part one of what ever the fuck i'm going to call this

The wind whistled through the trees and the corn blew lazily. It was mid summer in Ohio and all was good.It was just about noon. You sit in a rocking chair on the porch of a old white painted house, can lemonade in hand. It was absolutely still. Not a sound was heard but the rustle of the wind. You breath in deeply and leaned back, closing your eyes. Somewhere a dog barked. There was the distant hum of a car engine that was steadily getting louder. An old blue Ford F1 came roaring down the dirt road that led to the house. You slowly open your eyes and stretch. The truck rolls up to the house and comes to a halt. The driver side door flies open and a short, stocky man jumps out.

“ Bill! Bill! “ he cried.

“ Hey John. “ You grunt as you stand up and run your hand through your brown hair.

“ Bill! Some stuff came in mail. Like crates and shit! “ John said excitedly.

“ Alright, what’s in ‘em? “

“ That’s it Bill! I dunno! They’re addressed to you! “

You put your hands in your pockets and stride over to John.

“ So instead of you loading them in the back, “ you kick the trucks tires “ you drive thirty minutes to tell me to come and get them. “

John’s grin faded and then he said  “ Ah shit, I didn’t even think of that. Fuck. ”

You smile slightly and pat John on the shoulder.

“ Thanks for tryin’ Johnny. “

You leapt up into the bed of the truck and drummed his hands on the roof.

“ Let’s go get Andy then head down there. “

John’s face lit up again and he jumped back into the car. Putting the truck in reverse, backing out, then flooring the pedal. You're almost thrown out as the the truck raced by the fields of corn. Laughing and whooping, the two of you peeled down the road towards a small town. They roared by an old barn and pulled up to a gas station. You leap out of the truck and dashed in. A jet black haired and tanned man with the name tag saying HELLO MY NAME IS ANDY sat behind the counter slowly flipping through a magazine. The door burst open and the two men made eye contact. Andy looked up and raised an eyebrow. You grin at him and a second later Andy grinned back. You grab some bags of chips and a case of soda. Andy flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and the two of you run and jump into the back of the pickup. The truck, now loaded with three, tore off towards town.

“ HOW’S THE LIFE OF A GAS CLERK! “ John shouted over the wind.

“ SHIT! “ Andy yelled back, he turned to You “ HOW ‘BOUT YOU Bill? HOW’S THAT SHITTY FARM? “

You laugh and smile.

“ FUCKIN’ SHIT! PARENTS ARE GONE FOR THE WEEKEND OR SOME SHIT THOUGH! “

The truck peeled into the town and rocketed down the main street. The three hero would have rocketed through the town, going speeds not previously seen by mere mortals, but alas… the infernal forces of road safety foiled them. The cursed traffic light switched from glorious green to horrifying yellow. Letting out a curse, John slammed on the brake, making Andy and Bill smack into the cabin of the pickup. The truck screeched to a halt as the light turned red. Bill and Andy fell onto the bed of the pickup with a thud. John peered over his steering wheel and turned to be face to face with the thing he feared worse than death. Officer Bridget Hawthorne, of the county police department. And his step-mother. She glared at him and he shrunk backwards.

“ Jonathan Hawthorne, do you mind telling me why on God’s green Earth were you going sixty in a twenty five zone. “

“ I-I-I-I-I’m sorry Bridget, I was t-t-t-trying to get to the post office cause Bill got something in themailandIforgottotakeittohishouseandthenwegotAndyandnowwe’reherei’msorry. “ He blurted

Bridget glared at him for a another second before her eyes soften and she leans in and wraps her arms around John and gives him kiss on the cheek.

“ Look Johnny, I know you like being with your friends and all but you can’t go doing this stuff. If your dad lost you too just think what would happen.”

John gripped her a little tighter and then they released each other.

“ And I told you to call me Mom. “

John smiled weakly.

“ Man you got me off my porch for this shit? “ you groan out.

“ Bill, I swear to God…”

Officer Hawthorne walked around to look down in the bed of the truck.

“ Hello Ma’am “

“ Hey Bridget. “

“ Hello Andy, “ she narrowed her eyes “ Bill. “

You and the cunt Bridget glare at each other before she rolls her eyes and began to walk away.

“ Speed again and i’m fining all of you. “

The three of you grumble and proceeded to park in front of an antique store. You hop out and turn to your friends.

" So we got a bit, what do you want to do? "

You shrug.

The three of you walk for a bit before taking a seat at a bench. You lean back let the sun shin on your face, you begin to drift off and peacefully dream of your childhood.

Running through the parks and streams with your friends. Fishing up at Lake Erie and visiting your grandparents. Swimming in the Ohio river with your best friends. Playing with your dog, 4th of July cookouts, High school, Laughing at Andy when he drove the F1 into a ditch, Driving your motorbike for the first time, crashing your motorbike, fighting with your parents, moving to a new town, riots, fires, moving back to your home tow-

WHACK

You let out a yelp as a baton bonks you on the head.

“ Get the hell up, Bill, before I charge you with loitering. “

Fucking Bridget. You scowl at her and begin to get up. Standing you look around. Looks like Andy and John left you high and dry. Some friends. You step down from the pickup bed and begin to look for your less than faithful comrades. You walk past at least three antique stores before coming to a place called Betsy’s Diner, an old 1950s restaurant. Hell yeah burger time. You walk in and spy your traitorous allies sitting at the bar. You slap them on the back, causing Andy to stick his milkshake straw up his nose and John to begin to choking on his fries.

“ Good to know my loyal pals have my back. “ you say jokingly as you swipe some of John’s fries.

Andy pulls the straw from his nostril and shoots you a look.

“ Yeah, we weren't the one stripping down in public. What the hell was that? “

You shrug.

“ Tired. “

John finally dislodges the fried potato from his throat and coughs a couple times. He catches his breath and then takes a long drink of coke. He glares at you and you grin at him then he goes back to eating. A waitress walks up with a note pad.

“ A single. Everything. And a glass of water would be nice. “

She nods and your eyes follow. Cute chick. You feel a pressure building in your gut and you turn to your pals.

“ Bathroom. Be right back. “

You walk to the bathroom and do your business. as you wash your hands you look at the mirror. You focus on your nose. What if it was bigger? Your hand comes to your mouth and you taste copper. Actual copper. Spluttering, you spit out a couple pennies and dimes. Astonished, you realize you almost ate your pocket change. What the fuck? You decide to leave the cursed currency on the bathroom floor and go back to your seat. Your food is there and you hungrily consume it, trying to get the taste of copper out of your mouth. Finishing, you stand, followed by your friends. After leaving a healthy tip since the waitress had a healthy ass, you leave.

 

The three of you walk down the side walk towards the post office, passing more fucking antique stores. You arrive and walk in. An old man at the desk looks up from some paper work and greets you. You return the greeting and explain why you are here.

“ Oh, Mr. Clarke! Yes! We got them this morning and were hoping you would take them. “

“ Them? “

“Yes, you see your Grandfather was a rather well liked man around here and when he died he asked that you be given some of his old possessions. “

This peaked your interest.

“ So why am I only hearing about this now? “

“ Because from what I can understand, you have some rather slimy cousins out west who wanted to get their hands on his belongings. “

He leads the three of you into the back, a small warehouse almost. Here there were three wooden crates and a few packages.

“ Absolute hell to have them shipped back here, but I owe your granddad. “

How the fuck are you going to get these home. You ask the man that and he nods. He then motions over a large looking man.

“ This is Jim. He’ll ship these over to your place by this after noon. Now, I just need you to fill out some paper work. “

You do and then the three of you head back to the truck. Hoping in and driving out of town, all the while looking for Bridget. A you drive down the road you can see storm clouds forming over head. Fucking Ohio and its damn weather. You stop at the gas station that Andy works at and he hops out, running inside to get his jacket. As you sit in the back of the truck you think about today. You see a large truck go by and see that Jim is at the wheel. Cool. Andy comes back out with his jacket and hops in the back with you. Five minutes later you pull into the drive way of your house. You see the crates and packages in front of your garage and hop out excitedly. Then you hear the scratching and barking from inside your house.

“ Ah shit I forgot about Annie. “ you mutter

Walking up to the door, you unlock it and three year old German Shepherd comes happily bounding out. She was yapping and running circles around yourself and the group.

“ Jesus Bill, your dog is fucking nuts “ said John as Annie jumped around him.

Yeah. Oh fuck right the crates. You walk over to the crates and inspect them. One pretty big one, two smaller ones, two or three small packages, and a box. You open the garage and grab a  pry bar. You decide to start with the big one. You jam the piece of metal in and pull with all your might. With a crack the end pops off and you are met with a sight that makes you dick turn to diamonds. You stare, slack jawed at a pristine Harley-Davidson WLA Motorcycle. Green paint and everything with a bright white star on each side. You feel weak at the knees and you turn to your friends, who are equally stunned. Shakily you stand and wheel the motorcycle out of the crate. You run your hand over it, feeling what could be described as childlike glee. Your attention then falls on the other crates and boxes. You crack open the other one and nearly jizz yourself this time. With shaking hands you lift an M1 Garand from the straw in the crate. The process of getting a gun boner repeats for the next thirty minutes. .308, .45, 12 gauge, a Thompson, Two Springfield M1903s, A Winchester Model 1897, a M3 submachine gun, a M1A1 Carbine, a couple revolvers, and an BAR. There was also a mass surplus of ammo and general gear. A messkit or two, some combat knives, bayonets, a tent, beg rolls, boots, fatigues and webbing. You sit down, still shaking when you open the last box. An old Motorcycle helmet from the Army and a M1911 pistol. In the helmet was a note.

Dear Bill

Due the fact that I will most likely die before

you are old enough to meet me you, I leave you

my entire collection to protect yourself,

your friends, and family from the

Red Menace.

Lots of love,

Grandpa Clarke

 

Giddy, you run over to the crates and begin to drag them into the garage. Andy and John help you and soon your two car garage looks like a small armory. You sit down on a stool in front of your father’s workbench and look over the M1911. You notice the etchings all over the barrel. Countries and years.

 

Mexico 1912-17

France 1917-18

North Africa 1942

Sicily 1943

Italy 1943

France 1944

Germany 1945

North Korea 1950-1952

South Korea 1953

 

You're impressed, this little piece of hardware had seen a lot of action. Curiously you pull the slide back and check the gun. Not loaded. Good. Setting the pistol back in the box and setting on the workbench. You grab a jerry can of gas and walk over to the WLA and unscrew the tank cap. After filling the tank, you place the cap back on and screw it into place. You climb on board and start it. Its engine roars to live and you feel like you're ten again. You glance up and notice the graying skies and frown. Getting mud all over the WLA seems like a great way to incite the wrath of your grandfather’s ghost. You back the motorcycle into the garage and turn it off. Your friends look around at your new firearms in amazement.

“ Christ, this has gotta be illegal…” muttered John.

“ Yeah, but who gives a shit? “ Andy said with a smile.

You smile and look around at your new collection. The slight pitter of rain on your roof was heard. You went over to the garage door and whistled. Annie came bounding in, tongue lolling out and tail wagging. You slap the button on the wall and the door began to slowly close, the sound of the rain picking up. You turn to your friends.

“ Storms come in. Looks like shit. Wanna hang here? “

Your friends agree. You open the door leading to the house for them and then rush out the garage side door over to the F1. Grabbing the chips and soda from the back, you sprint back up to your porch and run through your door. Slamming the Oak door behind you, you shake the water from your head and walk into the kitchen. Placing the chips on the counter and the soda in the fridge, you glance outside. It’s raining pretty hard now and you can see even darker clouds approaching. Fuck. You walk into the living room. It’s a comfy room with a mixture of soft carpet and hardwood floor, two couches, an ottoman, a halt screen that your dad fought an asian family for last Black Friday, a couple cabinets, and a stone fireplace with your father’s Beretta superpose shotgun hanging above it. A number of consoles and controllers lie scattered around the TV. Andy is sprawled out on one of the couches while John shifts through your extensive game collection.

“ Come Bill, when you gonna learn that consoles are for shitters. “

“ When I get a properly ported Souls game. “

John scowls as Andy pipes up.

“ Video games go on consoles. Taxes go on computers. “

John’s face turns purple as he begins to explain why Andy has shit taste while Andy is completely ignoring him, watching the ceiling fan rotate. You sigh and go to the kitchen to make a sandwich.

 

You walk into the kitchen and fling open your refrigerator, and scan it’s contents. Pickles, a half an onion, thick cut Bologna, swiss cheese. You know what must be done. Pan on stove. Stove on. Bologna in pan. Cool that shit. Hamburger buns. Bologna, swiss, pickles, onion. Hell yes. You fry up that motherfucker and have yourself a goodass sandwich. You swing through the living room, flip off John, and then bound up the steps to your room. You grab your laptop off the desk as well as your mouse, mouse pad, and charger. Godtier sandwich in your mouth, laptop in arms, mouse wrapped around your neck along with the charger, and mouse pad in pocket you go back to the living room. You walk over to John and dump the laptop and everything else on him, minus your goodass sandwich, which you would have cried if you dropped.

“ There you go John, now quit being a faggot. “

You grab a remote and switch the TV on. You toss your PS4 controller to Andy, who snatches it out of the air and sits up.

“ It already in? “

“ Yeah. “

The title menu of Bloodborne comes, Andy scrolls by the pre-existing characters to one in particular. It has misshapen eyes, an elongated nose, and green hair. He smiles and selects it.

“ Why the fuck do you always make your guy look like a fucking eldritch horror? “

Andy looks at you with a straight face and responds.

“ What the fuck are you talking about? “

The creature on the screen makes a mad dash for a pig covered in eyes and promptly shoves its hand up it’s ass. You shiver. Andy is an odd person. You sit and finish your sandwich while watching Andy fist pigs and listening to John bitch about your laptop while trying to install World of Warcraft. You tell him to try installing Everquest and he tells you to kill yourself. You hear a faint scratching sound at the door and Andy pauses the game, listening as well.

“ The fuck is that? “

 

 

You stare at the door and your imagination begins to go wild. Inwards stories from /k/ run through your head as you quickly run to the garage and grab the M1911 off the workbench and clumsily load a magazine. You stick it in your belt. As you walk to the door you have an odd feeling that it may be just some sort of animal. The scratching is louder and the rain is coming down harder now. With one hand on your .45 and the the other on the door knob, you ready yourself. You fling the door open just as there is a loud boom of thunder and lighting strikes the ground not five feet front your porch steps. An animal of sorts zips past your legs and you let out a very manly cry. You fall backwards and accidentally fling the .45 across the room. Luckily you hadn't chambered a round so the only thing that you would have to explain was the broken vase. Scrambling to your feet you slam the door and whirl around. Andy and John and sprang up and were over to you in a second.

“ What fuck was that? “

“ Jesus fucking Christ, Bill! You ok? “

You however were more concerned with what the fuck just got into your house. You wave off their concern and grab the .45 out of the shattered remains of your mother’s prize vase.

“ There’s some animal in the house. Ran past me. “

Andy immediately turned and began to search the house. You felt like warning him that you had no idea what the animal was, but then again this was the guy who spent his summer’s in the wetlands of Florida dragging gators out from under cars. John began to ask you about what you had seen when there was a loud crash from the kitchen, barking from Annie, cursing from Andy, and the sound of pots falling. A long haired, black and brown cat came racing out of the kitchen followed closely by Annie then Andy. The cat leapt up onto the couch and Annie almost followed if not for John who then grabbed the dog by the collar. Andy jumped and grabbed the cat, which immediately began to meow and hiss. You grabbed Annie and hauled her over to the bathroom, which you then tossed her in a shut the door. You could hear her whining but now you had a fucking cat to deal with. Andy had grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped the cat up burrito style so that all you could see of it was a very angry cat face.

“ So a cat touched your leg and you screamed like a little girl. “ John said with a shit eating grin.

“ A girl touched your arm once and you screamed like one as well. “

John frowned. The rain was coming down in sheets at this point and you could hear the with rattling the house.

“ Andy. Lock the cat in the upstairs bathroom and then come down and help me move shit. “

He nods.

“ John. Go out and start up your truck. We’re gonna get in the garage. “

He nods.

Andy runs up stairs and you hear more swearing and screeching the door slam. He comes back down and the two of you go to clear a space in the garage for John’s truck. You run into the garage and can hear the roar of the wind then John’s tuck. Boxes of ammo and weapons taken inside and the motorcycle moved aside. You slam your hand against the garage door opener and are caught in the headlights of John’s truck. He rolls in then turns it off. You push the garage door button but nothing happens. The lights flicker You see in the outline of a utility pole and your heart drops. You can see the cables that are supposed to be sending power to your house snap and then the pole tip over.

“ Fuck! ANDREW! “ You try to roar over the wind.

Andy is there in a heart beat and then John climbs out of his truck and the three of you grab the garage door and pull with al your combined might. You hear the chain for the garage door break and go down about half way. You hear a clanging sound.

“ SOME SHIT IS STUCK IN THE DOOR! “

Without thinking you duck under the and look up to see what’s jamming it shut. A pipe.

You grab it and pull. Just as you feel it come loose, a massive bolt of lighting strikes near the house silhouetting a massive dark spot in a swirling mass of clouds. You stare up at it, jaw agape, when you see the hole stretch. As if yawning, it opens wider and the world around you seems to bend. You curse and stagger to your feet. Wide eyed, you watching the howling wind and rain as the black hole stretches, then shrinks, then implodes. You would have kept watching if your rocking chair hadn't flown off the porch and slammed into you. You fall to ground and slam your head on the dusty ground. The smell of dirt fills your nose and then the wind picks up. Everything goes dark.

 

A police cruiser raced down the road. The woman behind the wheel gripping the wheel with white knuckles. She rounded a bend and slammed on her brakes. She threw open her door and stepped out. She took off her patrol glasses and looked on with despair. She put her walkie talkie to her mouth and spoke.

“ This is officer Bridget Hawthorne. I’m gonna need some help down at the Clarke residence. “

She stared at where the Clarke house had been not a day ago.

“ Well, where the Clarke residence used to be. “

 

Light. That’s the first thing you see. Which means you can see. Which means you're alive which is good. Very good. You sit up and immediately regret it. You're vision goes blurry and you groan in pain. Fuck. You clench your teeth and slowly get you. You're in a field. Not a corn field like the ones outside your home, just a field. You button up shirt is ripped up and missing a sleeve. Other than that you seem to have everything you have before you woke up here. Watch is cracked but still ticking and no one looted you for your wallet or phone so that’s good. You check your phone. No signal. Perfect. Just great. Standing up, you feel something under your foot. Crouching down, you pick up the pipe that was jammed in the garage door. Looking around, you can find no trace of…well…anything. Just field. You begin to walk when you trip over something. Investigating, you now find the 1911 that you had during the storm. Pipe in one hand and .45 in the other you begin to walk. The field seemed to go on forever. You walk for what seems to be hours, growing more tired with every step. You feel light headed and stumble a couple steps before collapsing. Where the fuck are you? This isn't Ohio. Maybe you had the unfortunate luck of being dumped in Oklahoma or some other cursed place. You breath deeply and decide that you will not simply lie down in some field and die. With a groan you rise up and look to the sky.

Standing, you take a breath and continue walking. You walk until you catch sight of a dip in the ground. You walk a little faster until you find yourself in a more hilly region. You can see more field to your left, what looks to be a forest to your right, and more hills in front of you.

 

You decide that the hills are your best chance as the forest looks spooky as shit. You trek onwards. Over a hill. And another hill. And another hill. Wow, maybe this was a shit idea. You scan the area again, squinting against the sunlight. You can make out what looks to be a scarecrow of some sorts. You briskly walk up to it. Not a scarecrow. An effigy of some sorts. Two sticks tied together, a tunic with some sort of emblem on it, and a Great helm sitting atop it. All of it had what looked to be green paint splattered on it.  The tunic was torn and looked like someone had hacked at it with a blade. The helm had dings and scratches all over it. You held the torn piece of clothing to get a better look at the symbol on the front. A fancy cross. You looked at the helm again. This was a marker for territory of some sorts. This was not good. Obviously you in an area of hostile people. Tightening your grip on the pipe, you proceed. You continued to trek through the hills but there was no sign of civilization anywhere. The sun beats down on you and your back and neck are drenched in sweat. Fucking sun and shit. You continue as the sun proceeds to roast you. This sucks more dick than a liberal in San Fransisco, and thats a lot of dicks. You were feeling truly exhausted. You stumble a little before falling to the ground. A full day without food or water and walking up and down hills has made you feel like utter shit. You try to stand but the pain in your head and legs is too much. Collapsing to the ground in a heap, you let out a ragged breath. Then your eyes flutter closed.

“ William… “

What?

“ William…”

Your in a white room. It seems to have no end or walls. It simply is and you simply are here. Huh.

“ William, you lazy shit, wake the fuck up! “

You spin to find the owner of the voice. You see an old man scowling at you.

“ William, you better not die like a bitch. No Grandson of mine is gonna die in some field because of fucking heat stroke. Get the fuck outta here. “

Grandson?

Then the whole fucking room did some bendy shit and then seems to mold into different colors and shapes.

“ Wake up! “

Your eyes snap open, its dark out. You hear what sounds to be thunder. Shakily standing, again, you look around. In the distance you see flashes of light followed by a boom. Not thunder, artillery.

 

You decide that artillery means people. Worst case scenario: You're killed. Best case scenario: You're not killed and find something to eat. You go as fast as your tired body would take you towards the sound of guns.  After about thirty minutes of walking, you crest a another fucking shitty hill. The sound of small arms fire and the odd cannon roar was heard. You catch sight of the first building you'd seen all day. It was on fire. At least it’s a building. Well, it looks more like some sort trading post with the most ramshackle walls to ever have been constructed. Men ran about the wall of the trading post with what looked to be muskets. They rushed about the wall and occasionally a puff of smoke from the muskets. You then look to the attackers. A band of men wearing the tunics and helmets of the effigy you found earlier. Squinting, you catch sight of at least three cannons on the opposite hill side. The “ crusaders “ were deeply entrenched out side the walls and the defenders showed no sign of giving any ground. A shout was heard from the “ crusaders “ and a volley of musket fire peppered the trading posts walls. There was a lot of angry people down there and you only had a pistol with seven rounds and a pipe. From your time at the firing range you knew you were an ok shot, but fifty plus men was a stretch. You know you can always just walk away, but something compels you to stay. You need to get home, where ever that is, and this seems like your best bet.

 

You slinked a little closer to get a better view when you heard movement behind you. You fling yourself around and pull out your 1911. You feel cold steel pressed against your neck and you jammed the .45 into the chest of your attacker. Your eyes met, the angry eyes of your attacker meeting your panicked eyes. You both sat there in silence, you too scared to move and the other not wanting to risk either making noise or have their gut blown out their back. It was in the next second that you realize that you jammed your gun into a breast. You now clearly see that your attacker is in fact female. A female a couple years older than you by the looks of it. She glares down at you and presses her dagger harder against your throat.

“ Go ahead and yell, i’m waiting for you to do something that inclines me to slit your throat. “

It was at this moment that you remember that you have a M1911 jammed into her chest. You swallow and try to sound like you aren't afraid as you really are.

“ Can you do that before I put a hole the size of grapefruit in you? “

You cock the hammer of the pistol back for emphasis. She stares at you for a second before you  speak.

“ I’m not with anyone down there, i’m just trying to find my way to somewhere I can get my bearings. “

She narrows her eyes.

“ How do I know you won’t just cry for help to those guys down there. “ she says, gesturing to the attacking force.

“ You don’t, but I bet you’ll kill me before I get even start to shout. “

She stared at you for a second longer before standing and sheathing her blade. You shuffle back a bit before flicking the safety on. She looks down at you for a moment before looking to the cannons. You follow her gaze.

“ I’m guessing you're with the guys in the fort. “

She nods and then looks to you again.

“ The men in that fort are good ones. Their nation helped defend my people from bandits when we first fled here. “

She then looked back to the cannons.

“ But i’m afraid that those things there spell certain doom for them. “

A million options run through your head. You could take off running but that would get you no where. You could shoot her and then tell the attackers that she was an infiltrator but that would probably end badly. You sigh and walk up next to her. She tensed and drew her dagger again.

“ You have a plan to help them then? “

She looks at you with a confused and suspicious face.

“ Why do you care? “

“  Told you, i’m lost and this is my best bet for find some sort of bearings. “

She continue to look at you. Then the cannons fired another volley and the two of you flinched.

“ Look, we’re wasting time and your pals are dying down there. “

She nodded and then motioned you to follow her. You did.

 

The two of you crawled within shouting distance of the cannons. Each had a crew of three. Three cannons. Nine men. You turn to your new friend, realizing something.

“ I don’t know your name. “

“ You don’t need to. “

Well shit she's a bitch.

“ I’m Bill. “

She shook her head and pointed at the gun crews.

“ We take them out, the fort has a chance of mounting a counter attack. “

You nod. She glances at your pipe with a skeptical look.

“ Bitch, I was one the best batters in the towns little league. Fuck you and your shiny dagger. “ you think to yourself.

You tighten your grip on your pipe and then begin to slink towards the gun crews. The cannons weren't very impressive, six footlong barrels with small wheels. Mobility was the main idea apparently. The guns were entrenched as well and fortified with sandbags and wood. It was clear that they were to prevent musket fire from getting the gun crew. You snuck up to the first one with your friend.Peeking over the sandbags, you see that the crews are not too heavily armored, wearing only tunics, pants, and sandals. The woman whispered to you.

“ Try to get them before they can call for help. “

Right, shut the gunners up before they make a shit ton of noise. Got it.

You hold out your hand and count down from three. On three you leapt over the sad bags and a clobber the nearest one. The man lets out a groan and slumps to the ground. The man reloading drops the rammer and pulls out a flintlock pistol. He raises it, only for the woman’s dagger to embed itself in his throat. The last unsheathes a short sword and takes a breath to cry for help, only for the other cannons to fire, drowning him out. He slashes at you at you dodge backwards clumsily and fall back against the cannon. He sees an opening and rushes forwards, and is met with a kick to the face. You are then on top of him, your pipe slamming down on his face. You only stop when the woman grabs your shoulder. You whip around, ready to attack again. She looks at you with a worried expression.

“ Are you alright? “

You try to calm your breathing and nod. Then set your sights on the next crew. Grabbing the short sword, you rush at the oblivious crew. You hit the fourth man in the back of the leg with the pipe and then slash down at his jugular with the short sword. The other two are aware of your presence and one tries to run. You dump the bleeding man and hurl the pipe at the fleeing man. It collides with the back of his head and he stumbles and falls. The sixth man runs at you with the rammer, intending to use it as a club. He slams you into the gun pits wall but he is easily weighs sixty pounds less than you. Shoving him off you, you proceed to hold him down with the rammer. Using the butt of your .45, you smack him across the face a couple times before he goes limp. You stand and move to the next gun, only to find the crew dead and the woman standing among them. You look at each other then both nod. You pick up your pipe and walk over to the downed man. He looks up at you in terror, he can’t be more than sixteen. This could be you. You grip the pipe a little tighter and then point away from the battle.

“ Scram. “

He nods furiously, cries thanks, then runs as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

 

You watch the young man run and suddenly feel pretty shit. You double over and dry heave. You glance at the man whose neck you slashed open. This time you don't dry heave. You throw up the little you had in your stomach. Never mind, feeling shitty doesn't begin to describe the feelings you currently have. You killed these men. They had families. Just like you. You could have walked away and gone back to the fields and hills. You probably would have would someone else eventually. Or died from exhaustion. Maybe that would be fair. You heave again. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you slowly turn. The woman is looking down at you. Her gaze hard.

“ Cease you're driveling, boy. “

You fell anger well up in you. Nope, that’s you heaving again. Spitting on the ground, you manage to get up. You turn to the fort and hear a loud rallying cry. The crusaders charged the fort but were met with volley after volley of musket fire. The cries of dying men fill the air. A firebomb was lobbed over the wall and into the line of attackers. The liquid fire splashed over their lines and then a tremendous explosion went off among their ranks.

“ Must have hit their ammunition reserves. “ the woman said.

You still fell sick. Well, you’ve killed like six or more people. Fuck. Mom would not be proud. You don’t know about dad though…yeah, he’d probably be a little disappointed. After throwing up the little, you push yourself up and survey the carnage. The fort, no longer on fire, had opened their gates and the occupants were pulling weapons from the dead attackers.They picked through the burning and dead. You lean against the cannon fortifications and let out a groan. You stare up at the cloudy night sky, wishing you weren't where you were. You could hear the men of the outpost begin to talk and yell.

“ We did it! Gods we did it!  “

“ We got the bastards! “

“ Damn raids, I knew this would happen eventually! “

Well, you should probably meet your new friends. You haul yourself over the fortifications and begin to trek down to the victors. The fire were dying down but the still cast ominous shadows over the night time battle field. You hear shouting and then the defenders turn their guns to you. You tiredly raise your hands in surrender, you've had a difficult day. You eye the defenders and they eye you. At least twenty men. Some of them looked like simple travelers and merchants while others it was clear that they were military. The uniforms were navy blue, but looked lighter due to them being caked in dust and ash. The uniforms are simple but look well made. A blue button up coat, simple black trousers and boots, some of the men wear blue caps as well. They range from young to old, short and tall, fat and thin. Despite these variations, one stands out from the other, a shorter and older man with a much more elaborate uniform than the others and sported a thick beard. The leader no doubt. He looked at you, then walked right by you.

“ Get this poor bugger some new clothes and put him in with the other folks, he's too shaken to fight. “

What?

He strode over to the trench where the mass of crusaders lay dead. The crusaders line had a fair amount of gunpowder with them so the explosion had left quite an impression. Literally.

You slowly walk up next to him and peer down into the crater. Dead crusader's lay strewn across the hole, bits and pieces everywhere. On the far side of the hole lays a mountain of a man. He must be at least seven feet tall and looks stronger than an ox. He wore a much larger and ornamental version of the crusader armor. He was clearly caught in the explosion, seen by by the scorch marks and dents in his armor. His right hand still wrapped around large axe. The old man looked at him with cold eyes.

" Grodlorr the saint. " he said grimly.

He then let out a bitter laugh.

" Nothing saintly about him. "

The ground around the large man shook and shifted as the " saint " rose. The old man backed up and drew his sabre and yelled to his men.

" Reload! The saint isn't dead! "

There was yelling and shouting, then the giant of a man stood fully and laughed. He winded back his arm and threw the axe.

Now for some reason, your stupid as shit mind told you you to do something other than move. You tackled the old man, pushing him out of the way. This would have been fine and dandy if the axe hadn't cut across your back and left a rather painful gash. You fall to your stomach, cursing and shaking, eyes watering with pain. The axe embedded it self in a nearby tee.

The man strode by you and began to pull the axe from its prison. It was then that the woman you were fighting with leapt towards him, blade drawn.

Grodlorr punched her in the stomach and the shoved her over to where you and the old man were. Grodlorr let out a deep chuckle after prying the axe free. He approached.

" You think mere flame can kill me? I am Illias' will! "

You have a trump card to play, however.

" Her sword and her shield! I am - " BAM! BAM! BAM!

Smoke gently wafts out of your M1911 barrel and three casings lay in the dirt. You clench you teeth, trying to keep a steady hand.

He stumbles back and the axe slips from his grasp. Three patches of blood begin to spread across his tunic. His helmeted head looked down as best he could before blood began to seep through the helmets bottom and he crashed to the the ground.

One liner, c'mon think of one....one liner...what would Bruce Campbell say?

" Your full of lead. "

You think you can feel your chin get a little squarer.

Then you pass the fuck out.