Post by Ruzhyo on Sept 22, 2009 15:08:14 GMT -5
Waiting. Waiting. More waiting. Ruzhyo was growing sick of it. For the past two days he had been laying in the tall grasses on the peak of a hill overlooking one of the outlying farms, and now the knees of his trousers were worn and stained with mud and grass. But still he waited. Ruzhyo was a man of action, but he knew to be patient and bide his time...when it suited him.
From the point of view of most people, his position would be considered fairly idyllic. The canopy of leaves in the lone tree standing above him were slowly turning from a bright, summer green to the golden hues of their autumn uniform, coating the ground beneath in a dappled, yellow and red shade. The sun, also waning from its summer brilliance, burnt in the sky like cold fire, warming the myriad of tiny figures that lived and worked beneath it, without baking them and parching their throats. From where he lay, Ruzhyo had a commanding view of the surrounding area, and the many forms that toiled in the fields below. Noises of the countryside, the murmur of indistinct voices and the bleating and braying of animals, drifted up to mingle with the birdsong above. Ruzhyo was not most people though. He was there for one reason and one reason only. Another job.
It had all begun when he left the train, jumping down from the iron goliath as it tore through the rural outskirts of the city. He suspected (and rightly, as it turned out) that whatever officials might be gathered to expect the shipment he had been riding on, might not be too pleased at his uninvited presence and he was in no mood for direct confrontation yet. He had learnt the hard way that turning up unannounced and unwelcomed into a big city as a gun for hire attracted all the wrong kinds of attention. It was far better to sit in an out of the way tavern, picking up small jobs where he could, and let news of his exploits trickle up the social chain. Perhaps one of the plantation owners, whose mansions he had seen overshadowing the rows of crops from the train, would require an extra guard, or perhaps one of the traders who he had passed on the open road. Either way, eventually, those with bigger problems (and heavier coin to match) would come looking for *him*.
When he first entered the tavern, The Iron Ingot or The Steel Sycamore or some other such silly name, he had raised his darkened goggles just in time to see the ripple of curiosity around the room quickly concealed. With just a hint of a sardonic smile, he had sat down at the bar, ordered a drink and waited. It hadn't taken long at all, much less time than he had expected. An older man, short and stocky with greying hair and clad in the thick, sweat stained leather dungarees of a farmer, had approached him hesitantly and enquired in a thick rural accent
"Excuse me sir...Are you....Are you a hunter?" Ruzhyo had turned, slowly, towering over the smaller man, inwardly amused that he had bestowed upon him the title of 'sir'. True, he had a commanding appearance, and he worked that to his advantage wherever he could. After all, people were eager to pay higher prices for the help of a 'noble'.
"Of sorts," he had replied, enquiring "What prey are you after...?” watching with interest as the man shook his head, his jowls quivering.
"Not prey sir, a predator sir." the farmer had explained. "A wolf has been stalking my flock y'see...if it takes any more sheep I shan't have enough to make it through the winter. Is there....Could you....I can pay you sir" he finished a little feebly as Ruzhyo's lips curled into a cold smile.
"Show me your coin old man" he had demanded. And with that, the deal had been done.
The cool autumn wind whistled through the long grass, and a flicker of movement in the corner of Ruzhyo's eye snapped him back to his senses. Staring down the long barrel of the weapon, he tried to pick out exactly what it was that had caught his eye. A falling leaf? A shadow? A sheep that had wandered too far fro--No. There it was. The beast he had been waiting two days for, a hulking canine, covered in a matted grey coat, edging around the border of the enclosure.
Quickly, for although he had been sure to choose a position downwind of the farm he did not wish to linger, he raised the two hinged lenses along the top of the barrel. Each was a convex circle of glass, polished to perfection, which had the almost magical effect of making objects in the distance appear closer than they truly were. A thought stirred in the dark recesses of Ruzhyo's mind, in one of the compartments of thought that was locked to him. He always felt uneasy when he used the lenses - they were clearly highly advanced technology, but he had never seen them on any other weapon than his. It was almost as if they had been developed in secret. A prototype perhaps? But then how had he acquired them? These questions were part of the reason he was reluctant to use them. The other reason was far simpler. Practice.
Carefully flipping the lenses flat against the barrel, he checked the various valves and gauges on the stock, nodding to himself in a satisfied manner, before unlocking the safety catch. With a trained ear, he listened to the hum of clockwork as gears turned within the mechanism, then levelled his sights on the target. Curling his finger around the trigger he drew in a breath, holding it. As though sensing its impending doom, the wolf stopped mid-stride, raising its head and sniffing the air. It was the only opening Ruzhyo needed - releasing the breath from his lungs and at the same time gently squeezing the trigger. The whip-like crack echoed around the farms, followed by a grave shroud of silence as the pale blue gun-smoke drifted away on the breeze.
Slowly making his way down the hill, his heavy leather boots digging into the soft soil, he approached the limp mountain of fur, cautiously in case the brute was feinting. He needn’t have worried. Kneeling down, he rubbed his fingers in the blood that was seeping from the creature’s shattered skull, dripping down to mix with the earth below. Again he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Another job well done. Better yet, he wagered somebody would be willing to part with a fair amount of coin for the fur pelt. Removing a curved knife from the sheath at his belt he smiled slowly. He was always up for making some extra coin...
From the point of view of most people, his position would be considered fairly idyllic. The canopy of leaves in the lone tree standing above him were slowly turning from a bright, summer green to the golden hues of their autumn uniform, coating the ground beneath in a dappled, yellow and red shade. The sun, also waning from its summer brilliance, burnt in the sky like cold fire, warming the myriad of tiny figures that lived and worked beneath it, without baking them and parching their throats. From where he lay, Ruzhyo had a commanding view of the surrounding area, and the many forms that toiled in the fields below. Noises of the countryside, the murmur of indistinct voices and the bleating and braying of animals, drifted up to mingle with the birdsong above. Ruzhyo was not most people though. He was there for one reason and one reason only. Another job.
It had all begun when he left the train, jumping down from the iron goliath as it tore through the rural outskirts of the city. He suspected (and rightly, as it turned out) that whatever officials might be gathered to expect the shipment he had been riding on, might not be too pleased at his uninvited presence and he was in no mood for direct confrontation yet. He had learnt the hard way that turning up unannounced and unwelcomed into a big city as a gun for hire attracted all the wrong kinds of attention. It was far better to sit in an out of the way tavern, picking up small jobs where he could, and let news of his exploits trickle up the social chain. Perhaps one of the plantation owners, whose mansions he had seen overshadowing the rows of crops from the train, would require an extra guard, or perhaps one of the traders who he had passed on the open road. Either way, eventually, those with bigger problems (and heavier coin to match) would come looking for *him*.
When he first entered the tavern, The Iron Ingot or The Steel Sycamore or some other such silly name, he had raised his darkened goggles just in time to see the ripple of curiosity around the room quickly concealed. With just a hint of a sardonic smile, he had sat down at the bar, ordered a drink and waited. It hadn't taken long at all, much less time than he had expected. An older man, short and stocky with greying hair and clad in the thick, sweat stained leather dungarees of a farmer, had approached him hesitantly and enquired in a thick rural accent
"Excuse me sir...Are you....Are you a hunter?" Ruzhyo had turned, slowly, towering over the smaller man, inwardly amused that he had bestowed upon him the title of 'sir'. True, he had a commanding appearance, and he worked that to his advantage wherever he could. After all, people were eager to pay higher prices for the help of a 'noble'.
"Of sorts," he had replied, enquiring "What prey are you after...?” watching with interest as the man shook his head, his jowls quivering.
"Not prey sir, a predator sir." the farmer had explained. "A wolf has been stalking my flock y'see...if it takes any more sheep I shan't have enough to make it through the winter. Is there....Could you....I can pay you sir" he finished a little feebly as Ruzhyo's lips curled into a cold smile.
"Show me your coin old man" he had demanded. And with that, the deal had been done.
The cool autumn wind whistled through the long grass, and a flicker of movement in the corner of Ruzhyo's eye snapped him back to his senses. Staring down the long barrel of the weapon, he tried to pick out exactly what it was that had caught his eye. A falling leaf? A shadow? A sheep that had wandered too far fro--No. There it was. The beast he had been waiting two days for, a hulking canine, covered in a matted grey coat, edging around the border of the enclosure.
Quickly, for although he had been sure to choose a position downwind of the farm he did not wish to linger, he raised the two hinged lenses along the top of the barrel. Each was a convex circle of glass, polished to perfection, which had the almost magical effect of making objects in the distance appear closer than they truly were. A thought stirred in the dark recesses of Ruzhyo's mind, in one of the compartments of thought that was locked to him. He always felt uneasy when he used the lenses - they were clearly highly advanced technology, but he had never seen them on any other weapon than his. It was almost as if they had been developed in secret. A prototype perhaps? But then how had he acquired them? These questions were part of the reason he was reluctant to use them. The other reason was far simpler. Practice.
Carefully flipping the lenses flat against the barrel, he checked the various valves and gauges on the stock, nodding to himself in a satisfied manner, before unlocking the safety catch. With a trained ear, he listened to the hum of clockwork as gears turned within the mechanism, then levelled his sights on the target. Curling his finger around the trigger he drew in a breath, holding it. As though sensing its impending doom, the wolf stopped mid-stride, raising its head and sniffing the air. It was the only opening Ruzhyo needed - releasing the breath from his lungs and at the same time gently squeezing the trigger. The whip-like crack echoed around the farms, followed by a grave shroud of silence as the pale blue gun-smoke drifted away on the breeze.
Slowly making his way down the hill, his heavy leather boots digging into the soft soil, he approached the limp mountain of fur, cautiously in case the brute was feinting. He needn’t have worried. Kneeling down, he rubbed his fingers in the blood that was seeping from the creature’s shattered skull, dripping down to mix with the earth below. Again he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Another job well done. Better yet, he wagered somebody would be willing to part with a fair amount of coin for the fur pelt. Removing a curved knife from the sheath at his belt he smiled slowly. He was always up for making some extra coin...