Hey guys, Jack here with the next installment in Morgan's Odyssey. This time we'll be covering the events of Book 2: Earth. And this time, there will be a lot more of the plotline being changed. So, without further delay, let's get on with it.
I do not own Avatar, The Last Airbender.
The sound of waves breaking on the shoreline brought me out of my slumber, that and the freezing surf crashing down on top of me. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up. In fact, it's one of the worst ways I have ever come to in my entire life. I slowly pushed myself up onto my hands and knees. Another wave slammed into me from behind, forcing me back into the sand.
Let me give you a little bit of a recap so you have a basic idea of the story so far. My name is Jacob Morgan Wood. Sometimes I go by Jake, but usually everyone just calls me Morgan. Up until six months ago (I think, time's hard to keep track of on the road), I was a teenager living in St. Mary, Montana. Then I went on a bow hunting trip into Glacier National Park, in which case I died. No, seriously, I fell into a mountain stream, went over a water fall, and fell to my death. Impaled on rocks, broken bones, the whole nine yards.
Now that might get you thinking, if I died, how is it that I'm here telling you this story? From what I've been able to make out, the world I woke up in is more or less my afterlife. Not Heaven, not Hell, just a new world altogether, a second chance at a life I never really got a chance to live. Imagine my surprise when it turned out that world was Avatar: The Last Airbender. That revelation itself nearly cost me my sanity.
I fell in with Aang and his friends, becoming the group's hunter/gatherer and cook. As we went North, I found out I was a waterbender, could see Spirits, and apparently shared a name with some ancient Water Tribe savior hero. I also found myself falling in love with Katara, which was something I took a while to reconcile.
After we got to the North Pole, I wound up joining the Water Tribe in order to get some formal combat training. This led to me fighting on the front lines when the Fire Nation laid siege. In the end, I lost a close friend and went on a rampage, which ended when I buried a tomahawk in Admiral's Zhao's neck. Which brings us to where we are now.
Coughing and half blinded from the salt water, I clawed my way up the beach, struggling to get out of reach of the water. Finally free of the unforgiving waves, I collapsed onto my back and looked up at the boiling gray sky overhead. Lightning flashed behind the clouds, and thunder rumbled like cannons in the distance. Yet there wasn't a single drop of rain falling. At least, not yet anyway.
I had been on one of the smaller ships in Pakku's relief fleet, heading to the Southern Water Tribe. I guess they needed an extra waterbender on said ship, so there I was. We were a short distance off the Earth Kingdom coast when we ran into a storm. As you can probably guess from my current situation, it didn't go well for the ship I was on.
Sitting on the beach, I looked out to sea and reflected on the choices in my life that had led me to this moment. I had just survived a ship wreck, and was now separated from my friends with no transportation and no supplies. Standing, I looked up and down the beach, studying the wreckage that had washed ashore and looking for other survivors. The storm had come upon us in the middle of the night and had been a surprise. Turns out even waterbenders can have a ship sink if they're not paying attention.
Feeling something bump against my foot in the surf, I looked down and realized with horror that I was looking at my bow. The body had been snapped in half, and the only thing holding it together was the drawsting. Just beyond that was my pack, thankfully intact and unopened.
"Well, at least one thing has gone right," I muttered, recovering both of my things before retreating away from the water's edge. After walking a short distance, I sat down on the edge of a sand dune and stared out to sea. Did the others know I was alive? Did they even know what had happened? I honestly had no idea.
Now I wasn't quite sure what to do next. If I sat tight, it was possible that another one of the other boats would be by looking for survivors and I could get picked up. My other option was to gather what was left of my stuff and start in the general direction of Omashu. I'd have left a note in the sand, but none of my companions could read English, and frankly I only barely had a kindergartener's grasp on the Chinese symbols that they wrote in.
Gathering up some brush and branches from the edge of the beach, I made myself a fire right there in the sand and plopped down. I'd play the waiting game for a while, and if that failed I'd decide what to do next. In the gloom of the light from the flames, I used some strips of leather in order to bind the two haves of my bow together. It wasn't much, in fact I wasn't sure it would survive the first shot I attempted. But it was better then nothing.
"Hurry up, old man," I muttered the waves as I stared out to sea, watching for Water Tribe sails.
I sat on that beach for three days, waiting.
Spring along the western Earth Kingdom coast is really nothing like the winter months. It's much warmer, greener, and abundant with natural resources. All of this went a certain way to distracting me from how pissed off I was at Pakku and the rest of the relief fleet. From what I could tell, none of the other vessels had turned about and checked for any survivors.
That didn't mean it didn't happen, but I hadn't seen any sign of Water Tribe ships from my small camp, and after three days I finally packed up and headed inland. I'd head toward Omashu, hoping to run into my friends along the way.
Little did I realize just how drastically things were about to change.
Earth.
John ignored the bead of sweat that ran down his temple as he walked down the gravel street. The sun bore down on him in an unforgiving manner, yet he ignored that as well, angling his head down slightly so that the brim of his hat blocked the rays from getting to his eyes. His plain, brown, knee high boots crunched on the gravel as he walked, but like the sun and the sweat, he ignored this also. He kept his steel colored eyes on his destination; the target range dead ahead.
He was wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Covering this was a dark brown vest which was buttoned up and only seemed to be holding heat in at the moment. Neither it, nor the slightly lighter colored trousers he wore were doing him any favors under this sun. To finish off the look, a pair of large leather gun belts crisscrossed at his waist, both of them supporting full rows of shinning brass cartages in their loops.
"And here he comes now, folks! Slim Jim Marlow, fastest gun in the west!" the announcer yelled into the speaker system, to which the crowd gave a round of applause. John hated that name, and he hated that title. The flare of anger inside of him only helped to seal the look of cold blooded gunfighter that he was suppose to be right now.
'Slim Jim' had been a joke nickname tacked onto him when he'd first started volunteering here at the museum as a historical reenactor, due to the fact that he was overweight and had some girth on his belly. Overtime, John had slimmed down to where his stomach was no longer a factor, however his broad shoulders remained, and thus the nickname did as well.
The whole 'fastest gun' thing had come about when it was discovered that he could out draw and out shoot anyone else at the museum for the staged gunfights and the action shooting segments. At first, the guys in charge had tried to get him to slow down, as the scripts for the acts called for John to get shot and lose. But, time after time, he'd simply gone with instinct and kept getting the faster draw. So they changed their approach. Rather than get John to slow down, they simply gave him his own act, knowing full well that the people would love to see someone with speed in action.
John came to a halt and spun on the balls of his feet, turning a full one eighty so that he was facing the small crowd of people. His hands rested lazily on the butts of his guns as he glossed them over. There were several families in the crowd. Children from Kindergarten age all the way up to High School. John had been out of school for a few years, and despite the fact that he had adult responsibilities now, he didn't envy any of the students one bit.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this here is John Marlow, we call him Slim Jim. He is our fastest gun, and by far our best gunfighter. Show 'em what you got, Marlow!" the announcer said. John gave the pot bellied man a sideways glare as he turned back to fact the targets again. The fact that he'd gotten stuck with the nickname but this guy had gotten away scot free was another annoyance he had.
Keeping his mouth shut, John flexed his fingers and focused on the targets; three human shaped cuts of metal that were propped up several yards away. The announcer raised a small whistle to his lips and blew, giving off a short chirp of noise. In a flash, Jake's hands fell to his guns, and the air filled with smoke and thunder, as well as the ring of bullets striking steel.
As quickly as it began, it was over with both revolvers returned to their holsters. The crowd applauded again, and John turned and tipped his hat to them. Afterwards came the intermingling. People would ask questions, and either John or the announcer would answer. Most of the time it was directed toward John. What kind of guns did he use? How did he get so good with them?
"I use what's called the Schofield Model 3. They're top break revolvers originally made by Smith and Wesson, but these are modern reproductions," John explained, holding aloft one of his guns so that the people could see it. The revolver, like it's twin which rested on his left hip, was made from a blued steel and had a set of fine walnut grips on it.
"Are you using blanks?" some middle aged woman asked. John sighed though his nose, and it took every bit of will power he had not to roll his eyes. There was one in every crowd.
"No, I am not using blanks. The bullets on my belts here are real, and so are these guns. They are more or less modern firearms, just with an old west look," he explained. The questions began to taper off after that, and soon the crowd began to disperse, going out to see what else the museum had to offer. This left John, the announcer, and a couple of volunteers who helped set up this little area. John walked over to a table and began the process of reloading his guns, breaking one of them open and allowing the spent brass to spill out onto the tabletop.
"That was quite the performance, Mr. Marlow," a raspy voice said. John looked up from his work to find a man standing on the opposite side of the table from him. He was tall, towering at least a foot over John's head, and he was pale and gout. His skin was stretched thin over his cheek bones, and his hair was a thick gray color.
"Thank you, happy to entertain," John replied before returning his attention to his gun. Years of practice allowed him to slide new rounds into the empty chambers with nimble ease.
"You clearly have quite the skill. Tell me, have you ever put that skill to use?" the man asked. John snapped the revolver closed before returning it to it's holster, drawing it's twin, and starting the process over again.
"Sorry, mister. I only do this on weekends, I don't do parties," he said. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Every once in a while, you'd get a parent or something looking for an entertainment gig for their kid's birthday party. After all, why higher a clown when you could get a gunfighter?
"Oh, you misunderstand me, Mr. Marlow. I don't want you for entertainment, I want to put your skills to work," the old man said. John frowned and eyed the man as he slid the new rounds home into their chambers.
"You mean like a hired gun?" he asked.
"Something like that, yes," the man answered. John's frown remained as he took one last look over his revolver. Party favors were one thing, but this was the first time someone had actually tried to use him as a hired gun. With a short twirl, he returned the revolver to it's holster.
"Sorry, mister. I can't say that I'm interested," he said before he began to collect the spent casings from the table. It was true, in a sense. He did this because he loved history, and he loved teaching people about history. The whole shooting guns part was just an added bonus, and a stress relief from his daily college life if he was being honest. Never at any point did the idea of doing this for money cross his mind. Of course, there was also the possibility that whatever the man wanted him for, it was highly illegal. All the more reason to turn him down.
"Are you sure?" the old man asked.
"Mister, I'm a reenactor, not an actual gunman. Only reason I get called the fastest is cause I was able to outdraw anyone else who works here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for the next show," John explained. The man smiled, an act which chilled John's blood with how predatory it seemed.
"Mr. Marlow, you misunderstand me yet again. I was not asking," he said before placing his hand on John's forehead. Instantly, the young man's entire body seized up, and his vision went black.
John gasped as he came to and instantly shot to his feet. Gone were the targets, his coworkers, the buildings of the museum. In their place was a wide, dusty plain which stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. In the hazy distance were some snow caped mountains, but aside from that there were no visible features to be seen. Nothing but scrub and dust in all directions.
"What the hell?" John asked, spinning on the spot and looking around him. It wasn't so much panic that gripped him, but rather shock and surprise at the sudden shift in surroundings.
"You seem troubled, Mr. Marlow. Not use to being out of your element?" the old man asked. His attire had shifted, as he now wore clothing which resembled that of a Tibetan monk.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I have brought you here for a simple task," the old man answered.
"You kidnapped me!"
"Yes. I did. And only I have the means of sending you back to where you came from," he said.
"So do it!" John yelled, his hand drawing one of his guns. But a single finger from the old man stopped him.
"I like to think of myself as a simple deal maker, Mr. Marlow. I have something you want, and I have a task that needs completing. Do you see how this works?" he asked.
"What do you want?" John asked hesitantly, his gun still drawn but hanging limply at his side.
"There is someone who's presence has given me quite a headache as of late. I want you to track him down and put an end to his presence," the old man replied. He opened his raised hand and above his open palm appeared the image of a young man. He didn't appear to be much older than a high school student, short coal black hair, dark skin, and a scar down his left cheek.
"I'm a reenactor, not a hired killer!"
"A trade is a trade, Mr. Marlow. The life of one Jacob Wood, in exchange for your own. Or, you can wander this world for the rest of your days and I will simply find another to do my work. The choice is yours," the man said simply.
"Kill him yourself if you're so high and mighty!" John snapped.
"There are laws that forbid my direct intervention. So you shall act in my stead. If you wish to see your family and friends again, Jacob Wood will die by your hand," the old man said.
"Where do I start looking? Where the hell are we, anyway?!"
"Time is ticking, Mr. Marlow. Best get started," the old man said before he turned to dust and was blown away by the breeze. John slowly returned his gun to it's holster. He would have thought he was crazy, if not for the fact that he was currently standing in the middle of no where.
"Could have at least dropped me in a town somewhere," he muttered before he started walking toward the mountains in the distance. Hopefully he'd come across someone before he died of dehydration, or boredom, whichever came first.
And that's a wrap. New book, new characters, and new adventures await. What did you guys think? Let me know! Drop a review, leave a PM, tell me what you guys liked or didn't like and I'll see you all next time.