Arod whickered gently, causing the quiet silver-haired boy who rode him to pat the stallion's flank lightly, the soft breeze of dusk dispelling the intense heat that had been present throughout the day. Still, he wiped beads of sweat from his brow, listening to the muted sounds of his companions talking a short distance behind him. At least they weren't singing anymore. Patches of bristly scrub dotted the dry, arid ground, offering small portions of greenery to an otherwise bleak landscape. Jet did not heed this, as he had walked through much more desolate places. He sometimes wondered that he, as the 'Filgaia Sample', should probably give more than a damn about the environment, but such notions usually stopped at the extermination of monsters to benefit the planet. He wasn't a tree-hugger, not that there were any trees to hug anyway.
They had ridden uneventfully for a few hours, unhindered by the ever-decreasing population of monsters that roamed the lands, drawing to extinction as Filgaia began to grow stronger. It didn't really matter if Jet had been forced to fight or not, he was strong enough to cull them without a second glance if he ever saw fit to do so.
Jet lowered his eyes to the ground, sighing inwardly. He was bored. Bored, bored, bored. In all honesty, he just couldn't wait until he had his Airget-lamh out again, splattering some monster heads against the wall. Usually he wasn't this bloodthirsty, but listening to Gallows, Virginia and Clive singing for the greater part of the afternoon instilled a feeling of bloodlust in his disposition.
"Well, hello. Fancy meeting you here."
Jet froze in his tracks, wearing a fixed expression of surprise on his features. Arod pawed at the ground, wondering why his master had ordered him to stop. That voice was way too familiar, and he wasn't positive if it was welcome or not.
Virginia squinted, positioning one hand above her hairline to block out the retreating sunlight. Jet had stopped moving, and she didn't know why. He dismounted, and she barely made out another figure loitering near his horse, Jet appeared to be talking with it. "Um, Gallows…" She began, trying to shake the Baskar out of an in-depth anecdote he was relaying to Clive.
"…So I picked up my newspaper and- … Hey, what is it?" He asked Virginia, smiling merrily.
"We have company." She said, indicating the stranger they were slowly approaching.
"Huh? Oh, so we do." Gallows followed the direction Virginia was pointing and spied what she was talking about. From what he could tell from where he was, the figure was masculine and sitting down, Jet was standing nearby, looking to be in the midst of a conversation with him.
"Let's go over to them." Virginia advised. "Are you coming, Clive?"
"Of course." The older drifter had been listening to the conversation with quiet deliberation, just a few paces behind. They prompted their horses to go faster, meeting up with Jet and the unfamiliar person.
Apparently, Jet had been so caught up in his boredom that he had neglected to notice his passage went directly through the stranger's campsite. Amused, he had waited until Jet was within close earshot and offered a greeting that startled the mounted drifter. The stranger smirked smarmily as recognition flitted across Jet's face. "You." Jet narrowed his eyes, becoming cautious.
"Ah, it is a pleasure to see you again too, Mr. Enduro." He purred, articulated voice lilting through the air. "Would you please walk around my campsite instead of straight through it? I would appreciate it."
Jet dismounted, the cracked earth crumbling as his feet hit the ground. "I thought you were dead." He said, looking the stranger over.
"And I thought you were a loner. Was I mistaken?" He inquired, watching three other drifters approach. Jet's gaze blackened, but he did not say any more. Of all the unlucky coincidences, he just had to run into…
"Hello." Greeted Virginia respectfully, "You're rather far from civilisation. Are you lost?"
He laughed graciously, standing up to his full height. "No milady, I'm just drifting through these parts, in await of some belated comrades, but I appreciate your concern." Virginia went slightly red at being called 'milady', she tugged at one of her white gloves timidly. "If I might be so bold as to ask for your name?" He enquired.
"Virginia Maxwell. This is Gallows Caradine," Gallows nodded his head at the sound of his name, "And Clive Winslett." She continued.
"A pleasure." Said Clive, adjusting his glasses.
"Likewise." Agreed the stranger. "I am already acquainted with Jet. My name is-"
"Ravendor, His name is Ravendor." Jet cut in with much distaste.
The man did indeed resemble his name. He was rather tall and exceedingly dark, black hair pulled back into a long ponytail, clean-shaven and eloquently groomed. His swanky voice mirrored the refined way he was dressed, yet in his hand there dangled a lit cigarette, sending swirls of grey smoke to haunt his figure, marring his persona somewhat. His ARM was lain carefully beside him, an immaculate-looking pistol reflected the dying light in its polished surface.
"That is right," He said to Jet, "I am Ravendor, a drifter, like yourselves. I am guessing you are headed to the northern ravine, correct?"
Virginia looked puzzled. "Yes. How do you know?"
Ravendor shrugged, fine ash from his cigarette spilling to the ground. "Rumour. There is quite a large one going around in Jolly Roger right now. I wish you luck on your venture." He picked up his weapon, rubbing it over with an oily white rag to remove non-existent dirt from its barrel, though it seemed like the gun could not get any cleaner than it was already.
"C'mon, let's go." Jet growled roughly, leading his horse away and gruffly motioning for his comrades to follow. Ravendor merely waved a small goodbye, looking like he was set up for the evening. Nonplussed at the callousness that Jet had shown to a former acquaintance, Virginia sped up to accompany him, her curiosity winning over caution at Jet's foul mood.
"Who was that?" She asked.
"An old associate." Said Jet irritably, "A stuck-up bastard who watched my back when I was still green. I thought he died years ago."
"I suppose wonders never cease." Mused Virginia, turning around to check if everyone was following them. Gallows looked like he was staring off into space, his horse doing all the navigating for him. Clive was in deep thought, one hand on his chin anxiously. He caught Virginia staring at him and he banished the expression, smiling comfortingly. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes," Said Clive, uncertain, "I just experienced a subtle feeling of familiarity towards that person I cannot place. It might just be me, do not worry." The sun was setting over the deep red horizon, casting a long dark shadow over the faces of the four drifters. On Filgaia, the sunsets were always spectacularly beautiful, yet fleeting. Night draped its presence over the world, the first stars coming out to shine. The night air was warm, so they still traveled in comfort, trusting the sight of their horses to lead them away from hazards. A deep fissure embedded firmly into the ground stretched its way transversely beyond all sight, a huge fractured scar that was incapable of healing loomed overhead.
"Should we search here?" They paused at the crumbling edge of the chasm, nothing but pure darkness dwelt at the bottom, as far as the eye could see. If one were to fall down that hole, they would never ever see daylight again. It was not an agreeable thought.
"Perhaps," Said Clive with indecision, "The attacks are localized here, but would it not be better to surprise the beast at its lair? As I recall, our client mentioned that it lies within the neighboring forest nearby."
"That's a good idea." Said Gallows, splaying his hands in emphasis to his words, "Out here, the monster'll see us before we see it. At least we might get a terrain advantage if we stick to the woods."
"Okay," Said Virginia, brushing back a long strand of hair, "The forest it is."
Gallows chuckled as they moved to find a suitable spot to leap the ravine, laughing at something only he found funny. "Heh, so we're out here in the badlands, in the middle of the night, on Halloween, hunting a viscous monster. My little bro would be wetting himself if he were here right now." Mearas stumbled on a stone, causing Gallows to heave forwards and almost fall off. "Hmm, it doesn't matter. We'll be fine." He guaranteed, straightening himself in the saddle.
"You tryin' to jinx us?" Jet tapped the ARM hanging at his side, an involuntary motion for good luck. He really hated the fact that he was slightly superstitious, but guessed that he had just been created that way, or maybe the person he had been modeled on shared similar beliefs?
Clive was already on the other side, Hasufel was a rather good jumper. He gestured for them to follow, the shadowy silhouette of the forest, one of the few still existing in the world, a small blob in the distance. He took his hands off the reigns for a short time to check his ARM's magazine was still loaded, prying it from out of the Gungnir's underbelly. Everything looked fine in the darkness, so he reattached the magazine and cleared the bolt with efficiency. Clive held the weapon up in the firing position, making a slight adjustment to his scope to maximize effectiveness for the lack of light. Pleased, he dropped the ARM to his side, slung across Hasufel's flank. He was ready.
xxx
Eyes sliding closed in almost cat-like contentment, Ravendor took a deep drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out with tranquil delight. A small fire burned warmly by his side, embers glowing dark red. The drifter smoothed out the creases on the frayed grey blanket he was reclining on, his pistol sheathed in its holster by his side. With a twitch of his fingers he knocked the ashes off his cigarette into the fire, as patient as one could be.
So, dear Jet, rumour has not deceived me… You still live and thrive, such achievement for one so young…
"Uh, Boss?" Heavy footfalls approached the camp, a pair of voices muttered as they bumbled over rocks hidden by the night. They were welcomed by the heat from the fire, but not by the presence of its owner. Lying down and staring into the flames, one hand draped across a knee, Ravendor's gaze was sinisterly augmented by the smoke surrounding him, piercing through their bodies like a bullet.
"You are late." He said softly, venom dripping off every syllable.
Romero and Dario grimaced, a practically shredded map shared between them fluttering to the ground. "Um, we were sidetracked a little bit," Apologized Dario, bending down quickly to pick up the map. The part that showed their current position was missing from its corner, probably the reason they were delayed. "Really sorry, Boss."
"Well, it does not matter. They have already passed through here." Purred Ravendor, tossing the useless bit of his cigarette away from the camp. He lit up another one, a chain smoker that he was. "A girl in a pink dress, a young boy, a Baskar priest and a middle-aged man. Are they familiar?"
"Them!" Declared Romero, face growing taut with fury. "They're the ones who put Janus on ice! It must be!" He clenched his hands into fists, his uninjured eye flaring. Dario growled, clenching the map tightly in his fist.
"Calm down, gentlemen." Suggested the dark-haired drifter, motioning for the two lackeys to take a seat near him. "Revenge is sweet… but this," He unrolled a dirty piece of paper, a poster with four familiar faces printed upon it. "Is much sweeter." The two bandits leant over, gaping at the poster.
"They're criminals?!" Proclaimed Romero with incredulity, "Why didn't no-one tell me?!"
Dario traced a finger over the twenty-six thousand gella bounty, considering his options. "No," He said after a minute, "We couldn't take 'em. They'd annihilate us in a second." He shook his head negatively and leant back, aware of Ravendor's eyes drilling into him.
Ravendor sighed, bored with the simplistic ways that lackeys often thought. "You are thinking far too one-dimensionally, my friends. Brute force isn't everything, it is the mind that suffers the worst of pains, and breaks the easiest."
Romero and Dario looked clueless, sharing a glance at each other.
Ravendor rolled his cigarette to the tips of two fingers, pointing with his other hand to a certain person displayed on the poster, a kind, yet intelligent looking man in a trench coat. He pressed the point of the cigarette into the man's face, burning away the paper to leave a smoldering hole. "Clive Winslett," He stated with dark purpose, peering at the bandits carefully. "We strike, and the bounty is ours."
Laughter echoed across the plains, and it heralded doom.