Note to the Readers: to avoid a bloody nose…
Gun Fighters
Are not Writers
So excuse the sloppy prose……
I live to see another sunrise……again. Yet this time Sig was not as lucky.
The thought of my own mortality raises little concern, but the death of a friend brings into question my lack of restraint in a dangerous endeavor. I don’t blame myself for Sig’s demise, but I feel as if I didn’t do anything to help prevent it either. Thank Kols that he chose to return from the dead when called. Though it vexes me that he has decided to change his life and settle down in Dowery. What will I do without my oldest friend to bail me out of the trouble that I always seem to find? I will miss him, but I can’t help feeling betrayed by his change of heart.
My coming reunion with Robyn overcast my journey to Hlofreden. How will she react to my infidelities? We never expressed any exclusiveness between us, though it could have easily been implied. Will this lead to violence? If so let her anger choose my fate. My life is forfeit for I will not take arms against her.
The festival of Kols greeted me upon my arrival to Hlofreden. The dozen or so followers of the grizzled old god had opened up their temple to the denizens of the town. A celebration was in full swing and amongst the ale sodden revelers there was a cacophony of song, story and many a toast to “He” who so recently was in danger of vanishing into obscurity. Kols’ comeback gave me pleasure, in no small part due to my own stuggles to get his fat ass back on his other-worldly throne.
To my surprise, I was recognized by several new faces, pointing me out in passing, though not by name. “Hammer of Kols!” was to be my new mantle. It was whispered to my back as I pushed through the crowd, my wake consisting of gazes, gasps and muttered prayers of thanks. Word travels fast it seems……
At the door to the temple was Bridger, now a full cleric of Kols, a waiting smile and embrace to welcome me home. We exchanged greetings while I scanned the assemblage for a familiar face. I did not see Robyn among the revelers. Her absence was conspicuous and immediately began to weigh on my conscience. Had other news also traveled fast? Was my night of carnal adventure now common knowledge? The faces around me held no clue. Tensing up, my hand instinctively went to the handle of Krieg, a reaction to my expectation of the reunion to come. Was this such a good idea? I turned to leave, my nerve faltering, only to be stopped again by Bridger, his out-stretched hand holding a sealed roll of parchment. “She left this for you” is all he said, but his eyes spoke volumes more. I took the scroll and walked into the temple, eventually finding an empty cell. Sitting down on a rough bench, I broke open the seal and began to read:
Bromm my love!
If you are reading this then you are alive, a fact which pleases me greatly. I have spent much of the past weeks wondering if you would ever return. You have a permanent space in my heart and I like to think of you as the vibrant musket and smile, blazing through the smoke of a fight somewhere. That is the way I remember us both as most alive: you and I in the thick of it, our fates in the wind.
Though I feel myself changing…..
Before you, my life had little purpose left. You brought me back to the world, caused me to care again, and gave me hope and direction with your championing of a fallen god. Through Kols, I have learned to fight for something other than myself…..other than my lust for death. I have a world that I now care about, and a family and country that I crave again to be a part of. You will always be my heart, but Pallidorn is my home. I am returning to Hennersbridge to take up title and see if I can be good at something other than killing.
I carry with me the gift of love that you, and Kols, have given me. It is a hope I will nurture…..one that I wish you to someday also meet.
Be well, my love! Stay fast and cunning…….and stay alive!
Know that you fight for more than just the joy of it. There is something out there in the world that brings meaning to it all. Here’s hoping your search will eventually lead you to it.
Bromm….where ever you go, my love will always travel. I am saddened, hopeful, and sorry…….but there will be a day when happiness finds us both.
Do not forget me!!!!!!
Robyn…….
I don’t remember many details from that point on......
Lost to Robyn…… Lost to my guilt…… Lost to my life…… Lost to myself……
I visited the “Witch” and greeted my kin. Then, like a ghost, I set up to haunt the common room. I started drinking to numb the ever-growing itch to shoot someone, heartache and rage building inside with a strength to burn the world to cinders. I vaguely recall insults, quarreling and gun play. The result: a new hole in the tavern roof and me…being bodily thrown out into the muddy road by a fairly frothing Hagen. “I’ll not stomach another pouty, ill-tempered, belligerent, roof-wrecking bastard in my Witch! Be gone with ye Boy’O till ye are less ‘o a danger to yourself and all ‘o those around ye!”
Maybe it was time to leave?
My last vision of Hlofreden, token in hand as I stumbled to the Athesia House, was the gnarled, bearded face poking from an adjacent alley. The wild gaze of it was desperately seeking mine. “Kellipot!”
My stay in Dowery included a visit to Blackrose’s. Without Sig I had a hard time with him. I bartered and begged, traded coin and threats for a promise that he would add an enchantment to the armored coat that Robyn had gifted me. After which, an annoyed and completely rude Blackrose spat at me, and shouted that my item would be delivered to a location of my choosing…..for a considerable fee, and that I was to never step foot in his shop again. It appeared that my misfortunes were wearing on others as well as myself.
My next lucid moment found me back in Hanover. Who knew this harlot of a town would be as welcoming! I spent my days frequenting taverns, sleeping at night with the various professional women of the neighborhoods around the middle market. During my wanderings I also managed to anger most of my old friends.
Tagaern was almost always busy spending his time shadowing the Captain of the city guard. His new trainer was working him hard, upping Tag’s level of the mayhem that he heaped on any of the armored assholes that were stupid enough to get within his reach. One of the few pleasures I had was watching him beat the poor bastards of the city guard, two to three at a time, during a sparring match.
Danin was also scarce, still diligently working the angles to better secure the foothold of Derum Ebbar in Hanover. Rarely was he seen, and then it was only of an eve in the taverns.
Hakaar and Silah had mostly been keeping to themselves, planning, what I later learned, was a farewell to the group. They said they needed to journey to the place of Silah’s creation to repair the damage that she had recently suffered. I will miss them both: Hakaar for his stalwart loyalty and friendship, Silah for her great care and love for Hakaar. Tag has got some work to do if he is going to make up for the loss of the crushing attacks of the big barbarian.
Kols! More friends gone! At least they live…..
The middle market is where I ended up. The sirens call of weapon on weapon, the cheering crowd, and the smell of dust and blood drew me to the final release of the abandonment and pain….the release that was "fighting in the Pit”. Combat in the arena was a salve for the soul. The bouts were seldom clean and death was a regular spectator. By the rules: bouts could end by yield….but blood was what brought the crowds. To be a well paid attraction, one had to be popular, and to be popular one had to be bloody. Myself…..I was bleeding inside, so I saw no problem in sharing it with my opponents, and the many-faced beast of the ravenous watchers.
My opponents were nameless to me. I noted them only by what they brought to bear. There was: Blade and Shield, Axes, Daggerboy, the Archer, Knuckles, and the most deadly “Mage”. That last was a challenge that came near to costing me my life. The Mage was a female wizard from the Spire. She moon-lighted in the pit to better her offensive talents. If you ever talked with her, you would know that she was successful…..
I was becoming known from previous bouts, fighting with a mundane musket pistol to make a better show. The Mage had scouted my later fights, and was prepared for me like none of the others. She was magically warded to render my firearm all but useless. Her spells had me down and bloodied within the first minute of the fight. The cocky Bitch gave me no chance to yield as she quickly closed for a coup de grace. That was what saved me. It happened so fast: one moment I was on the ground beneath her blade, the next she lay next to me, her blood sprayed across the sand, haloing her split skull. I was still sprawled, but with Beidricks cleaver in my fist. The noise of the crowd was deafening, howling over the unexpected upset.
I crawled to my feet, staggered over her, and spat on the shocked expression that was her last. I then hobbled from the arena in search of Danin and healing.
I had just cleared the pit and its crowd when I felt something brush the side of my face. Turning too late, I only glimpsed the back of a brown-hooded figure, slipping into the throng of the market. Too battered to care over a would-be thief, I steered through the stalls of vendors, hurrying my pace before another decided to exploit my weaken state. Hazy and exhausted, I never noticed the trail of blood I was leaving in my wake. It was enough to stall my quest for Danin, and I lay behind a wine merchant’s tent to rest for “only a few minutes”. I remember the sweet smell of the vintage being sold, lulling me as I lost consciousness.
I was nudged awake, sometime later, and I should say, rather abruptly. There was something large, cold and wet pushing into my cheek. Coming to, I turned and was nose to nose with a very large, very wolfish grin. “Good boy Tenner! Wasn’t sure what you were scenting boy, but it turns out it was important.” Looking from his wolf to me, the smiling visage of Floki filled me with relief. “Ah, you know Bromm….I think my wolf just saved your bloodied backside! What in the hell happened to…….wait…….know what…….I don’t want to know. Here…..come on…let’s get you up and moving.” He offered a hand and then two as I gained my feet. Through his grin, Floki muttered “why is it I am never around you when you get into trouble?” With that, no more was spoken as we made our way out of the middle market.
Later that evening, after having found Danin at his normal haunt, I journeyed out fully healed and fully fed, having spent the afternoon with he and Floki. The setting sun trailed me back again into the middle market, to the fighting pit. I was owed coin for my blood, and by Kols it was time to collect. I was met outside the arena by two of the locals, big burly lunks who were employed as crowd control….aka knockers. The hairier of the behemoths stepped forward: “Boss said to tell ya you’re done here go-Brach.” He tossed a small purse at my feet. “said to say you bring trouble, and trouble in the middle market is mostly profitable. But for you, your shit is getting too much of the wrong kind of attention. You are the costly kind of trouble…..you catch my drift?”
Scooping up the purse, I shot a puzzled glance at the pair of ‘em. In the time it took to concoct a proper expletive for the situation (something about a large pair of knockers), I decided against making any more enemies. “Whatever. Tell the Boss I said thanks. Be seeing you…”
With new coin for spending, I headed back toward the edge of the market, fully intending to drink the night away with Floki and Danin. The surge of people coming and going was thick. The calls of Hawkers working the crowds mingled with an increase of the usual shouts, laughter and drunken song. The noise was becoming annoying, distracting me as I dodged into a familiar shortcut to the outer edge of the market. It was a less-travelled alley that was empty this time of the night. A minute into the alley and I felt the hair raise on the back of my neck, my hand flinching to Krieg. Turning swiftly, I was faced by two hooded figures, one in dark brown, obviously the one from earlier, plus a “friend”. They were 20 feet away…..must have closed the gap after following me into the alley. Brown Hood starting moving his hands, almost as if flicking flies from the air in front of him, while motes of light began to coalesce. This was something that I knew all too well, something from the arena this morning: mages! “The Spire does not appreciate the killing of its wizards……your death……..” I didn’t let him finish. The spell that was forming gave me no time for banter. Krieg leaped into my hand, drawing up on the caster, screaming in my head “Kill the milksop little mage-asses!”
Thunder sounded, and magic flew, with my last thought left hanging, left in the air: “Where the hell is Floki?!”