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zackrobbman

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About zackrobbman

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    With all the force of a great, typhoon! BE A MAN! Get it? No?....I'm a guy.
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    Loserville
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    Nothing I'd fight too hard for, and that is very depressing.
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    Full-time Convenience store clerk!

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  1. "Oh, and Silas...." said Elizabeth before leaving the room. "Perhaps, maybe I know better, perhaps I just have learned to love them they way they are. No matter if that person IS or is NOT what they seem to be. " She left down the steps after that, leaving Silas a little confused. 'She loved them just the way they are.' she'd said. Did it not matter to her what kind of person she was referring to? Did she not have standards when it came to those she cherished? That kind of tolerance was only seen in a family, and seldom at that. Did Elizabeth see him as family? Was that why she and the others were so resolved to stick around even after all the things they'd witnessed him doing? He figured it wasn't that far fetched of a notion, seeing as how Sir Redding had personally seen what Silas could do and was still loyal despite it all. Sir Redding was like a brother to him, and Silas was sure the feeling was mutual. Elizabeths feelings could also be understood because of her family life, which was seemingly nonexistent before arriving at the estate. It common behavior for a person to replace a part of their life they cherished with something that resembled it as closely as possible. Perhaps she viewed Sir Redding as her father and Silas as her brother. Or maybe she viewed Silas as something more. He shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich before resuming his work. For a woman to love a man like himself was unthinkable. Sure, he'd had many women take a liking to him over the years, but none of them truly loved him. The only things they loved about him were his dashing good looks and what the ladies would call his 'Dark and handsome demeanor'. He was also pretty good at parties years ago. They didn't know anything about him though. They didn't know what his favorite foods were, his favorite color, what he liked to do, nothing. They didn't care about those things. Surely Elizabeth was mature enough not to have feelings for a man just because he was dark and handsome. There would have to be something more significant. The problem with that was that she knew little to nothing about his past before she came to work here. If he ever told her, and he certainly didn't plan on doing so, he was sure she wouldn't love him anymore. Silas almost chuckled at his dark humor. There was something bothering him about what she'd said earlier though. She'd said that something had "happened" to her family, but she didn't explain what. Silas thought about what this event could have been. Had her parents been killed in a raid sometime ago? Had she ran away? The fact that she didn't elaborate on this had to mean she didn't really want to talk about it. Whatever happened, Silas felt a tinge of relief and happiness that she was able to come here. The world was no place for a lone, wandering woman. Silas could attest that men were savages, animals waiting for a woman to come along with her dress trimmed too low, waiting for a reason to do something they know is wrong. Here, she and the other maids had shelter, food, and given Silas and Sir Redding's residence, adequate protection. Silas had been know for being extraordinarily generous to those that needed help. Years ago, Elizabeth no doubt noticed the joy it brought to his heart to help another in need. There had been a time when he would allow some of poorer residents of the nearby towns to visit his estate and feed them. Surprisingly, none of these people ever tried to steal. It were the wealthy ones he invited over for parties that proved to be dishonest. All they ever cared about were themselves. It was because of their antics that Silas shut himself out from the world. He kept telling himself that it was for the best. Silas stopped writing when he heard the commotion downstairs. He could hear Elizabeth speaking with a woman whose voice he could vaguely remember. Based on this woman's tone, Silas could tell she wasn't that friendly. Even more appalling was what she called herself. Silas didn't have any lovers. If he did, he could easily attest that the feeling wasn't mutual. She claimed to also know Sarah, which immediately put him on edge. He really didn't feel up to making another person disappear. It could at least be a man for a change. Killing a man always made him feel much less worse than he did when killing a woman. He believed that women were the best thing that ever happened to man and should be treated with respect. Even though...most of the women he'd killed had it coming, it didn't help siphon the guilt away. As he heard this boisterous and rude woman ascend the stairs, he sighed and got out of his chair. Elizabeth could be heard trying to stop the woman, but her efforts were fruitless. "Silas, why have you not called for me?" asked the blonde woman that barged in and threw herself onto his couch as if she paid any of the bills there. Immediately, he recognized her. It had been maybe a year ago when he'd met her on the way back tot eh estate from a business run. It had been a much longer trip than he'd anticipated and he'd run dry on his blood reserves a few days before arriving back in town. The reason it had been so long was because he'd run into some bandits. They'd shot and killed his horse before he gunned them down, and they'd gotten him a few times as well. Although wounds were of no threat to his life no matter how severe, the regeneration process did require much of his energy to work. This meant that he was even more ravenous than he normally would have been when he arrived in town. He was delirious with thirst, more akin to a starving wolf than a man. As he hobbled through the streets refusing help and trying not to pounce on anyone that got close to him, he bumped into woman. The woman recognized him and knew he had money, so she tried to seduce him relentlessly. Of course, Silas wasn't fazed by it in the slightest. One thing was certain though. If the woman didn't stop hounding him and he didn't get a drink soon, he would have an other incident. So he got to thinking quickly. He pretended to be swooned by the woman until they were in her bed-chambers. She'd began to undress, but he suggested against it, saying he wanted to take things slow. So they got in bed and started making out. When Silas began biting her, she'd thought they were love bites. She'd thought they were love bites right up until she passed out. After he'd had enough to sustain himself until he reached the manor, he stopped feeding on her in fear that she'd die if he didn't. When she woke up the next morning, he was gone. She was partially dressed and covered in what she thought were 'Love Bites'. For the next year, she was constant pain in his side, trying to seduce him whenever he left the estate. Silas was aware of her motives, so he usually just kindly brushed her off so as not to make a scene. It worked for a while, but she eventually became downright obsessive, even going so far as to spy on the maids that occasionally left to pick up groceries. She coyly befriended Sarah and told her what had happened, confirming the maids suspicions. In fact, this blonde harlot's mouth may have been what caused the maid to try and voice her suspicions in the first place. Through the conversations she'd had with Sarah, she'd learned about his many other maids, figuring that he was running a brothel of sorts. She figured that if he were, it had to be the reason he wasn't accepting her advances. He was already using one of his maids as 'bite-cushion'. This false assumption became even more apparent when the money-hungry harlot began undressing Elizabeth and checking her for bite marks. "MA'AM." shouted Silas authoritatively as he shielded his eyes from whatever nudity was shown. He'd seen plenty of naked women, but he respected Elizabeth more than any other woman he'd met. "Stop! What are you doing to her!?" When Elizabeth was thrown to the ground, Silas felt some of his primal urges almost resurface. He glared at the woman, restraining himself from pouncing. He would not kill this woman now. Not in front of Elizabeth. Soon after, Sir Redding came in and tended to Elizabeth, his eyes also locked on the blonde woman with a glare. After making Sure Elizabeth was okay, he ushered her out of the room and returned, shutting the door. Flipping the hem of his suit away, he placed his hand on his revolver, letting the woman see for good measure. "Ma'am," said Sir Redding in a cold and calm tone. "I don't know who the hell you are, but Mr. Grimheardt OWNS this property. That means that I can put a bullet through you right now for trespassing and assault with NO criminal charges." Silas approached the woman slowly and looked down at her with a glare only reminiscent of something feral. "First, you hound me for a full year..." he began. "Trying to sleep with me just so you can get a little extra cash. Then you BARGE into my estate and ASSAULT one of my household? Ma'am, if you know what is GOOD for you, you WILL leave NOW."
  2. YO! I got a potential spot in a different RP open! Would ya...be interested in climbing aboard? It's called Journey to the Sky Coin. I'll give ye' the link ey'? If ya can't participate, I TOTALLY understand! Sorry V-High kind a died, but its hard to keep up with it when people keep dropping out. :(

    1. Acarteus
    2. zackrobbman

      zackrobbman

      Sweet'o! Here's the link! 

      And here's a bit'o lore to go with it ey?

      https://www.valucre.com/forum/195-the-sky-coin/

      Just gonna ask the guy if it's cool for ya ta' join!

  3. Indeed good fellow! May your real life travels fare well! ALSO...there is a chance I may have someone in mind that can actually fill the spot. Gonna go ask her if it's cool.
  4. Zack awoke with a start, almost head-butting the hunter immediately. "What in Sam Hill..." he murmured before seeing Iedomee's face so close to his and backing up. "Zack! Have you seen Ina? Tara and I can't find her." Zack looked around him and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was still in the tree, Iedomee kneeling on a nearby branch. Zack thought about what Iedomee had justs aid and his eye's widened. "Oh, boy." he said before hopping out of the tree and looking around him. He could hear Artyom and Tara calling Ina's name from all over the haven. Like Iedomee, they sounded worried sick. He heard Iedomee land behind him. "We looked everywhere. We haven't seen Onzan either." Iedomee spoke in an angry whisper. Zack could tell that he was already in a killing mood. "Do you think he's taken her? I can't believe he would really do this." "Nothing's impossible." said Zack as he began jogging towards a nearby tower. "I doubt he'd just take her someplace without telling anyone. I figured he was smart enough to know that you'd hunt him down if he did." Once he reached the tower, he hopped up and grabbed a small protrusion before yanking himself upwards to the next. In a few bounds, he was at the top, looking all around him from the high vantage point. "ONZAN!" he shouted, careful not to loose his footing. "INA!" There was no reply. Part of him felt dumb for trusting Onzan as much as he did. Part of him felt even stupider for thinking that getting to relax here wouldn't be without it's downsides. It was only a matter of time before the monk pulled a fast one, and he should've been on guard. Now Ina was gone, and judging by how loud Tara and Artyom were shouting, she wasn't even here to begin with. Did the haven have a lower floor though? If that were the case, it could barely explain how Onzan or Ina weren't hearing him. Still, why would Ina let this guy take her anywhere without first waking one of them up? Zack kept coming back to the possibility of kidnapping. Maybe the bastard was working with Varga's and the Tin Man. That didn't make sense though. If he was working with them, why wouldn't he just radio the two and tell them where Ina was the moment he got them all inside the haven? If he had, and the Tin Man had shown up to take Ina, he surely wouldn't have left Zack or the others alive. He just didn't work that way. Or maybe Onzan wanted the pay for himself and was just waiting for a good opportunity to steal Ina away himself without risking a fight. Zack furrowed his eyebrows in anger before carefully descending the tower. Zack didn't like traitors. He didn't like fake people in general. If Onzan knew what was good for him, he'd better have a perfect explanation for what he'd done. Once he was ground level, he walked back over to a frantic Iedomee. "This place have a basment?" he asked, trying to put his thoughts together. "Also, was she gone when you woke up?"
  5. "Eagh!" McTeague gasped after finishing the last of the wine he'd bought in a single swig. The bartender sighed and shook his head. This had to be the fourth bottle. Although he couldn't see McTeague's eyes passed the brim of his black stetson, he knew they were probably half-closed. Any minute now and he'd pass out right there in his seat, meaning the bartender would have to carry him out. "O-One moreeee..." McTeague gasped out, gesturing with his index finger. "You've had enough." said the bartender in a gruff voice. McTeague only gave a drunken chuckle in response, burping loudly afterwards. "Was' your name?" asked McTeague before looking upwards slightly. He spotted the nametag pinned to the bartender's shirt. "M-Marty?" "...Yes." McTeague chuckled again. "I...KNEW a Marty once." said McTeague through an alcohol laden oratory. "Real nice fella'." "Sir," said Marty, leaning in so as not to cause a scene. "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Marty flinched when McTeague slapped a couple hundred dollars on the counter as confidently as a card-player that had an ace in the hole. Marty looked down at the bills and examined them closely. They were as real as real could get. Getting the message, Marty reached for the money and McTeague pulled it away before pointing to his empty bottle. "Drink first." said McTeague. Nodding, Marty turned around and grabbed another bottle of wine. The label on it read, 'Velvet Bite', McTeagues favorite whine. It burned going down, but it left a taste in your mouth that most men would describe as a lovely woman's kiss. I personally have no idea how they came up with that comparison, but maybe that's because I'm no drunk. McTeague on the other hand knew all too well. It was expensive, but he found it hard to care since he often drank enough to forget what numbers even meant. Marty set the bottle down in front of McTeague and only when his staggering hand grabbed it did McTeague take his hand off the money. Marty santeched it up with a happy smile before sneakily shoving the bills into his vest. "THANK you..." slurred McTeague. "For your kinnnnnd service." "My pleasure, kind sir." nodded Marty before walking away to tend to some other patron. McTeague wasted no time in popping the cork on the bottle and taking a long swig of the icy beverage. His liver would let him have it years or perhaps even months into the future, but to McTeague, it was like a life giving elixir. It made him feel like he could live forever as long as there was always another bottle within arms reach. Like any alcoholic, it helped him push certain thoughts out of his mind. In fact, it pushed so many thoughts away that he didn't notice the bar suddenly get quiet. He didn't hear everyone scramble out of their chairs and he didn't see the Bartenders face drain of color before he darted to the backroom and out the back door. He didn't even hear the heavy, determined footsteps of the men that walked up to him. There was a pause, the men obviously waiting for McTeague to turn around and face them. Instead, McTeague just took another swig, completely oblivious to their presence. "You Clive McTeague?" came a deep, guttural voice from one of the men standing behind him. "Aahh!" sighed McTeague after finishing his swig and setting the bottle down. "Oh, wee'! This is the life!" A large hand slammed down on the counter, making McTeague flinch a little. "I SAID..." spoke the same voice, much angrier and louder now. "Are you CLIVE MCTEAGUE!?" "Enh.." mumbled McTeague irritably as he lightly waved the man off. "I'm not takin' any jobs right now. I'm drinkin'." The side of McTeague's head exploded with pain and he found himself being flung from his chair and into an abandoned table someone had been playing cards on. The table broke in half when McTeague landed on it, sending cards and unfinished drink everywhere. McTeague blinked the invading darkness away and winced from both the pain on the side of his head and the spot on his back where he'd hit the table. "Ungh." he grunted as he sat up with a hand on both his back and his head. "Hell was that fer.." "My BROTHER you piece of ****!" yelled the same voice from before. McTeague was still buzzed from the whiskey and the blow to the side of the head didn't help, but he managed to squint until the figures in front of him weren't so fuzzy. Four men, all shirtless and wearing variants of bandoliers with ammo and explosives strapped to them. They looked pretty buff, especially the one standing at the front of the group. He had to be at least seven feet tall, a monster of a man. McTeague resisted his drunken urge to joke around about how his size compensated for something, figuring that it would only lead to more violence. They were armed with all manner of weapons, and he could swear that they looked familiar. "Your...brother?" repeated McTeague as he hoisted himself off the floor and stretched with a hand still on his back. McTeague could visibly see the rage building up on the big guy's face, as if the question was an insult in itself. "Joe Flintwood." growled the big guy through his teeth, his huge, balled up, fists shaking with fury. McTeague raked his mind for the name the best he could, but it was really hard to remember anything with all the alcohol in his system. He felt fortunate to still know his own name, let alone another person's. "Joe...Flintwood?" said McTeague, unaware that he appeared to be playing dumb. "Who's Joe Flintwood?" "Don'tchu PLAY DUMB!" shouted the big guy. "You KNOW who he is! You hunted him down and KILLED him last week!" At that very moment, McTeague had a flashback. For a brief moment, he found himself standing at the ready to draw his weapon, staring down a topless man with a bandanna over his mouth. The man was trembling, dozens of his friends lying dead around him. The man's hand was hovering over his weapon and McTeague could see tears welling up in his eyes. the man swallowed and began to draw. Bang. McTeague remembered the man falling flat on his face with a bullet hole clear through his forehead before spinning his magitech six-shooter and putting it back in his holster. "Oh." said McTeague as he clenched his eyes shut in recognition of the name. "You mean that degenerate that liked to rape women before stringin' em' up outside their own houses for their kids to see? THAT Joe Flintwood." "HE WAS MY ONLY BROTHER!!!" shouted the big guy. "My only FAMILY!" "He was wanted ALL OVER Terrenus." said McTeague, trying to appear as sober as possible whilst still stretching his back. "Ain't my fault that his face wound up on a wanted poster that I HA...*burp*...HAPpened to see at a bar." "I challenge you..." said the big guy, his eyes welling with angry tears. "...To a duel." McTeague looked taken aback. Half the reason was because he didn't expect these men to have an inkling of honor, and the other half was because it was just a plumb dumb thing to do. "Buddy," said McTeague before straightening his hat so the big guy could see the smiling skull embelm on the front of it. "I don't think you wanna-" "DO YOU ACCEPT!?" shouted the big guy, he and his cronies taking aim at him with their rifles and pistols. These men weren't equipped to have an honorable duel. He was certain they just wanted to slaughter him in front of everyone in town just as a spectacle. It didn't seem like they'd take 'No' for an answer either. McTeague sighed. "Alright." McTeague said with a shrug. "Jus' lemme' finish my-" The big guy turned and took aim at the bottle he'd been drinking before pulling the trigger. McTeague watched in drunken horror as his Velvet Bite was blasted to pieces in a splash of glistening glass and wine. He stared at the spot where his bottle had been like a boy looking at a freshly dead relative for the first time. Then, slowly but surely, a small, wicked grin forced it's way onto McTeague's face. "Oh..." said McTeague before fixing his gaze on the big guy, a feral twinkle in his seemingly hollow eyes. "Now why'd ya have ta' go and do that?" "Outside." said the big guy as he gestured to the door with his head. "NO-" BANGBANGBANGBANG McTeague barely managed to keep himself upright as he stumbled through an alley just a few doors down from the bar. He tried to think about the repercussions of his actions back at the establishment, but he couldn't focus. All he could think about was that bottle of Velvet bite before it got blasted to pieces. He'd had his mind set on it and he wasn't one for giving up. The only problem was that Marty the barkeep would surely tell the authorities about the drunk that was too drunk to notice four of the Flintwood gang enter the bar. If he tried to visit another bar, there was a chance someone would recognize him and notify the police. He COULD just say it was self defense, but that'd be hard to believe considering how things went down. Also, he was flat broke. He wasn't really feeling it at the moment, but it'd been a right dumb thing to fork over all that money for a single bottle. Now he wasn't getting anything. This was usually a sign that it was time to skip town or find some new work. He chastised himself for killing those men at the bar. If he'd wounded them and took off, he could've got a contract for their heads and got paid for wasting them. Now they were just a few random gang members he'd shot dead. If he WERE to convince them that he was just defending himself and tell them that he wanted to cash them in, they wouldn't have to honor it because there was no binding contract. "Agh!" he yelped when he walked into something and hit his head. "What in tarnation.." In front of him stood a lone telephone pole. He started to wonder why someone would place it in an alleyway, but dismissed those thoughts when he saw the poster pinned to it. He smiled before taking the ad off the pole. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle drinkin' a bottle of moon-shine." said McTeague in wonderment as he examined the ad. Then he threw up. The next day, McTeague set out in town to look for a large boat that was called by the Sky Faerie. He had a terrible hangover from the night before, keeping his hat tipped low to shade his eyes from the sunlight. He was also able to feel his bruises from when he'd been hit. The guy had to have been buffed up on some of that super-soldier serum his brother had been known to traffic before his...untimely demise. Thankfully the serum didn't mean squat when you had a hole blasted clean through your head. He thought about stopping by a bar to get a Prairie Oyster to help with his hangover, but he didn't want to miss the meetup. He'd have to ride it out like the fool he was. Just when he was starting to believe that he'd missed the meet, he spotted a staircase leading off the ground. Confused since there didn't appear to be a house connected to it, his head rose as his eyes followed the staircase upward. It kept going up, and up, until it reached what appeared to be a giant, floating, pirate ship, with wings that was blocking out the sun. It was like something like out of a children's novel, looking all majestic and magical. McTeague wondered if it was magitech keeping the thing afloat like that. Hell's Gate had a knack for making things float with magic-tech. Hell's Gate also had a knack for blowing things up and killing people. Hopefully this thing wasn't designed in Hell's Gate. Contrary to most people like him, he didn't want to go out with a bang. Next to the staircase was what appeared to be a young faery with a bright smile on her face that screamed 'Approachable'. McTeague was always weary of creatures like her. Elves, orcs, fairy's, faeries, trolls...they all usually meant trouble in one way or another. Thankfully, trouble was kind of a must in his job description. "Howdy' miss." said Clive as he approached the faerie. "This here's the Sky Faerie right?"
  6. "Hm." said silas with a nod. Was that what she really thought? Or was she just saying that because of the most recent events? Silas sighed internally for his pessimistic view of her intentions and berated himself. Maybe she was being sincere. After all, she was still there, being his maid-servant even after all of the frightening things that had happened. Most people would have left years ago, probably running off to tell the authorities that their master was a murdering psychopath with a deadly secret. Yes, that did seem like the normal reaction. Perhaps Elizabeth wasn't the most normal woman out there, hence she reacted to situations in an unorthodox way. How else could she look at this painting and think of nice things to say? "You have an interesting way of looking at things." Silas added. "Even when the picture appears sinister and grim, you strive to see the artist behind the painting. You try to find the good in things. I must say that I respect that. One should be trying to find the good in things. It's how we survive after all. We take lemons, and make lemonade." Silas paused for a moment. There was a time where he used to think of things just as she did, always looking to the bright side of things. In fact, when things would go wrong, people looked to him for encouragement. He always knew how to find light in the darkness. Or so he thought. Although his optimism was genuine and often helped others deal with their lifes problems, there were times where he was too optimistic. Sometimes, he'd search for light in places where there obviously wasn't any, leaving him blind and stumbling in the darkness like a crazy man. Eventually, after years of flailing around blindly, he finally realized that there was nothing to be happy about. There was no light, so there was no bright side. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he was what he was. An animal. A predator. And so were some of the people around him. "But," continued Silas before walking back over to his desk. "It would bother my conscience if I neglected to tell you that such optimism can also be dangerous. Sometimes, a person IS what he appears to be and there is no good to be found. In fact, more oft than not, that is the case. You might think there is good in a person, perhaps because of some good qualities you've seen in that past, but..." Silas said after sitting down and looking at the painting again. "...People can change. Surely one may try to change for the better, but it seldom works out that way. The person may try, but repeated...failures may begin to really mold that person's outlook into something more realistic. Through these failures, the person will discover that he can't escape from what he really is. Eventually," said Silas as he closed his eyes and breathed in Elizabeth's maddening scent. "That person may stop trying to. When that happens, you don't want to be anywhere near that person. The best way to do that is to distance yourself before you ever get the chance to be close. So, you treat the person like the man in that painting." Silas pointed to the picture again, hoping he hadn't appeared to be harsh with his words. He seldom ever spoke this much to anyone in his estate, so people could tell he was being serious whenever he did. He hoped Elizabeth would understand what he was trying to say. He didn't want to ruin her lovely attitude, but he also didn't want her getting herself into trouble as a result of it. There were lots of bad men and women out there that preyed on attitudes like the one she had. Although Silas didn't consider himself one of them, he thought it reasonable for her to keep her distance. She was already in danger just being a part of his estate. He didn't want her death to be added to the laundry-list of things on his guilty conscience. He wished he could tell her to just run away from him and live her life, but it would be too risky. The moment she left the state, the authorities and spooks would be all over her, questioning her about the happenings in his estate. And if she refused to answer, they would almost certainly resort to torture. He wanted to tell her why they'd do this, but he wasn't sure it was a good idea. She was loyal, that much was certain. But she was also human, which meant her loyalty had it's limits. Surely she'd leave him if she ever found out what he really was, what things he'd done. Then she'd go to tell the authorities and they'd slowly begin to connect the dots until they found out that he was responsible for the massacre of an entire town all those years ago. The authorities were already weary of him thanks to that first maid. She'd told them something that peaked their interest in his dealings, even warranting a visit every once in awhile. Silas looked at the scar on Elizabeth's face and instantly felt a tinge of guilt. She didn't deserve that scar. She'd done nothing to warrant such harm, merely carrying out her duties. On top that, she got to witness her first murder when it happened. Once again, he found himself wondering why she hadn't left yet. What about this place had her anchored here so well? Did she enjoy the solitude? Did she consider the other maids as family? Did she not have enough money to set out on her own? Or did she have nowhere else to go? The last assumption made Silas think a little. He'd never really talked to her about her life before her arrival here. Not in detail anyway. Many of the maids in his estate had their own stories before arriving here, most of them not nice. He was acutely aware of how the youngest one cried herself to sleep every night, probably because she kept having nightmares about the day pimps killed her parents and took her away. Sir Redding had been on a business run and had come across the girl's pimps by chance. They'd herded the women into a wagon and covered it with a tarp, but Sir Redding could hear their sobs. Usually, he would let bygones be bygones, but his own mother had been a victim of such circumstances when he was a boy. It was why he didn't get a chance to know her that well before finding her corpse years after she'd been taken. The pimps had caught on to Sir Redding's seemingly harmless questions and drew on him. Unfortunately, the only person capable of outgunning Sir Redding was Silas, and that was because Silas wasn't your average man. After gunning the men down, he dismounted his horse and told the women to run. But one little girl didn't. She lay in the wagon, catatonic and scarred. Realizing she'd probably just die if he left her there, he took her back to the estate and offered her a job and a place to stay with Silas's approval. That was her reason for being here. Like many of the other maids, she worked here to escape something. Silas knew all of their stories, but he never really learned Elizabeths. She'd come to the estate when she was 16 saying she she wanted to work, but what of her life before that? Everyone had a story, whether it was good or bad. Silas figured now was as good a time as any to pursue the basic formality. "If you don't mind me asking," began Silas before setting his Gaze on Elizabeth. "What was your life like before coming here? I don't believe I've ever asked you in all the time you've been here." It also suddenly occurred to Silas that she'd been here quite a while. Hopefully she hadn't noticed that Silas appeared to be same age as he did when she'd first arrived. He imagined having a hard time explaining that to her. Maybe he could just blame it on good health. That's what Sir Redding kept telling everyone anyway.
  7. "I-I don't know." Iedomee sighed. "The ships were swarming at North Haven and there were explosions everywhere." Zack sighed. It was a long shot to ask, but Iedomee's response didn't help alleviate his fear or confirm it. With all the magical happenings he'd experienced ever since embarking on this little excursion, he felt it was wise to take note of any and everything. Magic had a knack for over-complicating things, which was odd since the basic function of all magic was to simplify science into something most folks could understand and utilize properly. Magic could turn an inanimate object into a blood-thirsty creature that preferred to feast on little babies. Magic could take a few words and symbols and produce an explosion out of thin air. Magic could cause a person's dreams to resemble the near future. Magic was chaotic and unpredictable, a blemish created from mother-nature herself. It was a burden on Zack's psyche. At any rate, Iedomee was planning to leave tomorrow before nightfall. If his dream had been a depiction of the future due to some chaotic string of magical happenings, they'd be long gone before the Tin Man or whatever jerk was with him could show up. Although he didn't like the prospect of leaving Onzan behind, he couldn't just force the monk to leave. Zack got the feeling he'd refuse to leave. Onzan seemed connected to this place, as if it were the place he was destined to be. The Haven seemed like Onzan's ship, and he was the captain. As the saying goes, the captain always goes down with his ship. Zack hated that saying. After thanking him for his impromptu pep talk, Iedomee left Zack in the garden and returned to his quarters. Zack considered going back to his room, but thought better of it. He was certain that he wouldn't get an inkling of sleep tonight with Artyom's incessant, deafening, snoring. He sat up and looked around the garden. It was peaceful here, and it was beautiful. He could stare at the night sky and lull himself into a false enough sense of security so that he could sleep. The only problem was that he was paranoid. He couldn't say for sure whether or not Iedomee's dream had been some kind of prediction, but his mother always told him it was better to be safe than sorry. So, he got to his feet and climbed the nearest tree. It'd been a good month or two since he'd slept in one, but in no time at all, he was able to find a few branches both large, close, and sturdy enough to lay on. He considered going back to get his pillow, but decided not to. He simply didn't want to hear Artyom snoring anymore. After getting as comfortable as he could get, he laid down and stared through the foliage at the night sky. The gentle breeze that rustled the leaves around him calmed his mind until he was finally able to doze off.
  8. Hm. Would fixer have a drink with Mcteague? Or does alcohol jack up circuitry? XD And take ya time pal'ly! I'd like us ALL to enjoy this stint, and that's best done when NOT under duress.
  9. Zack could hear the choke in Iedomee's voice. This was bothering him pretty bad. Zack could understand why though. A dream about someone or something trying to kill you might be scary, but it doesn't really mess you up as bad as most people would think. You usually just wake up with a start and calm down once you realize none of it was real. But the dream Iedomee had? It was about something happening to those he loved. Those dreams haunt you for days, forcing you to to seriously consider what it would be like for a loved one to just...disappear. Forever. Then Zack looked at the hunter with a blank expression. "Wait...did you say airships?" asked Zack, remembering the time the Tin Man commissioned a few for an all out siege on a city in the past. They looked like giant floating spheres with a glowing red strips encircling each one in the middle. Zack would never forget how terrifying they were, hailing down volleys of bullets the size a beer bottle. They turned any opposition not fortunate enough to be behind nigh-indestructible cover into a mess of blood and limbs in an instant. Anything the bullets didn't rip to pieces were left for the rockets and proton cannons to vaporize into a mist of ash. Then there was the cargo. Each ship contained what seemed like a boundless army of battle androids. They weren't nearly as advanced as the ones manufactured in Hell's Gate, but that didn't make them much less of a threat. Zack could remember them being surprisingly quick and intelligent with enough strength to bust a guy's skull open like a melon with one punch. If Mikey hadn't shown up out of the blue that day, Zack would've probably died defending what remained of the city's inhabitants, and I don't mean in a glorious way either. Spooked by the oddly specific detail in Iedomee's dream, Zack needed to know more. If this was something more than a dream, they needed to tell Onzan asap. "What did these airships look like?" asked Zack, his eyes squinted a little. "Were there...robots attacking the Haven?"
  10. OK! Heeeeeeeeere ya go!
  11. INMATE PROFILE: CLIVE MCTEAGUE This is an official report filed by Sheriff Bob Collinger. BASIC INFO NAME: Clive Copperfield McTeague NICKNAME(s): Clyde, Snake-Eyes, The Smilin' Man GENDER: Male SPECIES: Terran Human AGE: 29 HAIR COLOR: Black EYE-COLOR: Black APPEARANCE Clive stands at about 6'3 with pale skin and eyes so dark you'd think they were holes leading off to no-where. He's pretty buff too, obviously doing something to keep himself healthy. As much as the bastard drinks, I'm surprised he doesn't have a gut. He takes care to shave too, always keeping his beard down to a 5 o'clock shadow. He's got a scar running through the front of his neck. Rumor from his hometown is that his father slit his throat right before killing his mother. He's always seen wearing a black stetson that's ornamented with a card with a smiling skull on it, a few vintage Peace-Keeper rounds he keeps telling everyone he's keeping for that special person, and a badge that also looks like a smiling skull. I think it's the only possession he owns that he actually values other than his custom-tailored, inlaid, magitech, six-shooter he always keeps on him. I'd advise any dumb*** that tries to befriend him not mess around with either of these unless they plan on an early burial. PERSONALITY Clive comes off as an easy-going fella', always joking around and just trying to have a good time whilst drinking some good wine. A lot of good wine. In fact, half the west of Terrenus knows him to drink himself to sleep at any bar he spends more than $10 dollars in. But, although he may be a drunkard, I've heard that he's a nice guy. Chivalrous and kind to just about anybody, never looking for a fight. In fact, some revere the ***hole as hero if you can believe that bull****. They say he'd gone out of his way countless times to save small rural towns from bandits and the like. I once talked to a bartender that claimed Clive had saved his life. He'd thrown McTeague's sleeping form outside his bar a few hours before a dozen or so men came into it looking to kill him and get all the money in his safe. The guy goes on to tell me that Clive had gotten up and walked back into the bar asking for another drink even though he was barely able to stand. The men inside turned and opened fire while the bartender took cover behind his counter. Less than a minute later, the shooting had stopped and Mcteague walked up to the counter apologizing for the mess before asking for his drink. If you ask me, the bastard just winds up doing what he does best at the right times, not really caring about saving someone's life. He's just another no-good bounty hunter, but he fancies himself a deputy, telling everyone that he works under the greater good. When he's working, I've heard that he's relentless, never quitting on a job until the outlaw he's hunting is either dead or rotting in a cell. He doesn't keep his heart out of it though. I've heard that if an outlaw refuses to come with him peacefully and would rather die, McTeague will respect his wish and give him a fighting chance. He'll do one of two things, letting the outlaw choose which one. He'll either duel the outlaw cowboy style or play a game of cards with him. Any game the Outlaw chooses. The rules are simple. If the Outlaw wins, Mcteague dies or the outlaw goes free. If Mcteague wins, the outlaw gets a bullet through the head. Funny thing is that he ain't dead and has never failed to get his man. Although it's hard for me to believe, he also keeps innocents out of harm's way during his work, being especially considerate of the women. He used to be one of the figure-heads of the notorious Rattlesnake gang being nothing more than a thief and killer of fathers and sons, so it's hard for me to believe that he's a reformed man. The only reason he's not still rotting in a cell is because my son claims he saved his life when we had that prison-break. Makes me sick to know that he's walking around scot-free after all the good men he gunned down during his days as an outlaw, but I can't shoot him and look my son in the eye afterward. THREAT - HIGH Mcteague might appear to be an easy-going joker with the utmost respect for his peers, but don't you fool yourself. This man has a body-count as tall and wide as one of those futuristic sky-scrapers in Hells Gate. Most of them are outlaws, but he's killed good men too. He's a crackshot and has a nasty deadeye that's probably been the last thing thousands of men have seen before passing on to whatever the hell is next. He's gone into compounds chock-full of outlaws and came back without a scratch, leaving nothing but dead men and a ghost-town in his wake. A lot of the men he's jailed akin him to the Old Undertaker, saying that when he appears with his gun drawn, death is sure to follow as nothing more than a force of nature. Heh, if only they knew how he worked. Don't get me wrong, Mcteague IS a skilled gunman that can put a bullet through your head at a thousand yards as easy and as quickly as blinking, but that's not the sole reason he isn't dead. He's proven himself to be an exceptional tactician, always looking for ways to maximize his advantage while limiting his enemy's. Although he's a good shot, he's only human. He knows that he can die just as easily as any other normal human being if he doesn't use his wits. He especially has to do this since he's not that good of a hand-to-hand combatant. He might be able to hold his own in a bar fight against one drunk guy, but anymore than that is begging for an ***whipping on his account. Then again, he usually doesn't use his hands in a brawl. The nearest beer bottle is always his go to. Another reason he's so dangerous is his gun. It's not your average magi-tech six-shooter. Like the newest pulse-rifles in Hells Gate, it can actually generate it's own ammo. It's able to do this because it doesn't actually shoot real bullets. The braniacs' I've worked with tell me it shoots hard light or something. Apparently the light is so hard that it can take a man off his feet, doing much more damage than a regular bullet. Theses 'Hard-Light' bullets also travel much faster than regular ones, making the time of impact almost instantaneous once the shot is fired. The bullets also negate magic and tear through armor pretty easily. He can even fan the hammer on the thing if someone gets too close for comfort. The only draw-backs to this weapon are that it's effective range literally ends at about 1,500 yards. After that, the bullet just fades away. Also, after every seven shots, he has to open the chamber to let the gun cool off for about a second before he can fire again. It's a pretty hi-tech weapon. Wonder where the bastard got it from. Despite the obvious hand-holds that come with his own gun, he's just as good if not better with any conventional side-arm, always calculating the bullet-drop and wind influence perfectly. I also thought him to be a lefty, but I've also seen him shoot with his right hand just as efficiently. I've never seen him using an assault rifle, but I assume he's a decent shot with them as well. That's all I really know about how he works in combat, but the only thing YOU need to take away from this is that he's not the kind of guy you want gunning for you. If you're a cop like me and you want to gun him down, you'd better reconsider for a few days and amass a posse the size of an army. Or wait for him to pass out at a bar and stab him straight through whatevers left of his black heart. If you ask me, you'd be doing the world a solid favor. REPUTATION Mcteague is often coined the term 'The Smilin' Man' because of how he always has some **** eating grin on his face right before he guns someone down. Or maybe it's just me that thinks he eats ****. I don't know. The point is that he'll kill you with the same heart-warming smile he has when playing a friendly game of cards with you. His hat always over-shades his eyes just short of his mouth, so in a sense, it's like looking at a smiling skeleton. I guess the bastard still gets a kick out of killing. He probably dreams every night about all the fun he had murdering all those good men in cold blood. I've had the pleasure of watching him kill a man in the past. He DOES smile before he takes the shot, but if you look close enough, you can see a small tinkle in his eye, like a tiny white speck that substitutes for his pupils within the shadow of his stetson. Soulless and excited, eager to kill. Behind that easy-going facade is an animal just waiting for a massacre like a demented little boy for his birthday. He's not just a bounty hunter though. Since he drinks up most of his cash at local bars, he'll pretty much do anything for money. This can range from fixing up a house to seducing another man's wife. He's been known to travel Terrenus doing all sorts of things, never really settling down anywhere. I guess he can't since both his old gang and several other criminal factions want him dead. Word from the grapevine was that he left the Rattlesnake gang in shambles when he left, killing their supposed leader in a duel one night before leaving. Their leader had expected him to take up the mantle since McTeague knew everything about the business, but when he didn't, they didn't know what to do. Word is that they're offering quite a bit of money for his head. Unfortunately, all this does is make his job easier as a bounty hunter, since the dumb***es just come to him. Some spooks actually think that he's a demon of some sort. I'll tell you right now that this is wrong. Mcteague is nothing more than some drunk, no-good, bounty-hunter that thinks he can make up for the sins of his past by killing even more people and washing the guilt down with some good whiskey. END OF REPORT Bob Collinger
  12. lol
  13. Sentient ship huh? That's pretty neat! Hope he allows alcohol on-board.
  14. It'll be up fer' I go to sleep tonight!
  15. lol I'm geussin' Mcteague and him are gonna get along REAL nice.