. Her skin was orange-red as if it was made out of heated metal and yet the peculiar skin color failed to mar her beauty. The pair of skeletal wings that protruded at both sides however, certainly weren’t an appendage that added to her ravishing looks. They fluttered and flinched every once in a while in an impatient manner as the succubus uncrossed her legs and the crossed them again restlessly, looking at her clawed hands.

Letho ducked behind some of the nearby bushes, gestured to Molotov to join him before he started in a whisper. “Alright, if that thing up there is a succubus as I suspect, we need to take her down before she puts a spell on us. I’ll come straight at her. You try to make your way around the clearing and come at her from the flank.”

[Molotov]

“Uhh… what… attack?” Molotov mumbled. “Wait let me think…” He had been a bit put off by the sight of the succubus. She was one of the most attractive creatures that the mutant had ever seen. Her voice sounded exactly like an angel, and her oddly colored skin glowed alluringly in the moonlight. Even her claws and skeletal wings appealed to Molotov. Given his own tastes in clothing, the succubus seemed to match his love for spikes and odd protruding objects. For a moment, Molotov was without words, other than a complete and utter belief that under absolutely no circumstances should they attack something that beautiful. However, once he broke gaze with the creature, he found his wits again.

The mutant was suddenly overcome with sorrow, regret at the fact that he was going to have to destroy something that beautiful. However, before he could acquiesce to Letho’s demands, Molotov noticed a couple of people from Oaktown passing them by. They moved right past the succubus, and she paid little attention to them. It was quite odd. If she had wanted to eat them, she could have easily. They were completely and utterly helpless. Even had they not been drawn in by her beauty, Molotov had a difficult time a succubus would pass up such a delicious snack. “That is, unless she’s some kind of bloody succubus vegetarian,” he mused.

With this observation, Molotov finally addressed Letho. “Don’t know if I should agree with you,” he remarked. “She’s a lot bloody prettier than you are, I’ll tell you that…” Molotov pointed at the two people moving right past her and into the cave. “Those sods there, she let them past like she bloody eats nectar or some other fuck thing… I wouldn’t be worrying about her. Even if she likes men, she likes them live, thrusting and buggering and not sleepwalking through like bloody zombies. Let’s just go past her, make like those two sods before us and move forwards. What do you think?”

Molotov didn’t really wait for conformation from Letho. He knew his plan was a good one. Plus, from his past experience he had learned that it was certainly Myrhia who was the brain trust of their little group. Unless the plan called for breaking, killing or destroying, Letho would be unlikely to come up with a winning strategy. By moving forwards, Molotov was forcing Letho’s hands.

At this point, the mutant could care less if Letho thought him to be unreliable. He had already got the Rangers’ badge. That put them in too deep for Letho to back out now. As long as he was right, Molotov knew he had nothing to fear from taking the lead.

[Letho]

Initially, Molotov’s plan didn’t seem like a plausible one. They outnumbered the succubus two-to-one, they both seemed physically superior to her and there was little to gain from sneaking past her. In fact, it seemed rather foolish to exchange an enemy in front of you for an enemy behind your back. If they attacked, however, the defeat of the peculiar man-eating thing was bound to be a done deal. With the element of surprise and the simple flanking strategy, they’d have a victory in the bag so fast, they’d make it back to Oaktown just in time for breakfast.

But then Letho noticed something that changed his mind. Amidst the several hypnotized people that were lured from the nearby town, there were women, there were even children. A succubus would have no use of them for her morbid sexual affinities. From what little lore Marshal had on these creatures, they liked to mate with men like rabid animals and then feast on the bodies of their victims after the deed was done. And while there was possibly some way for the succubus to do that with a woman, Letho was rather certain that young teenagers were of no use to her. And yet a young lad, with maybe no more then twelve summers beneath his belt, was allowed admittance to the interior of the ruins. There was something other then the mindless passion of the succubus going on here and Molotov’s course of action would allow them to inspect what exactly it was.

Before the two of them would try to pass for lured townsfolk though, there was one detail they had to take care of. “Wait.” the Marshal said to Molotov, his whisper dangerously close to being heard by the succubus. Letho grabbed the mutant by the forearm, pulling him back behind the bushes. “We can’t go in like this. We need to look like those sleepy bastards, so that means off with weapons and coats. We don’t want to attract her suspicion.”

The swordsman wasn’t comfortable with this idea, but walking by the succubus with an arsenal on his back certainly didn’t seem like an inconspicuous tactic. So he took off the holsters from his back, discarding the massive gunblade and the adamantine bastard sword, then following it up with his gauntlets. The dagger he pushed into one of his boots before he wrapped his items into his leather coat. Once they seemed secluded enough beneath the leafy branches of the bush, Letho nodded to Molotov and stood up.

His face transformed as he walked forward, his usual strict frown and keen gaze giving way to a rather unfocused, empty gaze that peered at and past the succubus. He first started walking casually, but then noticed the weary footslogged gait of those that were really enthralled by the song of the seductress, so he changed his own accordingly. The succubus heeded him with a studios look, and just when Letho thought that their ruse was ruined, she smiled maliciously. Obviously, she liked the new muscle, especially since he was followed by the Oaktown sentry that defied her call for days now. They would certainly make this night interesting for her.

Once the winged vixen was behind him and the Marshal stepped past the doorless stone archway, he found himself in a torch-lit hallway with a multitude of doorways leading to completely dark rooms. The deluded townsfolk that walked in front of him opted for neither of these unilluminated rooms, but rather slowly proceeded down the long stretch of a rather unsightly hall. The interior didn’t seem in much better shape then the exterior, the smell of dust and decay a thick substance that was forced into his lungs. Thick cobwebs hung in sheets, but the mindless passed right through them, not minding one bit when it got stuck to their faces. Letho followed the flock, his face back to normal and his pace slow, but measured.

At the end of the hall there were two enlightened passages, both leading towards subterranean levels of what must’ve been a temple once. The two women and a blonde lad took the left turn, the pair of men took the right, possibly to succubus’ chambers. Letho stopped at the intersection, waiting for Molotov to join him. Once the mutant was at his side, the Marshal once again spoke in a whisper that, despite its low volume, seemed like an intruder in the creepy silence of the hall.

“I think there’s something big going on here, Molotov. Much bigger then just some vigilante succubus. She can’t possibly need all these folk for herself.” he started, eyeing the passage from whence they came for the possible return of the succubus. “I think she’s leading the men to her chambers, but I have no idea what she does with the rest, so I’ll go check it out. You go with the men, make sure they don’t get hurt. If the bitch returns before me, kill her. I’m sure you’ll able to do it even without your weapons.”

Letho figured Molotov wouldn’t actually like this idea, especially since the mutant seemed quite captivated by the beauty of the red-hot femme fatale. But he reckoned that this foolish infatuation would pass once the succubus showed her true face. However, that wasn’t his prime concern. What was lay on the end of the left path and he started to make his way to whatever it was.

[Molotov]

Molotov had cared little about dropping his weapons, for the mutant’s true powers were all under his skin. Even cutting off the magical tap wouldn’t cause him to be stripped of his powers. Thus, the mutant had particularly reveled in the sight of Letho unloading a veritable arsenal. “Probably brings the wanker back down here, where he isn’t so much better than me after all… ” Molotov had thought snidely. He had dropped his adze by the bushes, and though he had made a point of doing it strategically so that he would be able to recover it once the adventure was over, Molotov knew he would be fine without it. The mutant had thought there would be nothing in the cave that would have required a weapon

As he’d moved through the cave, Molotov’s suspicions were confirmed. There were only the succubus and some of the weak willed fools from the village. “Nothing really to fear,” Molotov thought assuredly. He had expected to meet some kind of guard by this point, but it seemed readily apparent that no one in particular intended to stop him. Whatever creature it was that was feasting on these people, it seemed to shy away from a fight in the presence of two competent fighters.

However, Letho seemed more than ready to take a more conservative assessment of the situation. “How cute,” Molotov thought, rolling his eyes in feint disgust. “He thinks there’s trouble going on here…” It was clear to Molotov what was happening. The people of Oaktown were getting invited to what was likely the most kinky sex party anywhere in Corone. “And to think they bloody paid me to keep them away from this… bloody hell.”

Thus, Molotov paid little attention to Letho’s instructions, save for the mention that he would finally be alone with the succubus. That made the mutant smile. Immediately, Molotov thought back to the last time he had been with a woman, and it had been so long that he could barely remember. Ravenously, he licked his lips.

The men were all assembled in one chamber. It was a bit homoerotic for Molotov’s tastes, but he decided that he would go along with it anyways. So far everyone was clothed, so the mutant wasn’t particularly concerned about the chamber denigrating into a same sex orgy. Also, Molotov took note of the fact that there was a single bed in the room, and that there was only enough room on the place for two people at most.

Normally, that would have been a warning sign, but the allure that hadn’t been so difficult to resist by the Oaktown gates had grown a lot stronger once Molotov had seen the red skinned creature. Now, he was smitten by her beauty, convinced that she could do no wrong. At least he was better than all the mindless zombies around him. They merely stayed to the walls, their hands held out and faces as blank and shiny as pieces of wax paper. Molotov merely chuckled and lit a cigarette.

It wasn’t long that the succubus arrived. Perhaps she was drawn by the cigarette smoke, or perhaps it was merely coincidence that she arrived so shortly after Molotov. However, a surprised smile appeared on her face when she saw him lying in her bed, casually smoking cigarettes as if it was his home.

“Why hello love,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d fancy stopping down here for a while…”

The succubus’ face fell in confusion. “Well, I didn’t think… you’re not under my spell!”

“I came down here anyways,” Molotov said with a wink. He sat up and tossed his shirt off of his body. “Thought you might want a little more live entertainment…”

The succubus paused for a moment, and then laughed. “And you think you can provide it?”

Molotov took that comment playfully. “Why certainly love,” he said. “It seems everyone else here’s a bit too dumb to really play around…”

By now, it was likely the succubus wasn’t sure if she was dealing with the world’s most sarcastic demon slayer, or the world’s most confused man. Either way, it was clear that she wanted to make quick work of him. With that, she leapt up onto the bed from a standing position, knocking Molotov down as she locked lips with him.

“Bloody hell,” the mutant said appreciatively, pulling her lips passionately from him as he spoke. “Didn’t think you’d be this aggressive.”

The succubus merely mocked him, but Molotov was too enamored to notice. “Take me…” she said. “Take me…”

Molotov wasted no time to roll around so that he was on top. Immediately, he resumed kissing her, fiddling with his belt buckle in the process. Her long claws ran down his back, gently at first, merely gliding over his skin. However as their kisses grew deeper and Molotov grew more naked, she began to dig in to his flesh. At first, Molotov ignored it. Then, when a claw dug in a bit too close to his kidney, he suddenly took notice.

“Hey love… careful…”

The succubus paid him no mind.

“Love… I mean it!”

Another claw hit his back, this one barely missing the kidney on the other side.

With that, Molotov irritably grabbed the succubus’ hands. “Bloody hell,” he said, pausing for a moment to spit out succubus saliva. “You really don’t take a hint now do you?”

The succubus only laughed. “Neither do you it seems…”

Molotov was still under the influence of the succubus’ charm not to know what she meant. “What the hell?” he asked.

“Never mind,” the succubus said. “The Mistress has awoke…”

[Letho]

The path that Letho took after leaving Molotov led deeper into the bowels of the ruined temple. Despite being faintly illuminated with random, low-burning torches that shimmered like nearly spent candles, it was pretty straightforward, leading down the circular stairs. They wound ever downwards, uninvitingly narrow and disquieting even for the Marshal who never suffered from cases of claustrophobia. Though, the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that it wasn’t the cramped space that caused his anxiety. No, there was something else, something vile where he was going. His senses didn’t feel it, but it was there, tying his gut in a knot and tightening it with every step he made. Most people would assign this eerily turmoil to gastric issues, but Letho knew better then to ignore his gut. After all, he grew to realize that it never lied.

After what seemed like at least four solid storeys of stairs, the helix down which he descended finally came to an abrupt end, and even as he stepped into the significantly brighter reddish luminance of the room beyond, he could substantiate that his gut was once again right.

Letho Ravenheart was standing on a balcony that stretched along the left side of a room of massive proportions. At first, the majestic stone architecture seem alien to him, but as soon as he stepped closer to the ornate marble balustrade, it was clear to him that what stood below him was the main room of what might’ve been a cathedral once. Four gigantic pillars reached for the roof where they broke in interlocking arcs that might’ve been an astonishing sight in different circumstances. The color-stained windows, some good twenty feet tall, were still intact, reflecting the crimson illumination as if there wasn’t a grain of dust on them. The Marshal could’ve sworn that the edifice was a church that by some unfathomable turn of events got buried. But then he looked closer.

The air of holiness disintegrated as soon as his vision sharpened and ascertained the details. There were no pews below, the polished tiles depicting an image of a woman in black over the entire length of the room. Her eyes – even though consisted of mere scarlet tiles – seemed to peer directly at Letho. The motif on the colored glass of the tall windows was everything but divine, scenes of demons committing atrocities over helpless victims, sodomy and torture and massacre combined in each and every one of them. Instead of an altar, there was what looked like a throne made out of ebony, but it was unoccupied at the moment. In the middle of the room, standing between the four pillars, at the spot where the black woman’s heart was supposed to be, was a stone sarcophagus. The lid was gone, and the interior was so filled with blood that it seemed more like a tub to the Marshal. For the briefest of moments he deliberated on where did the blood come from and then he detected movement on the main floor.

The two women and the beardless youth that he noticed before were approaching the blood bath with the same kind of mobile lethargy that brought them here. Neither of them seemed to notice that there was a casket filled with blood in front of them. A second later, Letho understood why. Each of the three had a knife in their hands and without any sign of hesitation the trio stepped beside the coffin, lined up like soldiers that were to be inspected by their captains, and brought the blade to their throats.

“Oh, hell no.” the Marshal muttered, his eyes wide in surprise. His mind reprimanded him for this instantly, ushering him to act fast or witness the collective suicide that wasn’t suicide at all. Without thinking – or carefully calculating his trajectory – Letho leapt over the banister, freefalling for what seemed almost thirty feet before landing on the smooth tiles. The force of the collision was too much for the joint of his left knee, the damned thing popping out with a sickening crack and eliciting a groan from the bulky swordsman. He didn’t have time for pain though. Limping, with his face cramped in a visage of ache, he made his way to the casket just in time stop the trio from ending their own lives. He backhanded the boy, sending him sprawling on the floor, before steadying the hands of the two women.

“You don’t want to do that, ladies.”

The pair thought otherwise. Their lifeless faces metamorphosed in a flash, changing into masks of sheer anger and hatred. Their free hands started slapping the Marshal and then one of them moved to bite him. Letho’s benevolence reached its threshold at that point and his hands let go of the women’s wrists just long enough to slap both of them rather fiercely. He hated hitting women, but they were better of with a bruised cheek then a slithered throat.

With the trio – that was probably meant as a sacrifice – incapacitated, Letho did the other thing he hated. His knee was still dislocated, still throbbing and hurting like a bitch. So he leant his backside against the sarcophagus, bent over and twisted it back into its rightful place. The pain was unimaginable, making him clench his teeth tight and making the inhales and exhales that were coming through his nose sound almost like snorting. It would’ve thrown him on the ground as well, but a pair of hands caught him by the shoulders from behind and steadied him. A foul breath struck his scruff, warm and pungent as if there was a sewer vent behind him, and a whisper crept into his ear.

“You dare disturb my sleep? I will have your soul for that, mortal.”

The hands that clung to his shoulders cut through his clothes effortlessly, but before the nails managed to pierce his skin, Letho recoiled, pulled himself from the clutch and hobbled away from the casket. By the time he reached one of the columns and managed to turn around to prop his back against it, the touch and the voice got a body to match. The figure that ascended from the crimson liquid was a hideous sight. Its skin was missing on several places, revealing the unprotected muscles and veins and tendons, barely covering a pair of busty breasts that seemed like the only human part. Her face was malformed and uneven, with only the region around her left eye covered with blood-soaked skin. The rest of her visage was the same scarlet mush of flesh and muscles. The woman stretched to her full height and then started to levitate above her coffin, her arms outstretched at her sides.

“You are the one responsible for the trouble in Oaktown.” Letho spoke, clearly unimpressed by the wench. “What are you and why are you murdering these people?”

“Please.” her voice was now powerful, resonating through the spacious room. “When you twist the neck of a chicken, do you call it a murder?”

“I do if the chicken is a person.”

“Your mortal reasoning bores me. Mileva will pay for this obstruction of my true awakening. MILEVA!!!” she exclaimed at the end, her voice so loud that Letho almost had to cover his ears. But even as it ended and the dark temple was silent again, the hovering woman turned to him. “I’ll save you for after I’m done with that insolent slave.”

The Marshal wasn’t certain what she was talking about, but he wasn’t given a chance to mull on it. The hideous woman-thing snapped her clawed fingers and summoned two pair of shackles around his wrists and ankles. Attached to a set of chains, these restrains were linked to the pillars and before Letho even tried to set himself free, the chains were pulled each in its own direction. And suddenly he found himself chained between the pair of columns some ten feet in the air.

“Did you really think you could just walk in here and dispose of me?”

[Molotov]

Molotov didn’t know what to make of this talk about a mistress. He had wanted the succubus all to himself, despite whatever flaws she may have had in digging into his back. As if jaded, he pulled back like a wounded puppy, his eyes seemingly distraught at what had happened. “You have me…” he said. “You don’t need a bloody mistress any more…”

However, the succubus seemed almost frozen. The mistress had awoken, but to the best of her knowledge, this was not to have happened yet. Something had gone wrong, and the orange skinned creature couldn’t be certain of it. Had someone slipped by her gaze along with Molotov, only unaffected by her charm? It seemed impossible, but there was a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach.

Molotov was impervious to it, merely confused as to why his love seemed to be so concerned with this mistress. He tried to talk to her, kiss her on the ear and console her, but it was to no avail. The succubus merely threw him off of her and headed for the door just as a messenger boomed throughout the temple. “MILEVA!!” it boomed. The succubus turned white in fear.

There was a moment’s silence, followed by a panicking succubus and confusion from Molotov. She began to speak in gibberish, muttering things that were barely coherent but saturated with panic. Molotov had to hold both of the succubus’ shoulders and slap her before she returned to even a semblance of sanity.

“What’s bloody going on here?” he asked. “First you’re in bed, now you’re acting all stupid and in panic. Lets just get back to bed and worry about some sodding mistress some other time, eh?”

“You… you don’t understand,” the succubus replied. “You heard that shout for Mileva, that’s me… she’s going to kill me for a mistake I made…”

Molotov’s face hardened. “Not while I’m here,” he said. His voice was eerily sincere. While he had no weapons with him, it was clear from the look on his face that he had a plan. “We’ll fight her together. With you on my side, I can’t lose.”

Mileva looked at Molotov skeptically. Clearly, he had powers. There was no other way he could have survived on Althanas dressed the way he was. Also, he seemed to be the most resistant to her powers that she had ever met. Those skills might translate into others that could save her life. While Mileva had no certainty that they would succeed, the succubus fancied her chances with Molotov more so than she did her chances fleeing.

With that, Mileva steeled her resolve. She got out of her bed, bit her lip and headed over towards an armoire in the left corner of the room. “This has been here for a while,” she began. “I’ve kept the weapons taken from strangers as time went on…” She opened up the chest to reveal a veritable arsenal. Mileva looked at the weapons herself for a good deal before determining which one it was that she would take, eventually settling upon a shotgun.

“Take something…” she told Molotov. “If we’re going to fight the mistress, we’ll need all the weapons we can get.”

Molotov blinked calmly. His greatest arsenal was within his hands itself, but he felt as if he had to do everything to maximize his power. Mileva was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and Molotov was willing to do anything it took to protect her, even things that he normally would never have done. Any memory of constraints or rules had been completely erased from the mutant’s memory. Had he been asked, Molotov would have just as soon set all of Oaktown on fire. Now, he moved over towards the armoire, putting his clothes back on carefully as he studied the weapons.

“Looks like you have a whole damn arsenal…” he muttered blankly. “Bloody got everything under the sun.” There were guns and swords, morning stars and other kinds of exotic weapons that the well journeyed mutant had never seen before. Mileva must have had exotic lovers from all over the world.

Eventually, Molotov settled upon a sword. It was a particularly barbaric sword, with ridges and grooves meant to make an enemy’s death particularly more painful. Perhaps the most barbaric aspect of the weapon was that it contained a little vial at the bottom, and a vein that ran through the weapon’s spine. Any forward slice would cause the victim’s blood to run through the vein of the weapon and into the little vial down at the end. It was perhaps the most brutal weapon in the collection.

And perhaps that was why Molotov liked it. It reminded him of the weapons he used to own, back when his passions had run wild. Back when he’d been at his most powerful. Still, he stared at the weapon for a few brief seconds, admiring its serpentine grooves and thorns, before shaking his head in approval. Despite the effects of Mileva’s love potion, a small part of Molotov still remembered him at his best, not his most ravenous.

However, the situation afforded no time for thoughts. “Lets go,” Mileva demanded. Molotov followed.

They went down into the dark temple, saying little to each other though their emotions were written clearly on their faces. Molotov was resolved, steadfast and determined that no one should hurt Mileva. He carried the heavy sword with two hands in front of his body, challenging every dazed person he passed to step out and challenge him. Meanwhile, Mileva moved more tentatively, as if she was unsure as to what she should be doing in the situation.

It was not going to end well for either of them, no matter what the result. Still they moved on, both of them with their own conceptions of what the end battle would look like. Eventually they moved down into the Mistress’ chambers, along with Letho, the tub of blood and the other poor villagers who had ended up captive there. Molotov looked around, noticed Letho in chains and looked on towards the mistress ferociously.

“You will not harm Mileva,” the mutant said. That was particularly uncharacteristic for Molotov. Normally he would have said something irreverent about the breasts being the only fully formed part on this abomination of a woman, or suggest that she spend a bit more time growing skin before throwing about threats. However, he was still under the spell of Mileva, and in as much as it centered his mind on the orange succubus, it also left him incapable of doing anything else.

The mistress was unfazed. “Actually, I will,” she said. She snapped her fingers and then suddenly Mileva’s skeleton appeared outside of her body. The bones crumbled down to the ground, as did the rest of the succubus’ body. Soon, where Mileva had once laid remained two piles, one of her bones, the other of the rest of her body.

“Don’t worry…” the mistress teased. “Your death will be much more painf-” She never got to finish as Molotov unleashed his giant sword towards her with a passionate roar.

[Letho]

The manner in which Mileva the Succubus died was probably one of the most gruesome deaths that Letho witnessed, and that spoke quite a lot given the fact that the swordsman and death oftentimes walked one behind the other. Each and every bone was somehow extracted out of the voluptuous body of the winged vixen, teleported to form a skeleton for a fraction of a second before the succubus’ frame collapsed into an ivory heap. Less then a foot beside this newly formed assortment of bones were the remnants of Mileva’s body, flesh and skin and muscle simply melting onto the floor like clothes that got hastily taken off. The once fiery, crimson eyes slipped out of the non-existent sockets, followed by a gush of blood from every orifice that the woman had. In a way, Mileva’s fleshy remains reminded him of a snowman that got caught in the sun on one of the first days of the spring, only instead of the water there was blood pooling around the dissolved figure.

Still, as macabre as the death was, it and Molotov’s furious attack at the dark woman were the perfect distraction. Letho - who hung above like a marionette abandoned by the puppeteer - was pretty certain that he could break the chains. But if he did it while the bitch looked at him with those abysmal eyes, he was bound only to provoke her to use some of her more powerful spells. Like the one that cut down the succubus. So while below him Molotov tried and failed to land a blow on the dark woman who kept teleporting around the room and laughing her twisted ass off, the Marshal decided it was his cue to reenter the fray.

He balled his fists then tried to pull them together, but despite his supernatural strength, the chains refused to give even a fraction of an inch. Letho exhaled, relaxed his muscles and looked at the shackles that were clasped around his wrists. “That bitch!” was the only thought that came as a product of his observation. He recognized the metal alright. Its sheen was suave and spotless, its texture and structure making it look as if the thing just left the blacksmith’s hammer. “Adamantine. No wonder it won’t budge.”

The fact that it was conjured adamantine didn’t help the Marshal in any way. It still incapacitated him efficiently, turning him into an equivalent of a sausage hanging in a pantry to the demonic woman. But Letho didn’t give up. His muscles flexed once again, making the chains as taut as a piano wire, making sweat pour down his brow and down his back. And surprisingly, this time the shackles gave way ever so slightly. The fettered swordsman fired a look at the right side that budged. As it turned out, it wasn’t the chain or the bonds that were losing ground in front of his pull. To the side of him, where the adamantine chain was fastened to the stone column, the links of the metal bit into the smooth marble, causing it to crack.

Letho loosened his muscles once again. He had to time this right, otherwise the rubble would wind up on his head instead of that of the vampiric bitch. But if Molotov managed to get her right below him, he could pull the columns inwards, land on the woman on his way down, possibly disorienting her just long enough for the roof to come falling on her head. It was a chancy plan, of course, and it depended heavily on a rather flaky Molotov factor and blind luck, but it was definitely better then nothing. On the cathedral floor, the mutant held his ground bravely, profoundly agitated by Mileva’s death. He exchanged magic attacks with the Mistress, his fire enlightening the entire room with some other hue then the haunting crimson, but it was clear that the woman merely played with him, cockily refusing to block most of his wizardry. The fires couldn’t touch her, the blade couldn’t move fast enough to catch with her figure that shimmered and reappeared behind Molotov.

But gradually she became sloppy, careless, basking in her own power. After a while, the malformed woman spent more time mocking the mutant and cackling at his idiotic affection towards the succubus. She levitated around, teleported, laughed and did it over and over again. Until she finally teleported right below Letho.

The Marshal reacted instantly. His bulk exploded in size, his muscles filling his clothes to the point where the stitches started breaking. Instead of chocolate brown eyes that was a pair of completely white ones with no pupils, no irises. And by the time his body was engulfed in a white, flaming aura and a sonic boom resounded through the desecrated church, Letho yanked on the chains again. The metal ground against the stone for only a second, then passed through it on both sides, cutting the pair of columns in half and sending both the buffed swordsman and the stone on a crash course with the witch. Letho’s foot connected first, slamming into the woman’s head and taking her off the invisible cloud she was floating on. Both the Marshal and the sorceress hit the polished tiles, but unlike the woman, Letho was still conscious. He rolled forwards - his shackles disappearing once he collided with his captor - pushed himself up to his feet and limped away from the dark Mistress. Behind his back, large, jagged stones crashed onto the dreadful figure of the woman, bringing down the roof and revealing the earth in which the temple was buried.

There was little dust and when it settled, it was clear that the underground edifice was losing structural integrity in a hurry. The arches above their heads cracked gradually, like an egg boiled a couple of minutes too long, sending a wide assortment of debris down on both Letho and Molotov. Priceless windows crashed inwards, soil seeping into the spacious room.

“We have to get out of here!” the Marshal bawled to the mutant, collecting the pair of women he kayoed moments earlier and leaving the boy lying on the floor. Around them, the walls and the ceiling crackled, metal plates gritting against each other as they slowly slipped from their intended positions. “Get that boy! I can’t carry them all out!”

With those instructions, Letho limped away from the room, carrying a peasant woman on each shoulder and hoping that the balcony that overlooked the main exit wouldn’t fall on his head.

[Molotov]

Molotov had been stupidly. The sword was far too heavy, and the mutant had a limited knowledge of swordsmanship. It had been to his advantage that he had at first amused the Mistress, just because she had never seen a person so totally engrossed with a succubus. However, as the fight droned on, Molotov had begun to regain some semblance of his natural self. He no longer longed for Mileva, and even felt a bit foolish about his earlier reaction. Still the mutant fought, because he had also regained his sense of direction and purpose. “For bollock’s sake, it was as if I’d never seen a sodding woman…” he thought to himself irritably. “That was way too stupid for any bird, who cares how bloody pretty she was…”

By the time Letho had recovered, it was clear that the Mistress had lost her interest in Molotov. That was fortunate, as Molotov genuinely lacked any semblance of a plan, his forearms were weary from carrying a sword too big for him, and the feeling of utter embarrassment made him almost unable to think of anything other than how foolish he’d been.

Still, it seemed like Molotov hadn’t been necessary. Letho possessed abilities far greater than ones that the mutant had remembered the Marshall for, abilities that were impressive enough to damage the very structural integrity of the building they were in. Molotov watched as the Mistress buckled under the onslaught and laughed sardonically, taking but one last look down at Mileva before turning to face Letho.

“We’re going to have to leave…” Molotov said. The ceiling was fragmenting, small pieces were falling with the regularity of a rain storm. It was wasted breath though, Letho was all too aware of this new danger. Seemingly tireless, Letho had already begun to rescue the two women. The mutant could merely nod to accept his assignment of the boy and get to work.

Immediately, Molotov stepped over the corpse of the Mistress and slapped the boy on his shoulder. The mutant was particularly careful. He tore off his jacket, spikes and all, so as to prevent from hurting the child when he put him up on his shoulder. Almost immediately, Molotov thought to reach down and grab his jacket, but then his eye caught something particularly dangerous.

“Bloody hell Letho!” Molotov shouted. “She’s still alive!” The Mistress hadn’t been killed by Letho’s attack, knocked unconscious, but she was still every breath as alive as she’d been before the fight had started. Molotov wasn’t sure if he was heard. It didn’t matter. The balcony, which had been hanging by little more than a few bricks, came crashing down to the ground. The mutant staggered as shockwaves rippled across the ground, and he looked angrily at the former Mistress. Mileva had been crushed under the balcony, and now, even when all the feelings of her spell were gone, the mutant couldn’t help but feel a bit of sentiment for the departed succubus.

Somehow, the shotgun she had used had ended up right at Molotov’s feet. The mutant laughed. It was a hollow laugh, but a laugh none the less. He was probably going to die right there, but it barely mattered. The ceiling was falling down, but he was going to go down in a blaze of glory.

The mutant lit himself a cigarette and then cocked the shotgun. He had never used such a powerful firearm before, but the mutant had seen them before during his time at Jamison Academy. He took aim at the Mistress’ head and then fired, leaving it as nothing more than a smattering of blood and brains.

“Bloody powerful,” he commented appreciatively. He took a drag of his cigarette callously, as if he didn’t care that he was going to die. The balcony blocked his only way through. The ceiling would be falling in a matter of minutes.

“So, I spent it well,” he muttered before looking back at the little child on his shoulder. “Too bad you’ll never get the chance, eh?”

He felt guilty for the sarcastic comment just as soon as he’d said it. The mutant glanced at the shotgun one last time. At the very least he could give the boy a more dignified death than being crushed under the weight of the falling ceiling. He cocked the shotgun once again.

“Sorry kid…” he thought. He targeted the weapon right between the unconscious boy’s eyes. However, Molotov couldn’t pull the trigger. He tried to, he really wanted to, but he just couldn’t. The boy had just seemed so peaceful that the mutant could bear the idea of the child’s head splattered like that of the mistress.

There was only one last chance, and it wasn’t much of a chance. “What the hell,” Molotov figured. “If it fails we die anyways…” The mutant took a shot at the balcony, and followed it off with another, He cocked and fired, pumping out five shells from the gun before he’d managed to make a hole big enough in the balcony that he could carry the kid through.

“Lets move then,” he said. Molotov quickly grabbed the boy, put him on his shoulder and then darted out through the hole he’d made just as a huge piece of ceiling came crashing down over where he had once stood.

[Letho]

Instead of seeing Molotov emerging from the crumbling room and into the hallway that led towards the stairs, Letho wound up witnessing what seemed like a seal on the fates of both the mutant and the boy he should’ve rescued. The beetling balcony that seemed genuinely unstable when the Marshal made his exit came crashing down, successfully clogging up the doorway with stone debris. And while this usually wouldn’t be too large of an obstacle for Letho who was more then able to cast aside some rocks, the damage he did to the columns had a domino effect. The whole underground complex was falling to ruin like a dam that couldn’t handle the pressure of the water. In this case, it was the earth that did the damage, seeping into the interior through the newly formed cracks, but the end result was bound to be the same which ultimately meant that there was no time.

However, Molotov refused to go down so easily. The Marshal just reached the foot of the winding stairs when he could hear gunfire behind his back. Four times the weapon fired and when it shot the fifth time, the mutant, his mohawk and the youngling squeezed through the hole. Letho smirked. “I thought you weren’t coming, Molotov. Thought you might’ve stayed around to mourn about your succubus friend.” the swordsman said, his voice overcoming the quaking sound that seemed everywhere around them. “Let’s get out of here before this place becomes our grave.”

He readjusted the pair of broads on his shoulders, securing his arms around their waists, before he started to make his way up the stairs. Despite his supernatural strength, the ascend sapped the energy from Letho’s system stunningly fast. His knee still ached with every step he made, his accelerated regeneration process unable to mend it in time, and combined with the added weight on his shoulder and the steep inclination, Letho felt as if he was pulling a plow through a rocky patch of soil. By the time he reached the top of the stairs and entered the hallway that would lead them outside, he thought that he would collapse. By the time he strode down the length of the passage and reached the freedom of the natural light at the end of it, he did collapse.

With the stone halls collapsing behind them even as they fled from the bowels of the earth, a Marshal, two hypnotized women, a mutant and a boy came stumbling out into the morning sunlight of a typical Concordia day. Letho fell down on his knees, lowered the pair of lifeless bodies on the grassy soil as gently as he could and then grabbed a hold of his side just below his ribs. It was a cramping pain that he felt, something that didn’t occur to him in years now, something that overcame him only when his exertions started to dangerously approach the limits of his body. He breathed like a steam engine, sweat dripping off of his grime-covered forehead as the deep rumbling sound behind their backs announced the ultimate capitulation of the underground temple. And then, with a puff of dust coming from the entrance, everything went perfectly silent.

The birds chirped in the frolicky manner that could only signify the start of another cloudless sunny day. Instead of the dim, gray-scarlet luminance that crept through the insides of the underground cathedral, the proximity around them was now vibrant with colors, heedless to the mischief that was happening beneath the surface mere moments ago. Letho willed himself up to his feet once again, did his best to dust off his attire before he turned to Molotov. The mutant went through for the Marshal better then he anticipated, despite the rather embarrassing hiccup with the succubus that efficiently befuddled his mind.

“Now that was a bit too close for comfort.” Letho said, looking and sounding a bit weary from the whole ordeal. This was the third town he visited in as many days and in each he had to work his ass off to correct whatever was currently awry, and all of that on several hours of sleep. He needed some serious R&R and soon. Luckily, Oaktown was the last of the Four Towns in which he had to reestablish the law. “Shame about those men though. But at least we got these three. Come on, let’s get them back to the town.”

The fact that they would probably have to carry the three all the way wasn’t something that brought a smile to Letho’s face. However, he did come this far. The least he could do is run down that home stretch. But when he moved towards the pair of women, both of them stirred almost instantaneously. At first it was just a flinch of a hand or a leg, but soon enough their eyes shot open, then closed due to the vehement sun, then reopened more shyly. As if this wasn’t good enough of a news, several men came into the clearing from the forest, all in their long johns and still wearing their nightcaps, all with the same confused, where-the-hell-am-I faces. It seemed that the connection with the succubus broke just in time for them to get enough sensibility to get the hell out of wherever the hell they were.

“Wh-What happened? Where are we?” the woman – a blonde with a rather curvaceous figure – spoke, propping herself up on her elbows.

“You’re safe.” Letho responded with a smile. “And you’ll be home in no time.”

[Molotov]

Somehow, Molotov had survived. The mutant wasn’t exactly sure how, but he was particularly relieved that he had made it out alive. Everything just seemed better now, Molotov’s head felt cleared, as if the effects of Mileva’s spell had finally run their course. The mutant paid no attention to Letho’s chiding, because he was so completely and utterly relieved that there was nothing to say. The sun had risen since they’d entered the cave, and it seemed like such a complete and utter shock to have moved from the abject darkness of the temple below out into the forest where birds chirped merrily as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Yeah, you’re right about those blokes down there…” Molotov muttered. It was a real shame, especially given that it was only a matter of luck that he had avoided being one of them. The mutant wondered what would have happened had the Mistress never called on Mileva. Letho would have just as likely been successful, and Molotov would have either been eaten alive by the succubus or crushed under the weight of the temple falling.

“Just a bloody shame,” he thought, touching his back gingerly. There were a good deal of sore marks from Mileva’s claws, and now that her spell had worn off, they were beginning to hurt much more. Still, Molotov couldn’t complain too much. He had survived. He was groggy and the bright sunlight hurt his eyes, but at the very least, Molotov had made it through.

Though the mutant didn’t care to admit it vocally, he largely had Letho to thank for being alive. Had the powerful Marshall never arrived in Oaktown, Molotov may have never been able to stem the tide of villagers leaving. Ultimately, that was what he had come to the town for, to do some good for once in his life, and now it had been done. Perhaps some of the luster of the good deed had been removed because of Letho’s involvement, but Molotov knew that while he hadn’t been the story’s hero, he’d been an essential part none the less. If it wasn’t for him, he doubted many others would have survived to see Letho’s arrival. It had been Molotov, not the Marshall who had waited outside the gates night after night, fetching people who had gone astray.

Now, the little boy on his shoulder was beginning to stir, and Molotov let him down gently. “You’re fine now,” Molotov said, as he wiped a layer of sweat and dust off of the little boy’s brow. “In good time too, you’ve managed to meet the Mistress and come out alive, not too many blokes who can say that.”

The boy blushed at Molotov’s charitable remark. He was roughly eight years old, with sandy blond hair and enough of a desire within him that he most likely wanted to be treated as a man. Now, the boy toed the dirt as he looked at the ground, speaking with humility. “Well you were the one to save me…”

Molotov smiled, a few light compliments were necessary, as long as the boy didn’t grow too conceited. He had felt the boy would have felt embarrassed otherwise, being around two older women who were likely to fawn over Letho. “That’s nothing…” Molotov said. “I never even saw a bloody monster like that until I was more than twice your age… you’re pretty tough just to make it out without soiling your pants…”

The boy giggled.

“And let me tell you, that would have made you a lot harder to carry,” Molotov joked.

The two shared a laugh. After that, Molotov retrieved the weapons that he and Letho had abandoned outside of the cave and headed back for Oaktown. Molotov wondered what kind of a welcome he would get. He wondered even if he’d be recognized. His signature Mohawk had been disheveled, and only just now did he realize that he had left his jacket inside the dark temple. “Maybe its better that way though,” Molotov figured. “Never heard of a town saluting a hero dressed in spikes…”

None the less, Molotov sighed. He had liked that jacket.

However, there were certain advantages to this new appearance, readily apparent in the two women who Letho had rescued. Both of them were young, and seemingly flirtatious and grateful for their rescue. They had been smiling at both Letho and Molotov coquettishly, but it seemed that a curvy brunette had been paying particular attention to Molotov. “Now this is a nice development…” Molotov thought. “Looks like I do have some talents that Letho didn’t after all… who needs a bloody succubus when I can have these birds.”

The rest of the walk to Oaktown was full of idle conversation and a rather fictionalized account of the battle. In the story Molotov shared with the two young women, there was no mention of Mileva, and the end battle had involved a great deal more of Molotov. “Yeah I was in trouble then, bloody Letho had run off taking you two, leaving me to finish off the Mistress…” Molotov continued, smiling as the brunette wrapped her arm tightly around his. “It wasn’t his fault though, Letho’s a good warrior and all that, he just doesn’t have the same survival instincts that I do… she was just pretending to be dead, still armed, still ready to fight, so I had to blow her brains out. Now that might have been hard for most, but I was ready… I had taken this shotgun from the succubus I fought earlier, you know…”

The brunette crooned. “Boy you sure are strong…” she said. “But weren’t you even the littlest bit frightened?”

Molotov merely smiled. “No Emily, I’d stared down danger before. She was no greater challenge than the ones I’d faced before… I won the Gisela Open, you know.” Molotov grinned, and flashed a little bit of a wink over towards Letho. He figured the ranger wouldn’t mind, Molotov had helped out in his own way after all.

By the time they had reached Oaktown, news of their victory was already known. Apparently, some of the men had managed to escape. They had been released from Mileva’s charm the moment that the succubus had fallen, and had exited from the dark palace before it had crumbled. The town was already preparing for a party.

Emily smiled excitedly. “Molotov you have to come!” she said. “It’s going to be a feast, roast pig and potatoes, everything you’d ever want to eat. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a while. Letho should come too, just because he didn’t do all that you did, he certainly still helped out…”

“Uhh… yeah…” Molotov replied nervously, eyeing Letho liked he hoped the Marshall would let the comment pass without contradiction. “Letho really did do a lot down there…”

[Letho]

Listening to Molotov recount the whole ordeal with Mileva and her Mistress made Letho think that whoever said that victors wrote histories obviously never won a victory in a tandem with another person. The mutant followed the real story rather vaguely, leaving out the less heroic parts and emphasizing the ones that made him the champion. And while the Marshal was never too fond of people that stole someone’s thunder, in this instance he was actually glad. He was depicted as the hero numerous times and more often then not this fabled title brought more aches then ease to a man’s head. After all, the hero had to answer questions, act in sync with his legendary benevolence, live under the magnifying glass of the public. And right now, all that Letho wanted to do is conclude the official business on Oaktown and get back to Willow Manor where Myrhia was bound the be pacing in circles, worried about her lover.

So as they walked towards the liberated town, the dark swordsman let Molotov run his mouth, interjecting with an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’ but generally letting the mutant have his minutes of fame that after a long while finally wasn’t the infamous kind that got him on wanted posters. The discarded equipment was strapped rather sloppily on Letho’s back, his leather coat folded over his hand as he listened to the chest-beating and the awe-stricken gasps of the pair of women that held to Molotov’s flank, enchanted by his narration.

By the time they reached Oaktown, the handful of embarrassed men passed the word about the capitulation of the Forest Demoness as they called it. A myriad of faces stood around the main street, all abandoning their daily chores to witness the return of their heroes. Letho they didn’t know and didn’t particularly care about, but he did play some part in the mythical clash between Molotov and the Mistress, so he got the provisional number of female glances and cheers and even got a coronal that some teen lass placed around his neck together with a pecker on his cheek. They walked towards the main square, the crowd directing them into the town hall that was in the process of being decorated for the celebration. The brunette that drooled all over the mutant invited them to the fiesta that seemed to be pending for a while now.

“I’m grateful for your invitation, miss.” Letho said, his courtesy cryptic enough not to be easily recognized as either genuine or sarcastic. “However, I have pressing matters to discus with your Mayor and his elders. I am, after all, here as the officer of the law.”

“Well, it’s your loss, really. The old geezers are up on the second floor, probably downing some brandy and congratulating themselves for something that Molotov did.” the chirpy woman, still in her nightgown, said, diverting her eyes from the bearded Marshal and tugging on the mutants forearm. “Come on, I think they got the musicians already.”

Letho left the two and the rest of the people that followed them to have their banquet in the rapidly growing crowd of the main room while he moved up the flight of stairs that led away from the antechamber and towards the upper levels. The clamor of the starting festivities died down a little bit as he put two floors between himself and the gist of the party, and quite frankly he wasn’t the least bit sad about it. Big commemorations and rowdy crowds were never his environment of preference anyways. He tossed the garland on the floor of the stairs as he ascended.

Behind the only doors that were polished and fully ornamented with what seemed like golden oak trees, Letho found five rather merry gentlemen doing just what the woman said; downing some hard liquor. They sat around a huge rotund table, each with a red nose and a bottle of his favorite poison at his side. The room smelled of old books and stale dust and the beams that came through the open windows were so thick they seemed coherent.

“Gentlemen, sorry to disturb you, but we have some official matters to discus.” the Marshal said, letting himself in after three knocks on the door that went without response. Before they managed to get their bearings and ask questions that would probably cause Letho to get an instant migraine attack, he continued: “I am Marshal Letho Ravenheart, sent here to reestablish order in Oaktown.”

“And you most certainly did that, my good man. Here, have a splash of scotch.” the well-rounded man dressed in what was probably his finest, navy blue attire with several medals of little value. His helmet was slanted so that its plume stood sideways.

“I must decline. And I must also deliver this official letter to you...” Letho said, fishing through the pockets of the coat folded on his hand. “...and ask your signature on this document here.”

Approaching the man, he put the sealed letter – that was probably the message of the officials in Radasanth that was saying additional law enforcers were in process of being delivered to Oaktown – and unfurled a rather crumpled document that confirmed that the order had been established. The fat mayor did his best to drop his shot glass and pick up a quill, scribbling something that didn’t look like any letters Letho ever saw.

“Now, we all go to join the festivities!” the mayor – whose name was Brtnoub Nghen according to the signature – exclaimed, struggling to get out of his chair before the led the way out of the room and down the stairs. The Marshal wasn’t particularly peeved by this behavior, but he wistfully remembered the elders of Savion that were always the embodiments of law itself, stoic and proud and dignifying. These men were nothing like that, but Corone wasn’t Savion and Oaktown wasn’t Ciamar. He rolled up the letter and tucked it into the coat which he threw over his shoulders. He had but one more thing to attend to before concluding this crusade that, though it lasted mere days, seemed like months long.

***

The main room was caught in chaos that limited with madness. The musicians were restlessly playing gleeful tunes, the drums pounded as if they did something wrong to the drummer. The scent of roasted meat and cheap ale and cheaper wine and bitter tobacco was in the air almost like a physical obstacle, demanding for Letho to either accept it or get the hell out of the room. Unfortunately, he had to find Molotov. There were two matters that he had to resolve with the mutant.

Pushing his way through the constantly moving mass – most trying to dance, but generally just swinging groggily in the rhythm of the music – the Marshal made his way to the table behind which the mutant sat with a growing collection of the local maidens, all tipsy and all simply taking in every word like a dry sponge. Letho couldn’t smile. Feasts like these usually meant a lot of really bad, quasi-consenting sex that left drunken lasses deflowered, with a headache and with no recollection of what happened on the night before. Personally, it disgusted him, but it was the way of the people nowadays, and while he couldn’t change that, he didn’t have to be a part of it either.

His hand went to a small pouch that hanged on his belt, detached it and tossed it in front of Molotov. “That’s what I owe to you. Now, I think there’s something you owe to me, Molotov.” Letho said, leaning forward with his rather ominous face that seemed to scare away some of the girls. The serious face ultimately broke into a smirk. “The badge. I can’t have you run around, impersonating a Deputy, now can I?”

[Molotov]

Molotov had been having a great deal of fun before Letho had arrived. He had been telling jokes, drinking ale and smoking cigarettes. Most particularly, he was enjoying the positive attention he was receiving. During most of his stay as a watchman, he had been largely ignored, if not mildly disliked by most of the town. Now, he had come back to them as a hero. The mutant felt no guilt about it, even if he had exaggerated his own accomplishments. He had fought alongside Letho, and for what was little gain. The dark temple had crumbled down before he could have taken anything back.

Now Letho was asking for the Deputy badge back. Molotov tried not to cringe, but he had been hoping that the Marshall would have forgotten about it. This was about the least opportune time as well. In the middle of this feast, everyone’s attention was always on Molotov and Letho. The mutant couldn’t afford to disagree, because it would make him look considerably less honorable. “Well here’s your badge,” the mutant said irritably, regretting that he didn’t even once get to use the little bauble for something fun. “Hope you get good use from it… know I would have.”

Molotov ended the conversation with a good natured wink and a handshake. He realized that he did like Letho after all. The mutant thought the Marshall might benefit a bit from being more jovial, and perhaps should even loosen up and drink a bit. There was no better time than now.

“A drink?” Molotov asked. Letho declined and prepared to leave. Molotov smiled, as if the response had been so incredibly predictable. “Well, have some good adventure and give Myrrhia my regards.”

Letho replied with his own farewells and left. Molotov smiled and raised his glass in a toast. As Letho was leaving though, Molotov felt a slight bit of guilt. The mutant had exaggerated on his own heroics not to discredit Letho but in a momentary rush of poor judgment when trying to impress a young maiden. Letho had said nothing perhaps more out of courtesy than anything else, but Molotov thought it was only fitting that he make sure that everyone in Oaktown sufficiently thanked the warrior who had saved them, but had no desire to stay for the feast.

“PEOPLE!” Molotov said, rising from his chair once again. “A cheer to Letho Ravenheart, Marshall and bringer of Law.”

There was a collective murmur of agreement and sound of glasses clinking. Molotov sat back down.

“That was really nice of you,” Emily said. She had kept herself close to Molotov throughout the entirety of the festivities. “You really showed that you’re a good friend.”

Molotov shook his head. “Letho deserved it,” he said. “I’m just here and there, Letho’s the kind of guy that you build something around. He’s the kind of bloke who can be the pillar when your house is falling down…”

Emily smiled, but it seemed like she didn’t really understand Molotov’s point. “You’re here now though…” she said, cozying up to him.

Molotov sighed. He knew that he couldn’t stay in a place like Oaktown. He looked at Emily, and felt a bit of sorrow. He had come to the town to set a few things right, and now he was going to have to go on and do more. With a sigh, the mutant put his hand to her face gently. “For now,” he said.

Emily understood. “I’ll come with you,” she said.

Molotov smiled. He hadn’t realized it, but this had been what he’d wanted all along. He had been tired and weary, and he had felt mostly like he just needed someone to be with. He eyed Emily appreciatively. “A lot better to get than a bloody badge,” he thought to himself. He looked at the shotgun he had picked up in the dark temple. It was by his chair, and up until that moment Molotov had every intention of keeping it for himself. Now, he handed it over to Emily.

“For you to protect yourself, love,” Molotov said. “We’ll figure all the rest out later… I’ll even meet your father and whatever else you’d want to do.” With that, Molotov sat back and smiled. He had never known a town to be so welcoming. The adventure had been nothing like he'd expected and yet so satisfying.

(for spoils I request gold, I’ll let the moderator decide the amount. Also, I’d like to list Emily as an NPC. She has no real talents at the moment. Molotov also loses the spiked jacket.)

[Letho]

EPILOGUE

The long road home...

The day was nearing noon when Letho exited the raucous interior of the town hall and stepped into the rather desolate main square. It seemed that entire Oaktown was sucked into that room behind his back, all crammed and tipsy and genuinely happy for the first time in a long while. The enchanting voice from the forest was a constant threat to them, an executioner under whose studious eyes they had to live every day, and now that burden was gone for good. And though the Marshal and his grouchy exterior gave out an air of contempt and strictness, he too was put in a good mood by this final victory. He smiled on the inside, as Myrhia always liked to say when she would see that hidden mirth in his eyes, and then she would kiss him and try to stretch his lips into a smile with her fingers.

He missed the chirpy redhead. These days on the road, running from one town to the other, fighting crooked men, solving crimes and slaying mysterious demons, it was taking its toll on the swordsman. He left two Deputies behind along the way, one due to the sickness of her fostered child, the other because she came within a hairbreadth of death. It was dangerous work that he did, standing on that this border between anarchy and law. But even as he did this recapitulation in his head and remembered the smiling, liberated faces that he encountered during his journey, he had to admit that it was worth the effort. The law was reestablished in the Four Towns, the reign of the mischievous Lawmen and all the residue that they left behind was effaced and once again this region could properly prosper.

There were losses though, men perished that he didn’t forget even now when he strode towards his horse and that he wouldn’t ever forget. Men like Edward of Pinetown that wound up as a victim of his wife’s lust and his backstabbing friend. Men like Frank of Birchtown, gunned down by Stephen Daigle, Storm’s henchman. Men like all those that perished at Frank’s side on that day, fighting for their freedom. Fighting and winning in the end. Victor always came at a price, Letho knew. Sometimes that price was death. Sometimes it was merely a heroic endeavor. Sometimes it didn’t seem like it was worth the sacrifice. Lothirgan, Letho’s mentor from back in his prince days, used to say that it was better to die young and honorable then live forever with the tail between your legs. And it was a fine thing to say, a resounding motto, but could you say something like that into the face of a mourning widow that was left with three mouths to feed? Letho couldn’t.

In the end, no victory was ultimate, no success unblemished. What ifs always remained, questions and ponderings on how would certain events unfold if you were quicker, stronger, smarter, more cautious, more calculating... better at doing your job. The Marshal wasn’t a perfectionist, but regret was always there, making him recount certain events, making him sideline the good things in order to penetrate to the gist of the bad ones. Myrhia would tell him that he asked too much of himself, but Myrhia wasn’t here and he had at least a day of solitary riding to mull on what transpired and reach the conclusion that he always reached: What was done, couldn’t be undone.

Strapping his gunblade to the saddle of his horse, Letho checked the straps that held the reins on his mount before he jumped into the saddle. With one last glance at the merry folk that passed by the windows of the town hall, he clucked his horse and slowly took it down the main street and through the widely open gates of the palisades. To the side of the gate, sitting in a patch of dry dirt and drawing incomprehensible shapes in his makeshift sandbox, was a wee lad of some seven or eight summers. His grimy face looked up, noticed the impressive looking rider with a huge dehlar weapon gleaming at his flank. The boy got up doggedly and scurried to the rider.

“Mister, mister!” the tyke shouted. “You won’t be joining our party?”

Letho looked down at the boy that was probably posted to greet the travelers and point them to the festivities in the town hall. “No, business calls me elsewhere.”

“Oh. Well, who are you, mister?”

Letho smiled and heeled his horse so fiercely that the beast neighed and propped itself on the hind legs.

“I’m the law around here, boy!”


((SPOILS:

LETHO

Lawmaker reloading mechanism – the enhanced Winchester reloading mechanism that Frank of Birchtown installed in the gunblade eliminates all the disadvantages that the weapon might have had. Also, the Lawmaker is no longer a single-shot weapon, but can now hold six bullets at once.

A reward of 1000 GP from the Corone Government for reestablishing the law in the Four Towns.

EMPYREAN

Five hundred gold pieces for the work done plus whatever the judge feels right for a quest of this magnitude.

NEKOPRINCESS

Five hundred gold pieces for the work done plus whatever the judge feels right for a quest of this magnitude.

STORM VERITAS

Some extra gold pieces that Storm earned during his tyranny in Birchtown.))

[AsukaStrikes]

Judgment is in!

Before I begin, I must congratulate everyone involoved in this quest with a job well done. I will also give a breakdown of each character and assessment of their performances where applicable.

Here is the overall score for this gigantic three-part quest using the New Rubric.

Story

Continuity - 7/10

You guys each gave good reason to be in the Four Towns area – some better than the other. The overall atmosphere of the story, however, felt more like mini side-stories to each character. Well, saved for the story between Letho, Storm and Molotov.

Setting - 7/10

There was extensive use of setting in this story, more pronounced as the entire story moved forward. I will give a breakdown for each towns the Marshall and Deputies visited:

Willowtown – the Starting place of this quest. The atmosphere reminded me of the old wild west with the image of billowing dust and rugged construction. Not that much interaction from the characters, but Sanoe made good use of this and portrayed the area well.

Pinetown – Reminds me of the Old West as well, but somewhere closer to the Rocky Mountains than out in the open plain. Not a lot of image stuck to me while reading through this besides the fact there was a lot of pine trees and that there is a house a little ways off into the woods.

Pacing - 8/10

The story moved along well, with a few minor back-tracking between characters here and there. It made reading somewhat redundant, but not too boring. The later parts got better and the story flow was very good.

Character

Dialogue - 8/10

Letho – I can really feel he was the no-nonesense kind of person. It seemed out of character at certain points, but on hindsight he was true to his character.

Empyrean – If Sanoe is truly a city girl, I can sure vouch for it. Your dialogues were unique and witty, as such that would come from someone not used to the rigors of the outdoors.

Nekoprincess – I have to say that yours was not was convincing as the others, but I admit that as not being familiar to your character as well. Still, Rainee’s words sometimes contradicted her actions and disposition. For your next entry, it could help to imagine yourself with thoughts and emotions of your character while typing up her thoughts.

Dissinger – Talking in riddles, eh? Sounds fitting of your dark character. If it had been anyone else, I would not have been so convinced. You did not overuse it as some would have, which is a good thing in my opinion.

Storm Veritas – Pretty much your typical Bad Guy/Anti-hero speech, though there was just that touch of arrogance and intimidation that is just so “Storm.” Big thumbs up.

Molotov – Awesome. His words go well with his actions as well as the outlook he has on life.

Action - 7/10

You guys did well in respect to each character’s motivations and mindset. Rainee, however, did give me some eyebrow-raising moments with her rash judgment when dealing with the guards. As for the rest of you, pretty good overall.

Persona - 8/10

There was not a lot of internal dialogue in the first half of the stories, but the more I read the more I could see each character developing in little ways that could use some more story afterwards. Of course, that is best left for future stories.

Writing Style

Technique - 6/10

I did not see a lot of literary devices used in this except for simile and foreshadow, most coming from Letho and Molotov.

Letho – You used a lot of simile and some metaphors, though at certain points you overused the devices more times than necessary. In one post (Post no. 70) you used two simile in a single sentence. That is a bit too much and can irk the readers because there was simply too much visual information given. You don’t really have to use that much to convey the message.

Mechanics - 7/10

You guys stuck well with the standard English grammar, with a few exceptions that helped to enhance the reading value for the readers. There were still a good number of run-on sentences and a few “glitches” in the system.

For instance, I find it quite amusing how Myrhia could “bind her time” while waiting for Letho. I believe the correct term would be “to bide her time” which translates into “to pass time.”

There are a few more of this irregularity, but for the most part everything seems fine. Keep up the good work.

Clarity - 7/10

There were times I had to go over the posts multiple times before I could actually understand. Even though it did not happen often, it tripped up the reading quite a lot.

Misc

Wild Card - 8/10

You guys were great and that I must tip my hats off to you. A 76-post juggernaut like this is something I could only dream of pulling off. And the fact that you guys all found a way to end each part of the story in your own perspectives, which is already quite hard with 3-player quests as opposed to this 6-player quest, impressed me with your dedication.

FINAL SCORE – 74!

Letho receives 5,366 EXP and and +3 Reputation in Corone

Empyrean receives 1000 EXP and +3 Reputation in Corone

Nekoprincess receives 1691 EXP and +1 Reputation in Corone

Dissinger receives 1968 EXP and -1 Reputation in Corone

Storm Veritas receives 2374 EXP and - 3 Reputation in Corone

Molotov receives 2482 EXP and + 2 Reputation in Corone

Spoils are as follow:

Letho – Asides from the 1000 GP pay from the Coronian Government for establishing order in the Four Towns, he also eceives his Rifle Reloading Mechanism from the late Rebel Leader. The gunblade can now hold six shots at a time, though the recoil could still pose a problem with the limit he could fire at a time. Also, it should be noted that the Marshall should keep good care of his weapon or else the mechanism could rust over and end up worse than the occasional gun jam.

Empyrean – Receives her 500 GP pay for working as the Deputy as well as her Deputy Badge, seeing that Letho forgot to reclaim it when they parted. Also, an old lady living in Birchtown was impressed by Sanoe and her work as deputy. Gramma Elanore offered Sanoe two gemstones from her personal collection – one small amethyst gem and one emerald gem. Each are about the size of Sanoe’s own pinky but currently has no magical enchantments whatsoever.

Nekoprincess – Receives 500 GP for working as Deputy to Letho as well as her Deputy badge. Mylie recovered from the fever and received a cute little plush doll from Myrhia as well.

Dissinger – Got away with 250 GP he had pick-pocketed from the jailors back in Pinetown before he was thrown in jail. Those two never saw it coming…

Storm Veritas – From the short while he spent as a tyrant, Storm made away with 800 GP at the cost of his status as Ruler of Birchtown. No one knew he left the town alive, though, and all thought the Marshall had slain the tyrant under the rubble of his manor.

Molotov – Loses his spiked jacket, but receives 500 GP for helping out the Marshall in restoring order to Oaktown. Emily (a young lady from Oaktown) was so captivated by his new hairstyle and personality, she decided to travel along with the mutant as well. ((NPC))