The Four~Act One: The Blood-drenched Plateau

The sun was just beginning to set.

As the sky blurred into a pink-orange haze that preceeded the desert night, the Four stood facing one another, each's back to one end of the compass rose. North, South, West...and one poor bastard looking right into the setting sun's glare.

They'd been standing since sun-up that morning. Hunger and thirst had taken their toll, but thankfully the Sea of Vultures, as this desert was dubbed, was surprisingly not brutal in terms of heat: no, it was named after the carrion birds for the various roaming parties of bandits and ruffians, but even they seemed to leave the pleateau alone.

Perhaps they sensed the plateau that towered over the rest of the desert was soon to be soaked in a sea of blood, the blood of these Four. They each came with an object more terrible and powerful than human imagination can fully grasp and they each came fully ready and willing to commit that bloody and awful sin of murder. Retaliation, self defense-justice, even, could be names for what they planned, rather than that harsh word of "murder", but it doesn't hide it. They came or blood, and their thirst would be quenched.

Feet asleep, arms and legs stiff, backs tense, and muscles cramping, the hours of self-induced paralysis had taken their toll, but their minds were as sharp and ready as ever. Hands inched towards revolvers, fingers twitched, tensions flared.

It was a matter of time until someone made the first move, and then all hell would break loose.

----

As a casual reminder...

ACT ONE
THE BLOOD-DRENCHED PLATEAU

Our heroes meet at the Plateau, set in the heart of a jagged and treacherous mountain range, to solve their bloody dispute once and for all. What drives them? What keeps them going? What, ultimately, do they quarrel with such supernatural forces over? All to be decided.

They arrive at sun up and remain motionless, held in a silent standoff for nigh on twelve hours straight. Now, though, as the sun begins to set, they sense the tension and readiness in each other, and thus rally their aching and stiff muscles into a fighting stance, feel the adrenaline rush as their fingers curl around knives and pistols, rifles and machetes. The slightest twitch could provoke a firestorm of lead and steel, but all have come prepared for Death.

REQUIREMENTS OF ACT ONE
-No one's character can directly be killed during this Act: you've all worked hard on your characters and I feel they deserve at least one Act to live. After this, no limitations!
-This does not exclude wounds: your character merely will not DIE during this Act. You can be shot in the gut and bleed and wither until the start of Act Two and promptly drop dead, understood?
-Your character must, by the end of Act One, have left the Plateau in one way, shape, or form.
-A little light must be shed on your backstory-not all, mind you.

As per usual, our good friend, Salvador, was smiling. Smiling right across this cordial little circle at the twitchy fellow across from him, all while keeping a careful eye (that eye being the one that could do more than just see) on the two lovely ladies to his left and right. Of the four, he was by far the most relaxed and seemed unfazed by the thirst and hunger presently making his head swim. It was infuriating, but he had more important things to deal with at the moment, and letting himself distracted would likely earn him a swift and probably painful death. How fun!

Despite his external calm, on the inside he was coiled like a spring. His fingers were just barely brushing one of his guns, ready to draw and fire if he caught even the faintest bloody streak of impending violence, and right behind the glint of friendly charm in his (visible) eye was a hardness that absolutely screamed of an impending triple-homicide if certain conditions were (or were not) met. Those conditions involved his boredom and how unbearable it got. Because right now, it was getting pretty hard to stand. He did hate being bored.

"Well this is fun, isn't it?" he said out of nowhere, seeming to relax even more as if that was even possible, "I must say, I'm rather parched. You don't think we could halt this thrilling engagement for a quick drink, do you?"

The man across from him flinched violently-- with a little yelp, too-- when he spoke, and the chain grasped tightly in his hands gave a jingle that, probably due to Salvador's smile and jovial tone of voice alone, was disturbingly cheery given the present situation. Adaire wasn't tired. Not physically, that is; mentally, he was always exhausted from constant paranoia. But physically, he was just fine and dandy unlike everybody else. He had his friend to thank for that, his friend being the armor that looked like rags right now.

Something in the back of his head told him not to speak, so he held his tongue and just stared at Salvador for a good five seconds before resuming his constant back-and-forth glances that made him look as though he was frantically shaking his head. His gaze lingered, predictably, on the old woman. Who could blame him? She would have drawn the gaze of anyone anywhere because not only was she downright terrifying (in his mind, anyway), but she was also just not what you see every day. The smiling man came in close second. The girl with the gun at least seemed predictable.

It had bothered him at first, how the old woman hadn't even narrowed her eyes against the sun. He'd then been called stupid and informed that she was very obviously blind and how on earth could anyone be such a useless idiot not to notice that? Then it had bothered him that she was blind, because blind people were just plain unnerving. And so was the metal and red glass thing nailed to smiling dude's face. And everything. He really wanted to just turn tail and run, but his friend held him still-- or as still as it could; he was still twitching like mad. He could at least bite back the involuntary sounds that tended to so frequently accompany those twitches.

His jaw was clenched. It was the only part of him that was sore other than his throat.

The dryness of the air did reveal unto me the sun's waning, as mine skin perceived such a change in warmth as to unnerve me. It was not akin to the humid, potent breath of the swamp which I did ere this day call home.

Rag I am called, mine own name having been surrendered to mine Chosen God who hath brought me to mine current residence. It is his word that guideth my step, his love that gaveth life unto my body, and his wrath that doth embody itself in the strike of mine totem and the hiss of mine breath. When I speak, it is through him, and when I die, it will be by his command.

Hear me, then, for his most holy intent is hidden unto me, his servant, and death may yet lurk behind the faces of those that surround me. In the First Hour of Light didst we rendezvous at this most unholy place, and here still doth the Final Hour find us. I have listened to and scented these mine enemies, so as to know them well, and this I have concluded:

To mine left standeth a most curious man, clad in what mine ears find to be unremarkable cloth. With him he doth carry a most large artifact of linked metal, so like the Great Serpent of the River Bed as to crush mine bones and steal my breath. He doth seem like no Warrior to me, but mine Chosen God has placed him here for reason and I must be wary.

To mine right lieth a quiet man, seeming of most esteemed composure. By the wind's permeating revelation do I detect the clink and knock of most unnatural weapons, among which I recognize the bangsticks wielded by unholy warriors of the stone city. There is little else of him my Chosen God has revealed unto me, and the man unnerves me - he carries with him an aura of knowledge that doth set the hairs of mine neck on raise, as the Great Cat doth bristle in the presence of its known enemy.

Across from mine self doth stand a woman by scent, young but not youngest of us the four, and who stands with a calm to rival that of the previous. She carries with her the queerest and most frightening specimen of the four of us rivals, though in truth I can not determine what possesseth the man of mine left. This woman carries on her hip a most strange artifact, if mine nose doth not deceive mine self, which swayeth with unnatural movement in the wind's breath. I fear it as I fear the tooth and claw of those things wild and deadly, and yet more.

Mine Chosen God hath entrusted me with a relic of mine own, which doth presently hang from the fist of mine totem. With so many other charms and Witch's Trusts doth it reside, yet it retains its own difference as vast as the sea is to the drop of rain. It is with this most unusual creation that I must entrust my very survival, as it is crafted by those men of the stone city yet bears the heart of mine most holy and powerful sire.

But I am summoned; the fiend on my right doth break this silence, this period of study and idleness of limb. Prepared must I be to rain wrath upon mine foes, and as his words pierce the crisp air mine hand grips tightly mine totem.

Is it a game in which we doth find ourselves submerged? He speaks with a tongue of finest silver and a lightness akin to the air I breathe. Speaking of drink and refreshment, he hath reminded mine self of mine own appetite. Nigh on two Waxings of the Sun it has been since last did the flesh of fruit or beast settle in mine stomach, or the familiar nectar of life trickle down mine throat. Weak I am not, but the long hours of study hath brought sleep and ache to mine aged bones. Weak I am not, but weak I will be if food and rest mine way are not sent ere long.

Doth mine sire wish for this conflict to be drawn out? So be it. Mine altered jaw doth rasp open to the extent of its thread, letting forth a wheezing gust of most stagnant air. The remnants of mine voice doth take form, as mine head sweepeth slowly around to inhale a final scent of these mine enemies.

"H e r e... b r o u g h t... w e... a r e," mine Chosen God's breath doth moan forth from this mine tired tongue,
"t o... s a t e... t h e... a p p e t i t e... o f... h i s t o r y. S p e a k... n o w, m i n e... e n e m i e s, a n d... m a k e...
k n o w n... y o u r... p u r p o s e. I... m i n e... s e l f... s e r v e... h i m... m i n e... C h o s e n... G o d... o f... W a r...
a n d... N a t u r e, w h o... d o t h... h e r e... c o m p e l... m i n e... b o d y... t o... e x a c t... u p o n... y o u r...
s e l v e s... t h e... v e n g e a n c e... o f... m i n e... d o r m a n t... a n c e s t o r s. W h a t... s a y... y o u... a l l?"

Sweat. It trickled down her face, rolling briefly off the stretch of shirt covering her upper body, falling to the ground in a silent moment, causing a small crater of dust at her feet. She was terrified that it was actually a tear from her sore eyes. She blinked, one at a time, to make sure she was never unattentive to the three in front of her. But one thing was driving her insane, beyond anything else. Her bladder was ready to release, but she couldn't, not here, not now...

Right across was a tatty old hag who she regarded as no more threatening than a stupid granny. On her right was the man in the strange skin, her first target. A clean shot to the head was key, from a guess that skin would protect him. However, the man to her left was the one she was most concerned about. That stupid smile, that whacked up piece of glass that made him look like a total dope... it was driving her insane, and in no way relieving the needs of nature.

"Drink my pee pervert." Anything that would make her feel a little less desperate to go. She couldn't just release and hope for the best, it was hard enough to concentrate in the youngest body out of all of them. Then again, she wasn't even sure if she really was anything other than 16. She tried not to shake her head, despite the need to clear it of interrupting thoughts. She had the gun of miracles, that was all she needed for the moment. That, and her title...

Releasing herself on the first victim didn't seem like such a good idea. Pee Shooter sounded oddly corny, and in no way did she want to remember this moment of such desperation for a good few moments of privacy. That and cramps would begin to set in any time now. She guessed she was most vulnerable in a pinch. The only thing balancing it out was her very offensive weapon. But needing to pee was such a terrible distraction.

Maybe she could bring herself to such a low standard as to seduce the crazy one into picking off the hag, while she dealt with the one to her left. Surely it wasn't such a bad trade off, she got her title, he got to live without her smashing that ridiculous piece of bottle glass under her bare foot. No, he was a real creep. Especially the way he followed her ammo belt up from her waist to her neck, pressing in between her breasts, as unnoticeable as they were anyway. No, she had to keep cool, wait for others to make a mistake, and get the most dangerous first. The creep she could use in future, the skin would be useless.

"I've drank far worse," Salvador riposted in a heartbeat without so much as glancing in the young lady's direction. She seemed to be the closest to breaking down and acting first, although he couldn't quite see the future. Almost, but not quite. She was getting antsy and he was making her uncomfortable. If he really wanted to, he could probably push her to act hastily and fire that pretty gun of hers, but there was a good chance that she'd fire it at him and he didn't really want that. Dying wasn't his intention. Not today. Not that he was picking up on any direct hostilities towards himself, though. Rays of dangerous intent were pushing more towards the other man than towards him.

His attention turned in part to the eldest among them. "Curiosity brings me here, my dear woman," he purred, and she would be able to hear his smile even though she couldn't see it. Charm likely wouldn't do much for him in her case, but it was a given for him. He couldn't not be charming unless, of course, circumstances called for it, "Surely I can't be the only one who is absolutely captivated by these..." A finger rose to his eye and gently tapped the Monocle twice, "items that have brought us together. Perhaps it is the nature of my own, but I wish to know all there is to know about the others and those who possess them."

"Your c-curiosity will b-b-be your d-downf-fall, as will y-your bluh-bloodlust," the Armor stammered through Adaire's mouth, its confidence diminished by his anxiety, "You all p-pose a threat I c-can't--" He yelped involuntarily and the words diminished to an unintelligible mumble. The internal berating that he received made him cringe even further. The last word came out as a tiny whimper: "...ignore."

With but a brief glance in the direction of the female, who hath uttered such a curious request, I turn my attention to the esteemed man. His cheer doth reverberate through the very air, and my skin it doth agitate quite unpleasantly. Such an emotion seemeth quite misplaced on this, a field of impending death and suffering.

"C u r i o s i t y... i s... a s... n o b l e... a... r e a s o n... f o r... s h e d... o f... b l o o d... a s... a n y... t h a t...
h a t h... e v e r... b e e n... c o n c e i v e d... i n... t h e... h e a d... o f... M a n. G i v e t h... a n y... o f... y o u r...
s e l v e s... v o i c e... t o... w h e t... t h e... g e n t l e m a n 's... a p p e t i t e? S p e a k... n o w... o f... y o u r...
h i s t o r y, s o... t h a t... y o u r... s t o r y... m a y... f o r e v e r... b e... r e c o r d e d... i n... t h e... m i n d... o f...
t h e y... w h o... w a l k e t h... f o r t h... f r o m... t h i s... c u r s e d... p l a n e... t o n i g h t."

I do not believe I would be mistaken if I did think that nested in the form of the quite pitiful man lieth two separate souls. By his voice, I do see pain - such torture in the hallowed ground of the mind doth oft give way to the suffering of body, both of self and of other. This I do know for incontestable fact. Study, I will, this man, as I do avoid the young woman and with the gentleman do combat. It is in these three practices that mine Chosen God will bequeath survival unto me.

To the suffering man, I reply thus. "A n d... w h o... b e... y o u, t o... s t a n d... s o... t a l l... w i t h... t h i n e...
w o r d s... y e t... c r i n g e... a n d... c o w e r... s o... i n... t h e i r... d e l i v e r a n c e? T h e... g e n t l e m a n...
h a t h... b e e n... s u m m o n e d... o f... h i s... c u r i o s i t y, a n d... I... f o r... m i n e... r i g h t f u l...
r e v e n g e... u p o n... t h i s... m o s t... u n h o l y... w o r l d. L e t... t h r e a t... r e v e a l... t h r e a t, a n d...
s a y e t h... y o u... w h a t... r e a s o n... a n d... m e a n s... y o u... d o... p o s s e s s... t o... h a r b o r... s u c h...
w a n t... f o r... o u r... d e a t h s."

She winced again. Why was she here in the first place? To get a title sure, but the needs of her body were quickly overtaking the needs of her ego. Could she just call for five minutes parley to relieve herself behind a rock? Probably not, she might get interrupted by no person in particular anyway, not even daring to glance at the guy with the monocle. Still, she was feeling herself weaken. This just wasn't the place for a teenager, as much as she wanted to be her actual adult self.

"Look, can you hurry up. I've really gotta go..." Her hand edged ever so slightly towards the Sixgun. Hanging off her loose jeans, there were a few bloodstains on the handle visible, which she would wipe off once she had her title. It was her own blood, reminders of what she had spent years searching for. Almost a literal diary written in blood.

She was weakest, that much was sure. But she was strongest at the same time... The phrase repeating in her head, she held onto it, itching to walk away from the standoff with the name of Shooter. Her destiny, wading in blood, her name carved into the bullets that would finish her enemies. It all began here.

All eyes were on him now, even those of the carrion birds making dizzy patterns in the air above, waiting for the bloodbath to begin and end. He could feel them. The eyes. Everyone's eyes. The Armor tried to coax him to open his mouth so that it could oblige to the woman's request, but he had mentally wired shut his jaw and his lips were stitched together by resolute silence.

The silence was the only part of him that could be described as that. He was quaking in his boots, his body shaking so violently that he may very well have gone into convulsions, and all the Armor could do was make the tremors a little less violent. He was going to die here and there was nothing he could do about it. No matter how many times the Armor told him he and it would be the victors, he could not be convinced otherwise. He was going to die.

Salvador's smile grew still brighter, and now there was definite, sadistic glee present in his every breath as he watched the man standing opposite him silently lose what little of a composure he'd had to begin with. He could see the fear beating off of him in time with his racing heart, little pulses of yellow jackhammering out of him and racing every which way like rogue fireworks. He started to laugh, not maniacally, but like he had just heard an incredibly funny joke.

A second later, Adaire-- despite being the only one whose muscles weren't on the verge of failure-- sank to his knees and let out a quiet, almost plaintive whimper, covering his head with his hands. Salvador had seen it coming, hence the laughter, and when it actually did happen, he drew one of his guns and pointed it straight ahead and a little down. Right at Adaire's face. Just to see him cringe even more. Kid was on the verge of a total psychological breakdown, no doubt about it.

"I suppose we could shoot him and then pause for a brief respite, my dear," he said offhandedly to the girl as he cocked his revolver with painfully deliberate slowness, "As I said, I'm in need of a drink, and I'd like the chance to take one before this becomes more than crushing little bugs like him. Hydration is very important."

And Adaire just started mumbling incoherently under his breath. He was probably begging for mercy or something. Probably.

Tensions doth rise now, I can sense it. There will be blood given swift time. My strategy must be flawless and my faith untainted if I am to prevail this day.

The heaviness of air has not gone unnoticed by mine enemies. Turn does mine head at the reach for weapon, as the threat of death looms ever nearer and no less horrible. Look, there, mine shadowed eyes, as the sufferer doth tremble and fall. Methinks it will be by his own hand doth his life give way, not any of those doth us three removed possess, lest these tremors subside.

Observe, do I, the state of this wretched thing as the gentleman doth his bangstick retrieve. Will the man die with ease as thus? Mine instinct, what hath kept alive mine body and intact mine consciousness throughout the years of Trial, does not rank the creature among such pitiful fatelings. Yet, perhaps it would be wisest the gentleman allow his chance of slaughter, if slaughter doth be intended.

Mine totem doth move in accord with the will of mine Chosen God upon the unnatural weapon, laying across it with the whack of wood to cold metal. I do face the gentleman, not to see but be seen rather, as my breath doth pour forth once more.

"T h e... h o n o r... o f... T r u e... C o m b a t... d o t h... u n t o... u s... d i c t a t e... t h e... u n a c c e p t a b l e...
p e n a l t y... a w a r d e d... t o... t h o s e... t h a t... w o u l d... s t r i k e... d o w n... t h e i r... f o e... t h u s...
i n c a p a c i t a t e d. M i n e... s i r e... h a t h... b r o u g h t... u s... h e r e... t o... i n... g o o d...
c o m p e t i t i o n... e n g a g e... i n... b a t t l e... w i t h... d e s t i n y... t h e... s o l e... v i c t o r. P u t...
a s i d e... t h i r s t... f e a r... a n d... a l l... p h y s i c a l... n e e d s, f o r... t i m e... w i l l... s h o w... i t s e l f...
i n... a b u n d a n c e... i n f i n i t e... f o r... s u c h... e n d e a v o r s... o n c e... d e a t h... h a s... m e t... w i t h...
t h i n e... s e l v e s."

See I the sufferer as one less target to char with forceful blast from either gentleman or girl once passed, and thus more useful doth he be running and trembling than fallen into the oblivion. My true concerns lie, though concern itself nested within of the man's horrid secret, in the wrath of the gentleman's knowledge and the threat of swift death of the girl's most unholy weapon. As the odd moment doth pass by, all the closer doth the face and use of such relics loom.

Rolling her eyes as the man she had been intent on decapitating with a well aimed shot fell to his knees, she felt like running away just to relieve herself. This whole standoff was quickly turning into a pool of sobbing. This was not how she wanted to gain her title, by executing a pitiful man on his knees, begging for mercy. She wanted a genuine fight, something that made her gnash her teeth, hiss at the enemy, and blow their guts out in sheer rage.

"Get up you stupid fool. I will not kill an enemy who can't keep himself upright." Chivalry, pah. There was the creep or the old hag at least, probably the creep. The only way she could see herself dispatching the crone in was by just leaving her here to die. Let her mop up the blood if she so chose to, hardly a worthy opponent. And the man in the skin? He was probably not worth considering anymore. That left the glass eye.

"As for you... I have never encountered such a group of opponents so poorly suited to my desires." She winced hard as her bladder began to fight back. Her formal talk wasn't really increasing her confidence anymore. If she could stall for a bit longer, the opportunity to find a private spot to release herself would most certainly arise.

"Bah."

A loud crack! split the air, a high-pitched peal of thunder minus the lightning and with a puff of gunpowder as a cloud. The next sound was that of the birds overhead shrieking their protests to the sudden disturbance of their languid circling and scattering in all directions. Salvador's smile hadn't faded in the slightest, although there had been a brief air of disappointment just before he'd fired.

"First shot fired, first blood spilled. I am on a roll."

No, he wasn't referring to Adaire. Don't be ridiculous; he'd pointed the gun skyward at the last moment before his finger twitched on the trigger. Adaire most definitely was not in the sky, and neither was the large carrion bird that was now flapping uselessly around on the ground, one wing rendered useless by the hunk of metal embedded somewhere in it. Not anymore, anyway.

Adaire was just fine and dandy. Physically, anyway. He'd sunk even further into himself, and further still upon hearing that they wouldn't kill him if he wouldn't fight. Oh. Well that changed things. "'m not a coward," he hissed softly under his breath, too quietly to be heard what with the ringing that was no doubt still in everyone's ears from the gunshot, "I'm a genius."

Damn shame he couldn't see what Salvador could, because his reaction to the pinkish tendrils of curiosity presently assaulting him courtesy of the Monocle's wearer himself would no doubt have been priceless. "We're at quite an impasse here, ladies and gentleman," Salvador piped up, twirling his revolver idly around his index finger, "You people are absolutely no fun at all."

The gun went back in its holster and he would have resumed his original, casual stance had his stance actually changed at all in the time he'd been holding the gun. Most people at least get a little serious when armed. Plant their feet, position themselves right, maybe hold their heads a little higher. Not Salvador, though. His indifference was profoundly disturbing. But that had already been rather obvious. This thing with the gun had just driven it in deeper.

Involuntarily I recoiled from the roar of the bangstick, and the low hiss of disgust did escape from my maw as an afflicted creature plummeted to the ground. What unholy spirit doth possess this man, to deliver unto him such a power of aim yet steady his arm so as to remain thus unflinching? I did not like it, and the being's next words did little to ease my distaste for him.

"T h i n k... y o u t h... i s... a... g a m e? W e... s h a l l... s e e... w h a t... r e s p e c t... h a t h... t h i n e s e l f...
f o r... t h e... f o r c e s... o f... N a t u r e... w h e n... t h e r e... t h i n e s e l f... I... d o... r e t u r n. S i n s... a s...
s u c h... s h a l l... n o t... r e m a i n... u n f o r g i v e n!"

My arm doth tighten around my totem in preparation of the strike. Lift it, do I, in the direction of the slain fowl. "O b s e r v e... t h i n e... w r a t h... a n d... t h i n e... f a t e. L e t... h u n t e r... b e c o m e... h u n t e d - m i n e...
C h o s e n... G o d... d o t h... w i s h... n o t... f o r... d e l a y."

Saying thus, I turn to the girl. "I n... b l o o d... w i l t... y o u... p a y... f o r... y o u r... s a v a g e r y.
I f... w o r d s... b e... u n p l e a s a n t, l e t... t h e m... a w a y... b e... c a s t! I f... w h a t... t h o u... s e e k... i s... d e a t h, l e t... d e a t h... c o m e... i n... f o r c e!" This last comment having been addressed to the trio complete, the foot of mine totem I do strike into the dirt. Suffer more of this shrewdness, this childlike exchange, I will not. To delay what looms so inevitably on the horizon is to make insult unto its terrible glory.

With a swiftness of mine totem, like the neck of the young doe, could I shatter limb of either on my side. If leg be faster than arm, perhaps the girl's weapon could be thus incapacitated - however, know not do I the limits of her reaction, and such a move would to the wrath of the gentleman reveal me. Best it would be to ensure the girl's distraction before attacking, and making first target of he with the knowledge and immovable humor.

Flicking her eyes about, she quickly thought up a plan. The old woman was restricted to melee, kicking dust at her would be essentially useless. That left monocle and skin. If she ran, shooting backwards, she might just be able to find a safe spot. After all, that was the whole point of the gun, to kill from a range. Stuff it, a kill was a kill, whether it was in retreat or not. She was being smart about the whole situation, admitting she had a disadvantage, and doing something about it.

"Hey lady, I've got a lot of stuff to say when I need to. But nature calls me to 'thine bowl of relief from below' or however you'd mumbo-jumbo it to. So, shoot, or swing, or whatever. I've got places to be..." Slowly, she used her finger to lift the Sixgun out of it's holster, keeping it in front of her to show she wasn't preparing to fire any shots. No point in wetting her pants for a showdown which she could easily win, keeping her pants clean in the process.

She slowly gripped the barrel of the gun with her hand, letting them fall to her side. At a moment's notice she could at least use it as an alternative to her rather weak fists, without starting a bloody shoot off. No way was she going to miss it because of a silly mistake.

Though my relief at the girl's momentary retreat was palpable, two other enemies remaineth present to secure mine caution, and the third doth only lie in dormancy. Perhaps without the unholy weapon mine odds of life are strengthened, yet such a fractured battle would not befit the wishes of mine Chosen God.

"F l e s h... w i l l... n o t... l e a v e... t h i s... p l a c e... u n t i l... i t... h a s... s a t u r a t e d... t h e... E a r t h...
w i t h... a n... o f f e r i n g... o f... b l o o d. M i n e... G o d... m u s t... d r i n k!"

I do adopt mine hunting crouch, retreating a single pace in readiness, leaning a portion of mine weight onto the tried and true limb of mine totem. The Chant of True Combat lies in readiness in mine head, longing, urging to roll from mine tongue and fill the air with the breath of war. Death is close at hand; this much is clear to any being present.

Mine head flicks from side to side, observing mine closest opponents. The gentleman, by the sounds of his movement (though, to be accurate, the lack thereof) has proffered no opinion or concern with events, and the sufferer doth still remain collapsed on the ground.

Her temper was rising. Her bladder was screaming in pain. She had to end this. "Alright hag, have it your way. You seem so dependent on letting the three of us do the dirty work, try dealing without this!" She turned and bolted, firing off several shots behind her in an attempt to throw off any response. A rock, of so lovely a sight to see. She headed for it, making sure to continue changing direction.

"Enjoy your fight!" Hoping she could keep enough speed to avoid a steady aim, she was making ground towards the rock, and her site of relief. Already she was feeling the pleasure of not having to hold things in anymore.

Too sudden for my tastes did the unholy roar of the weapon's breath permeate the air, soil, and mine very self. Though no physical pain did sever my veins and render or spill of mine blood, I did feel the horrible fury of the projectile as it lunged past mine head, scarring the tissue in the wake of its vengeance.

Stunned for the moment, I found myself in such a position as to have mine offhand aroused over mine head, shielding it from the weapon's turbulent wrath. Recovering mine self, I did open my mouth and the war cry of mine Chosen God in all states of his emotion did pour forth - a growl of such inhuman proportions, the like of which I myself had only heard in reduced glory as I did bear down upon the three Warriors of mine late tribe so many years ago.

A torrent of rage it was, rapid and terrible ululations conjuring thoughts of ancient warfare, a vocal tapestry of the history of mine tribe and its entirety of warlike existence. Victory and defeat, birth and death all woven into a single unearthly, guttural call, forming an indescribable sound that did permeate the air for untold distance around.

And when this cry of True Combat had been uttered by whatever voice had been residing in mine soul did fade, when the chilling keen of war and blood that spoke of antediluvian custom and grotesque ritual dissipated throughout the darkening sky, I did know that the time of blood had truly arrived. Each moment that passeth me by does hold in its potential the ever-increasing chance that it will be mine last moment alive on this plane. Mine thoughts cleared, mine dead eyes pitied thus by scent and sound, as mine Chosen God does indulge mine newfound bloodlust and, with a swiftness of His arm, lifteth mine totem and swing it thus at the Gentleman in an attempt to dislodge from his grip one of the lethal duo of bangsticks.

Curious. Salvador had been expecting, if anyone, the man across from him to be the one to turn tail and run, but evidently that was not the case. He merely watched, just as he'd done during the brief exchange that had preceded the young woman's flight. He twitched slightly when the weapon fired off.

The colors. Oh, Lordy Lou, the colors. Blood, bone, gray matter, all sorts of impossible colors that spoke of the destruction of the body. They surged past him with a terrible power that made the air shiver and ripple away in their path. Annihilation. That was what those colors were. They mixed and melded together into a colorful shade of black that streaked on and on and away.

They were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

His eyes followed them with reverence, and it was for this reason that he spotted the old woman moving to attack him. Neither revolver hadn't even been in his hand, although he'd had his fingertips hovering above the grip until the Monocle showed him the approximate path of his aggressor's weapon. He very narrowly avoided being hit by taking a nimble step back.

He could have done a lot of things in that moment where the woman was still on the downswing. He could have shot her then and there, or at the very least disarmed her. Instead he took another step back and drew one of his many knives. "Now that's more like it!" he declared, the unbridled glee in his voice discordant against just about everything in this situation. He couldn't help it.

It was time to play.

A short distance away, Adaire repeatedly attempted to follow in the young woman's lead but failed every single time; the Armor refused to let him walk more than a few steps before it managed too trip him up my making him unable to move one or both legs. He ended up crawling, although even that was difficult.

He just wanted away. Whoever won that skirmish over there was going after him next. That was how combat worked. You can't stop at just one. Never.

Cover, good enough. Summoning up her will to leap far distances, she stumbled down the embankment and shuffled up behind a rock. Almost immediately she was desperately getting her belt undone, sighing in immense relief as she could finally go. What she would do for a shower, to add to the feeling of cleansing. After a few minutes, she crawled off to the side, pulling her pants up but leaving her belt loose for the moment. The fabled weapon lay on top of her stomach, gleaming in the shaded light.

Finally, she was no longer devoting some of her concentration away unnecessarily. She took a few moments to try and listen to how the fight was going. One seemed to be constantly falling, the other two, one almost certainly the hag, had gone to melee. No matter, she still had a decent chance to retaliate if either of the men leapt over her in an ambush. Possibly slip in the small rivulet of mud that was making a rather unpleasant smell in the setting sun.

Better that it be the one in the skin, he was the second weakest it seemed, and the one most likely to join her for survival. In the end, all four of them knew how to survive people, that much was clear. She was much more worried about hyena packs... Three enemies who were in it for themselves, too easy. Ten to twenty dogs that worked in a pack, able to taunt their prey with manaical laughs, she could probably get five or six in the ten seconds between discovering them and their attack. Not the odds she preferred really...

Adaire hadn't exactly been intending to go in the same direction as the young woman-- he'd seen her fire that fucking gun-- but the Armor had other plans. Its means of shepherding him in her direction involved only letting him move when he went even slightly in her direction. He didn't get the point until he was on his feet again and walking more or less right towards her. Then he panicked.

"N-nn-n-nnnnno!" he whimpered, trying desperately to change his path. The Armor had a frightening amount of control over his legs at the moment, however, and all he could do was unbalance himself. Then he fell over again. He was close to her-- he could smell the urine-- but he couldn't see her and God oh God she was going to pop up out of nowhere and shoot him in the face because she'd take his approaching her as a threat and just--

Something akin to a metaphysical fist grabbed hold of his train of thought and threw it off the rails. The level of aggression shocked him into a state of perfect complacency. No more lack of balance now. Just erratic, jerky, and yet oddly confident steps.

She closed her eyes. From the sound of it, she had a bit of luck. It was the skin alright, as to what would happen, she had to play it safe. Standing up, she kicked dirt over the muddy trail, hoping to conceal the smell. When she actually had time to think about it, beasts wouldn't exactly take the smell of human urine as a 'Keep Away' signal. She turned to face the plateau once more, gun hanging loosely in her right hand. Perhaps she should deliver a verbal warning, it was quite obvious who was coming at least.

"I suggest you get down here quickly, before one of the others catches sight. I..." She felt the words catch in her throat. Perhaps the blazing sun was ironically making her sane, but never in her life did she remember offering mercy to a person who had little value to herself. But you said it yourself, Teyla... To be a powerful warrior that travels alone is one thing, but to be one of many powerful warriors that work together, is another...

Moving further away from the smell, she sat down in the shade of a large rock. Based on the heat of the day, night would be deadly cold. But sleeping with the one in the armour for warmth disturbed her deeply. Her head began to hurt as she pounded it with her palms, angry at herself for being blinded by blood-lust, not preparing for wild beasts or even the cold nights.

Curse mine rashness. The gentleman hath evaded mine blow with the ease of foresight, and still doth he exude his perpetual aura of seemingly utter indifference. I have grown to hate it, the joviality, as it tortures me so with nervous uncertainty. If mine body falls not to weapons of most physical nature, victim it will become to that omnipotent, vile humor. It is best course for me to quickly recover mine totem as the swing completes, gripping it with both of mine hands in a position of much-necessary defense.

I do grin, a most horrid sight as once I was told, as the slither of a much more familiar weapon doth bounce about mine ears with its subtlety. I had not known the man wielded blade, for it must have been the racket of his firesticks which did trample that of the knife.

"H o n o r, y o u... d o... s h o w... m e. M i n e... s i r e... s h a l l... d o u b t l e s s... b e q u e a t h... k i n d n e s s...
u n t o... y o u r... s o u l, w h e n... d u l y... e x p i r e d."

Crouch low, do I, mimicking the Stance of the Great Cat, thus gifting unto him the opportunity of next strike. Mistake I have made when I did raise my own weapon with initial fury - perhaps his foresight shall suffer when governed by his own actions. Regardless, if ample opponent I prove to be not, mine only hope resideth in the pity of mine Chosen God. Perhaps he will forgive me of my failures.

I feel the strange card, emblazoned with the smooth figure I did perceive by the thickness of such a shape, and mine confidence does grow with mine curiosity.

Adaire gave in completely and utterly and the Armor relinquished its command over his limbs, allowing him to stagger the rest of the way to the young woman and drop to the ground a few feet away from her of his own volition. He still didn't trust anyone but himself and the Armor, of course, so he was on guard.

There was a pretty major downside to that: his hands were shaking even worse than usual and the chain grasped tightly in his hands was ringing like sleigh bells as a result. Again, the Armor could only make the shaking a little better; and as hard as it tried, it couldn't pry his fingers off the chain and get him to just drop it.

"Wh-wh-wh-wh... w-w-w... I-- Sh-shhhh-sssshh... y-yuh.... Th-th-thhhh...." This went on for quite some time until he finally shut his mouth and gave up on trying to say whatever it was he'd been trying to say, scowling. He was still clutching the chain like his life depended on it. Because it kind of did.

----

Salvador didn't strike. Not yet. He had to take in this moment right here. Savor it. It was the moment right before the violence, before the vicious swirl of emotions turned the air into a kaleidoscopic cloud of color. They were dogs in a ring, and he was the first to start circling, actually dragging one heel behind him to make that ring more than just a picture in his head.

His knife was raised, but not in a particularly threatening manner. It was a defensive one, but hard to tell. Looked like he was just holding it up to show it to someone. Same with the way he was walking. After the circle was drawn, his footsteps were incredibly casual. It was easy to tell how seriously he was taking this all.

He obviously wasn't going to take the offensive.

She looked at him for a while, the Sixgun idly hanging from her hand. Her head was throbbing, whether from her unusual calm or the exposure to the sun. She had just lost the will to fight. The gun landed on the dust with a soft thump, mirroring her pride. In front of her was the one person she needed, for the moment at least.

"Night is deadly, animals are far more dangerous than those two. I... have no reason to fight you. My sanity is only temporary anyway, might as well try to survive as long as possible before one is forced to end the other." Her eyes rolled back as she felt herself faint. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it confirmed to her how bad her condition really was.

"Sorry, that I picked on you before. I'm just used to aiming for the most dangerous first..." She smiled slightly, hoping he'd understand her compliment. "You know, the one who is almost invincible, and the one with a weapon of massive destruction, works for me. Tell me if you are interested in such a co-operation." Sliding the Sixgun under her belt, she lit a small fire on a bush and lay down beside the small source of warmth, trying to get what rest she could.

It didn't take long for her to become restless. Her nerves were starting to drive her insane, making her unsure as to whether it was the cold or insects biting at her feet. Eventually her mind forced her to sit up once more. The sun was almost gone below the horizon, the heat that remained was what radiated off the sand, and the small amount from the burning shrub. Keeping her eyes away from the one in the armour, she casually began drawing in the sand.

"Teyla Carol. A mad man named his weapon the 'Tesla Coil' after me... I spent ten years of my life searching for the Sixgun, just so I could be called Shooter." She tightened her lip as she crushed a small piece of sandstone in her fingertips. "Reciting the things I know about myself reminds me that I'm alive. It's going to be a long night, and speak slower so you don't stutter." She closed her eyes for a few moments, opening them again to look across the plateau.

Adaire didn't understand the compliment. Of course he didn't. How was he dangerous? True, he was aware of the fact that he looked liable to snap and start murdering people left and right any second, but that didn't mean that that stuff would happen. Still, he caught her smile and decided that it wasn't a threat or anything, which caused him to relax just a little bit. He could sense how amused the Armor was, although at what he was uncertain.

It wasn't until she'd finished speaking entirely that he dropped the chain on his lap, silencing it, and opened his mouth again. The more she'd said, the more relaxed he'd become, although what he was right now wasn't even mildly uneasy. More like intensely. Or maybe that was just how he looked all the time. Who even knew?

With a shaking hand, he removed his hat and held it to his sternum-- a surprisingly courteous gesture coming from someone of his general dishevelment-- his head nodding down slightly in the world's tiniest bow. You have to be a gentleman to ladies, especially when they could blow your head up with a twitch of the finger. Just as he was about to speak, he twitched with particular violence and let out a yelp similar to the one that had interrupted the Armor's earlier attempted speech. That was followed by a vaguely sheepish half-smile that quickly turned into something that looked like a snarl when the left side of his mouth started to twitch.

"S-suh-sorry," he said, almost too quiet to be heard, "th-that heh-hap-pens--" Yelp-twitch. "A l-lot." He paused, breathing deeply and (trying to breathe) steadily, before he went on. "I'm muh-uh Ad-d-daire." A sigh of relief. "L-leh-st-tát." He looked quite proud of himself, and that was because he was. He usually butchered his name when he tried to introduce himself, but that had actually been relatively coherent. Yaaaay. He had questions, but didn't want to spend an hour trying to ask just one of them, so he didn't.