Barren was the land, turned infertile and deserted by the endless wars, the raging conflicts over matters so unimportant. So meaningless and minor, small men and women yelling into the wind, hoping to be heard and led towards glory. For their acts to be remembered and turned to grand marbles, statues lasting an eternity, outliving generations and never letting the names carved onto the stone be forgotten. These men and women rule these lands, have ruled over them and will continue doing so for years to come, with their gentle voices, fists of iron, and reigns leading towards a future so bright.
Some hunger for war, some yearn for peace, others are blinded by greed and few wish for the land of old to prosper. A never ending war, waged against the creatures of times long forgotten - it rages on within the hearts of only the eldest of the Teekaz, those who remember the very first invasions, the plagues sent upon their homeland by a force far beyond any mortal's comprehension.
In this land of old laid a town - a decently sized settlement, home to any and all mercenaries wanting to take a breather from their endless march towards a goal so blurry and mysterious. Surrounded by muddy plains of bleak nothingness, all turned to no man's land - fair game for any skirmishes and merc clashes. The town's name was not important. It could be called a safe haven, for the sake of easier understanding between conversations. The sarkaz never really cared much for names, treating them as a luxury of sorts, only claiming titles to be easily told apart, never attaching one's person to a mere word for too long.
Within the town was a bar - a place bustling with life and loud noises. With music so cheerful and happy, courtesy of a local pianist's dexterous fingers. Rows of tables all crawling with devils, sitting around, drinking, celebrating. Upon one of those tables sat a man so very different from the rest - a man of principles, clad in armor so bright and holy. A man of the Law, a former peacekeeper of these wretched lands. With a bright halo above his lush head of hair, a pair of shining wings protruding from his back, the angel sat at one of the tables and engaged in a game of poker with the sinners.
Round after round, more and more chips kept disappearing from the Lawkeeper's grasp, despite his cards not being all that awful at all. Four sevens? Well, it just so happened that the devil in front of him had a straight flush. A full house? Everyone's suddenly passing, despite him not raising the bet by even a single shekel. Something was up, definitely a case of foul play being involved.
The sankta stood from his seat, his toned muscles and mighty physique glistening in the light coming from a window behind. His hand reached towards a six iron resting on his hip, waiting calmly to be used in a situation exactly like this. All eyes in the bar turned towards the angel.
"Treacherous fiends! Cheating bastards! I know a mind reader when I see one! You're non-verbally laughing in my face, thinking you can strip me off my chips and get away with it! That shall not stand, as I…"
The gun left its holster, being pulled high above the glorious man's head. A crack of lightning could be heard outside.
"I, a son of Laterano, shall prove you all wrong and bring justice to this unlawful land. With this gun, bestowed upon me by my very own father…"
The chamber went spinning, landing on a .38 cartridge within, ready to be shot at anyone dumb enough to oppose his will.
"... I shall strike down the treacherous cheaters, in the name of the Law!"
The entire bar went silent. The grand gun knight stood proud, boasting his gun with flair and splendor. Ready to fire upon the scoundrels, to bring order to this Lawless cantina. A swift knife whooshed by, embedding itself right between the angel's eyes. He fell onto the table with a loud thud, dropping his peacekeeper.
Gales of loud, mocking laughter followed, enveloping the entire bar in a lively atmosphere.
"Take that shit back to the White City, you Law loving bastard!"
Among the booming hooting and hysterics, a group of devils stood from their seats and disposed of the troublemaker corpse, dragging him outside and dealing with his remains. Pulling the boots from his feet, the military attire, the magazines and loose ammunition hidden within his coat, the gun from his cold, dead hands – everything that could be sold later on.
Watching the entire ordeal was a ragtag group of people from one of the bar's dim corners. A sixteen year old Andy "Ricketts" gave the smallest of chuckles and turned back towards his cards.
"Sure as shit wouldn't wanna be that guy."
Most of his card buddies agreed with a few nods of approval and low cackles, but for a single sarkaz woman sitting right next to him. He's been eyeing her ever since he sat down at the table. Not that she was his type, obviously - seemed to be way too aloof and unavailable. Besides, judging by her attire and the blade by her side, she was a merc, just like him. Mercs don't mix, that's the golden rule of Kazdel.
"Call."
Her sharp tone of voice pierced through the men's laughter, sending shivers down their spines and frowns onto their faces. Once again, every single one of them had to lay out an unsatisfactory hand before them, without even getting familiar with most of the shared cards.
Andy sighed in exasperation and threw his flush onto the table. Despite the decent set of cards, he knew he wouldn't win anything at this table.
"Flush. You got four eights again?"
"Close. Full house."
The rest of the men let out growls and "Pffft"'s of disappointment, clicking their tongues and pushing their chips towards the black haired woman. Without a word, without even cracking the tiniest of smirks, she collected the chips and immediately started gathering their cards, eager to start another round.
"Wait, wait, missy. You heard that sankta nutjob from before? He was babblin' some 'bout mind readers, yeah? How come you never lost a hand, eight deals in a row?"
One of the sarkaz men piped up, letting his surly side show.
"Mind readers don't exist. You're just sour 'cause you bet high and lost, again."
"No, no, no, no…"
Another man joined in, giving her an accusatory glare.
"Maybe there IS some truth to it, ah? You just refuse to lose, lady, what's up with that?"
"That's very unsportsmanlike. You're accusing me of… What, exactly?"
"Cheatin'! Yer a cheatin' bastard, lass!"
The third one wailed, swinging his cards around.
She gave a small sigh and turned her gaze towards a massive, red headed man sitting at Andy's other side. His weary eyes closed and opened in understanding, before he cleared his throat in a grand manner and spoke, his loud, calm voice cutting the men's tirade short.
"Gentlemen, shall we just continue our game? Don't you find it a tad impolite to accuse a young woman of such slanderous claims? I believe the way to solv-..."
The three men cut right in, yelling and throwing their cards against the tabletop.
"Bullshit, big man! This bitch's got some mind manipulation bullshit in play, there's no way in hell she's this clued up in poker! This is a casual game, not a national championship…"
"She bled me dry! Ain't got none but a few shekels left and you expect me to say nothin'?!"
"That girl's a witch! I tell ya, fellas, that girl's a…"
The large redhead let out a sigh of surrender and stood from his seat to deal with the troublemakers. Before any of them could react, his hands clad in armored gloves grasped their heads and smashed them against one another, causing the three to drop to the ground. Andy sat back and watched the entire ordeal with a silly grin painted over his face.
"Man… Just to be clear, I ain't said nothing."
"Oh, I know. You're a real gentleman, sankta."
He dusted off his large hands and sat back down with the smallest of chuckles, turning towards the boy.
"So? Are we finishing our game, or…"
"We can cut the crap. I'm sick of these fools, anyway."
The young woman cut in, again, her cold voice pitching a few red flags inside Andy's head. He could tell she was here for a purpose other than just playing these morons like a fiddle at poker.
"You're looking for work, aren't you?"
He was in fact in a desperate need for a job. Any contract, any minor commission, hell, he'd even take burdenbeast herding at this point.
"That I am, yeah. Why?"
"That's fortunate. See, we're looking for someone like you, sankta. A long distance marksman. Your specialty, I take it?"
Andy turned his head back towards the large man, annoyed at the constant change of his interlocutor, but not showing it in the slightest.
"I can shoot, yeah! Hell, I can shoot a fly's wing off at, like, four hundred yards. With irons, that is. Throw a scope on, I can nail a…"
He was cut off by the man.
"I'd rather see your feats rather than hear empty gloating. Let the bullets ring, not your vocal chords."
He stood and offered the boy a hand.
"Would you mind if we left straight away? The battlefield hates being forced to wait."
"Oh? Oh, no, not at all, just, uh… You think your lady friend here could return me some of those chips she took? You know, since we're gonna be colleagues now, 'n all, ehehe…"
"No."
His response was simple and calm. Andy wasn't getting any of his cash back.
Tough luck.
The three made it out of the stuffy bar, passing by the deceased Lawkeeper's corpse. Sprawled across the muddy ground outside, stripped of his pure armor and holy weapons, he seemed rather pathetic at the moment. The sun shone dimly, breaking through the clouds, covering the gray, bleak streets in a blanket of pale light, invoking feelings of melancholy and longing for a past long gone. Andy yawned at the thought and shook his head, pushing the surging memories right out of his mind.
"Soooooo… Mister mercenary, I believe we haven't yet been properly acquainted with each other, yeah?"
"We haven't, that's right. I don't see a reason for us to be."
"Well, since we're pretty much a trio at this very point, why don't we get to know ourselves a bit better, ah? What's the harm in that…"
"We're not a trio. There's three of us and one of you, sankta. You're just a temp."
"Temp? Oh, dude, don't be like that! Besides, I don't work with people who don't give names! C'mon… Wait, you said "three of you?"
He quickly scanned both the man and woman from head to toe.
"You sure? I mean, you're a big guy, but I only count two."
"More than meets the eye, sankta."
They made it past some busy marketplace, through a few narrow corridors, eventually being spat out into a quiet little communal backyard. This place, surrounded by a few tenement houses, reminded Andy of a certain "community hub" back in Laterano. He quickly beat the thought out of his head with a tap of his palm. Their gazes were locked on some ran down hut, voices coming from within.
"... Any reason we're stopping here?"
"Give it a moment. These things usually take a while."
Things? What things?
Loud clangs and noises of furniture breaking flew out from behind one of the closed doors. A few curse words followed, as the ruckus only grew and grew, inching ever so closer to the three's location. A loud banging at the door ensued, before it flew wide open, sending two figures soaring through the air and into the mud. They kept throwing curses and cusses at one another, trying to gain the upper hand in their struggle for control. Andy looked to both sides, noticing the tall man's and the quiet woman's calm expressions, as if they had already been through this ordeal many, many times before.
"YOU DOG! DISGUSTING SWINE! TRY TO PLAY ME AGAIN! TRY TO FUCK ME OVER ONE MORE TIME, I DARE YOU! I DARE…"
"F-Fuck off, I haven't done anything! I h-..."
"SHUT IT!"
The person on top kept yelling out obscenities, straddling the poor guy beneath and sending flurries of punches down onto his bruised face. Like a feral animal, the white haired fiend kept battering the man, sending his teeth flying and blood splattering all over the muddy ground. They ceased only when the man had finally stopped wiggling and desperately trying to cover his face with his hands.
Andy let out an impressed whistle as the white haired devil stood up. Clad in a dark, tactical uniform full of pouches and pockets, boasting an impressive rifle on their back. A wild, untamed smirk stretched out on their face, eyes covered by a snowy curtain of bangs and a pair of bright crimson horns. They spat at the corpse beneath and brushed their hair back, revealing a pair of sharp, orange eyes.
"Gonna sell me left ammo, are ya? Try to sell, rather, ha! Ain't getting that underloaded shit past me!"
They kicked the swindler in the head once more, effectively breaking his nose with a loud crack. The devil stood above his corpse and kept stomping his face into the ground, yelling after each kick.
"You… Scamming… Piece… Of…"
"Alright, W, that's enough."
They stopped immediately, turning back towards the three with a hint of surprise coating their face. Andy could get a clearer look at the devil's mug, noticing his manly features and a few scars.
"... The hell are you two doing here? Ain't you supposed to be playing your little mind reading con at the b-..."
Those sharp eyes widened at the sight of a sankta as the man haphazardly reached for the rifle on his back. The safety flipped with an ominous click.
"Goddamn Lawie! Hell's wrong with you two?!"
Andy jumped back, immediately reaching for his own rifle - a wonder of Ursus technology, paid for by one of his very first bounties.
"Hey! Don't "Lawie" me, you psychopath! Put that thing down!"
"Shut your trap! Hedley, why'd you bring me this thing?"
"Ask for a sharpshooter, a sharpshooter you shall receive. Putting aside our history, the sankta are natural born snipers and..."
"Blah, blah, I know! But hasn't it occurred to you that I might not want a goddamn Law bootlicker in my squad?"
Before "Hedley" could answer, "W" turned towards the quiet woman and barked an order.
"Ines! Get that gun from him, pronto."
Hey eyes narrowed.
"Get it yourself, idiot. I found you a guy for the job and you're acting like a feral dog in heat. You could at least pretend to be human, halfwit."
She huffed and crossed her arms, locking her sharp gaze in a stare-off against the white haired man. Out of options, out of time, he sighed in exasperation and lowered his rifle.
"Fucking hell, the two of you's. What's next, taking sides? Parading around with Her Majesty's banners? And you call yourself sarkaz, you…"
W's words turned to muffled grumbles as he passed by Andy, almost knocking his small, weak frame to the ground with a flick of his shoulder. The boy let out a loud "Hey!" of protest and gathered some mud to chuck at the freak. Before he could throw the projectile, an iron grasp locked around his wrist, preventing it from moving. The white haired merc disappeared behind a corner, leaving the three to themselves.
"Don't. He'll come around, eventually."
"Hell if he does! I don't think I will, though. What's his problem, anyway?"
"Case of the "us and them" mindset. The sarkaz and the sankta, trapped in an endless clash for an idea long forgotten, repeated only by the most ardent of-..."
"Sorry, can you, uh… Look, I'm a simple guy. I haven't finished school, can you NOT speak like that?"
The merc tilted his head in a perplexed manner, confusion painted over his face.
"Like what?"
"You know, so convoluted. You can just lay it on me straight."
"Ah."
"Hedley" took a moment to think about his next words carefully.
"In simpler terms, he just hates Laterans."
"Oh."
Ah, so that was it. Many such cases in this land, though. Andy had already got used to it a good while ago, learning to give tit for tat.
"So that's that, then?"
"Just that."
"I can work with that. Still, you haven't yet told me anything about why exactly you even need me. What's the job? Any details? A contract, maybe? How's the pay? Should I bring the heavy stuff? Light peashooters?"
"We're going to have a little talk with a wanted posse, and you're here to provide cover fire, nothing more. Away from the action, posted up in a nice spot overlooking the field, understood?"
"Okay. Yeah, I can do that. And the pay?"
"We'll split the bounty evenly."
"Ah! Just how I like it!..."
"... Can we move already?"
"Ines" spoke up, breaking her lengthy silence. Seems like she was getting impatient, pacing around the garden. Along the way out of the city, the three of them discussed a few more details regarding the task at hand. It seemed like a relatively peaceful shooting gallery gig for Andy and an excuse to warm up Vinny once more.
Long gone was the old, trusty Lateran bolt action, a real beauty having taken its place. Andy's first true love, an integrally suppressed, semi automatic rifle, bearing the affectionate nickname "Vinny", a memento of a certain friend. With a battered wooden stock and a dirty rag wrapped around its long silencer, it treaded the fine line between being an elegant piece of life taking machinery and a mish-mash of merc junk. It rested calmly on the boy's back, bumping against his military jacket from time to time as the three kept walking towards a small camp atop a hill, towering over the town. Andy turned to the massive redhead, trying his luck at some small talk.
"Soooo… Hedley, then?"
"Hoederer, for you."
"Oh? Think I'll stick with Hedley, actually. Rolls of the tongue easier."
Ines gave an annoyed click of her tongue.
"Keep up an attitude like that, see how far it takes you."
"No, no, it's fine. I'm just a mercenary, after all, not a lord of the court. Besides, some snark is welcome, isn't that right?"
Her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, you used to be just like that, Ines."
"When I was a mouthy brat, maybe. But I've grown past that…"
Her icy gaze shot towards Andy, her words immediately losing any warmth.
"… And you should too, merc."
"Oh, "merc" here has a name, you know?"
Andy turned to the woman with a little hop in his step, proudly pointing at himself with a thumb.
"Andy Ricketts! Finest gunslinger of the North, or so they say."
"Who says?"
"No one! But that's the art of word of mouth advertisement. You can just lie."
Hedley let out a snort, amused by the brat's antics.
"There's some truth to your words, I assume. Wouldn't be carrying that rifle around if you didn't know how to use it, would you?"
"Exactly! Oh and use it, I did… Example, a year or so back, I remember, there was this little run-in I had with a few banshees at Brie's Pass…"
Among his stories, some of them truthful, most of them colorfully far-fetched, the three mercenaries continued onward, heading towards the camp. Upon reaching the destination, Andy couldn't believe just how spacious and cozy this entire place was. A few tents, some drying racks, some weapon stashes, even a campfire in the middle of it all! Resting by the warm, cordial flame, was W, watching the blazes dance around the pit, enveloping a few pieces of dry aspen in their fiery embrace. At the sight of the boy, the merc narrowed his eyes and slowly ran his thumb across his neck. Andy flipped him the bird and turned to enjoy the view of the entire valley from so high above.
Rivers of mud, dark tides of no man's land, skeletons of towns once so vibrant and full of life, all laid out and locked within this gargantuan valley. With the horizon completely unobstructed, Andy could clearly see the setting sun, sending warm, ticklish winds breezing past. It was a rare occurrence for him to get a chance to enjoy such a beautiful sight, even more so to enjoy such a sight with a gig secured in his pocket. A job to do, a loaded rifle, a few pieces of bread and a cup of coffee, that's all he ever needed. Nowadays, anyway. Looking back at the past two years, he's changed a fair bit. Gone was the lost little boy, desperately searching for a place in this world - left dead in the snow, along with Shine, Bourbon and Gin. A new spirit had overtaken his body - fueled by the metal plaque hanging from his neck, pushing him onward and into the deepest pits of this Kazdelian hell. In this land, there was no place for compassion or mercy - weakness, in any way. Showing kindness was akin to willingly exposing your neck in front of a pack of starving houndbeasts. Sure, a courageous act by all means, but one that'd get you brutally torn to shreds.
Andy felt a presence by his side, soothing and calm, an anchor of peace.
"Andrew", then?"
"Andy"'s fine. I like it more that way."
"Andy..."
The red headed mercenary repeated his name, emphasizing each letter, each sound.
"Would you do something for me, Andy?"
"Sure thing. What, exactly?"
His hand, usually resting over his massive sword's pommel, grasped the blade's hilt and pulled it from its scabbard. With the tip, Hedley pointed towards a mountaintop towering over the dirt and misery of the valley's floor. Far, far away, barely noticeable, stood a lone, leafless tree at the mountain's very top.
"Can you see that?"
"What? The tree?"
He shook his head.
"More than meets the eyes, as I said."
Andy squinted and took another glance, noticing a single fowlbeast nest within the tree's bare branches.
"Fowl."
"Mmm. Fowl. I want you to prove your words and show me just how good your aim is."
Andy reluctantly took the rifle from his back and pressed his cheek against the wooden stock. It felt so very familiar, so comforting and soothing. Each originium bullet within the magazine pulsating with warmth, begging to be released from this metal prison. His eye pressed against the large scope, quickly finding the nest among the branches and focusing his gaze on the scene at play. A row of nestlings bawling their heads off towards a fully developed, bright red fowlbeast - most likely their mother. It kept throwing them worms, one after another, causing the fledglings to fight amongst themselves, tearing the slug apart and causing even more yelling and crying. Or so he assumed, they were too far away to hear anything.
Andy stuck his tongue out and focused on the chambered round. His halo dimmed for just a moment as the bullet ripped through the air and tore the entire nest apart, sending sticks and eggshells flying everywhere across the mountaintop. There was no loud, ear piercing gunshot, just the suppressor's gentle rattle.
"That'll do."
The man gave him a surprisingly light pat on the shoulder and turned to leave.
"There's a warm tent waiting for you, Andy. Grab something to eat and let your eyes rest. We need you in top shooting form tomorrow."
Andy simply gave a nod, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at his sides, as he stared at the empty branches in the far distance.
Past the bonfire, past W's snarky remarks and a few slurs, past Ines' cold gaze, he reached his little oasis of privacy, an old, tattered tent. Inside laid nothing but a woolen bedroll and a small, orignium powered lamp. Off went his heavy jacket, along with the rifle, to be used as a pillow. He pulled a sizable, 9 millimeter pistol from his cargo pants and placed it under the clothes - just in case. With Vinny by his side and Nuffer under his pillow, he felt safe enough to lay down and let out a heavy, tired sigh of weariness, letting his mask slip. Each day, after the sun had already gone down, he'd hide himself within a private place, far away from the peering eyes of anyone else. There, he'd let the scared, lost boy come out once more, flourishing in the night's embrace. With the mercenary facade torn, he'd spend hours staring at the ceiling, the night sky, the tent's tarp, thinking about life and what he's become. What he's lost and what he so desperately wants to reclaim.
Andy produced a small, wrinkled photograph from his pocket, carefully holding it up high above. The girls' bright smiles brought tears to his eyes once more, as his fist plummeted into his own mouth, in an attempt to muffle a sob. He kept gazing at their familiar faces, at his own gleeful, bright mug. A smile so bright, so radiant and genuine, nowadays turned to a fake mockery of what it once was. A tool to sway those who could be influenced by a pretty smile, a masquerade to hide behind. A front for his real, lost self - for that boy who fought and died in the frozen wastes, that kid who left Laterano in an attempt of finding a purpose for himself.
It took him just a few hours of muffled crying before succumbing to the night's soothing embrace.