The Stranger

Perhaps, just once, you wish you'd had a bit more foresight. Ironically.

It should have been obvious what a risk this was. The pay wasn't so high for no reason. Sure, recreating the Seer's Tears was a complex process that perhaps only a few alchemists in the world could have achieved, but even that didn't explain the price tag. Now you understand.

You cower under a table beside a locked door in some abandoned compound way out in the woods, smoldering holes in it allowing in thin sunbeams that almost feel like searchlights, kicked-up dust dancing through their cast. Shouting pierces the calm sway of the forest outside as your assailants reposition, leaves crunching underfoot caught by your keen ears. You account for their positions and move cautiously and silently, making a guess as to their next targets.

A quiet breath passes, and the next round begins. Beams of concentrated light magic come spraying through the walls in a hail of wand-gun fire! You keep your head down and stay as small as possible, praying to whatever Gods might deign to listen as the rays sail past you. The sallow, rotten wood of this forgotten place refuses to spark, your sole saving grace. You need to think quickly. You dig through your pouch. You think they're either getting tired of blind-firing, or they're coming to check if they've hit you, because you can hear footsteps approaching what remains of the door.

Powerful people like the Ezwari coven have a lot of money. Powerful people also have powerful enemies, more often than not.

One of the assassins slams his boot into the door, sending it flying open. You remain tucked under a table, your breath as still as it can be and your hands deftly searching through the chaos of your reagent pouch. His heavily armored footfalls make their way past you, the wood bowing under the weight of his full-plate. Who ARE these people? Full-plate and wand guns? You finally find something, a stunning powder that might give you just enough time to escape.

Just as you start to make your move, you hear a... gunshot? A distinct and almost ringing report scatters the birds from the trees, and you hear a whole lot of hurried footsteps outside. They can't possibly have guns...

The assassin in the house stops dead in his tracks. You see him sway a bit from your hiding spot, and you hear him quietly gurgling. A thin trickle of crimson rolls down his side, staining the gleam of his plate armor. He takes a few more unsteady steps towards the door, and then you hear--and feel--a thunderous WHUMP. His body hits the ground, blood pouring out of his throat in a pool beneath him.

Two more shots ring out in quick succession. Frenzied, panicked shouting ensues as the remaining assailants dive for any cover they can find. Convinced their attention now lies elsewhere, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you slink out from under the table to peer out through one of the slats in the boarded-up windows.

Outside, a figure kneels on the hill overlooking the compound, using a tree for partial cover. Slim, with a cloak and what is most certainly a repeating rifle in his hands. A brilliant orange mane draped over his head and neck tells you that he's a Wildkin, unlike the rest of your foes. Before you can glean anything else, he begins to weave between the thick tree cover further outside of the compound, out of sight.

The two assailants start to retreat, heading towards you in hopes that they can seek cover much like you did. They seem to have almost forgotten about you, watching nervously over their shoulders for any sign of the interloper. This is not how this was supposed to go down--for you, or for them. You squeeze up against the wall just beside the door, and pour a heap of the glittering stun-powder into your hand, ready to greet them.

As the first one nears the doorway, you stick out your leg! Too preoccupied with the rolling shade of the oaks, she stumbles into you blindly and falls backwards, giving you just enough time to reel your foot back and punt the wand-gun out of her hands, leaving her struggling to stand in her plate armor. She reaches for a knife at her belt, but you stomp her wrist and kick it across the floor, sending it skidding far out of reach. Slamming a foot down onto her chest, you lean into the doorway to greet the other assassin, who charges at you to save his comrade!

You toss the dust in his face, burning his eyes and immediately choking him, causing him to stumble as he sputters and coughs. Blind, dazed and struggling to breathe, he's stuck between a potential threat ahead of him and a potential threat behind him and can barely think, the toxic powder clouding his mind. While he tries to recover, the woman finally manages to dislodge your foot, pushing you back with it and sending you down! She practically leaps onto you, your hands shooting up to her wrists to try and pin them back and prevent her from punching you with her heavy, spiked gauntlets.

The two of you struggle on the floor, and you hear another gunshot! This time, the thud is instant, the blinded assassin outside hitting the ground with a gaping hole in both his helmet and his skull. Focused solely on you, the woman doesn't relent, and eventually she manages to crash her knee down into your gut, weakening your grip and letting her rip free! She pulls her hand back, and just before she can throw what would likely be a lethal punch, a final gunshot echoes through the countryside.

Shot directly through both her arm and her heart, her shattered arm falls to her side. The color drains from her face as she rolls off of you, choking on her blood and briefly trying to prop herself up... before just slumping to the ground, leaving you trembling, sticky with both blood and fear. As the adrenaline starts to wear off, you look around, letting the nightmare that has just passed sink in.

You hear footsteps approaching the door again. The stranger clears his throat, his warm, gentle voice cutting through the choking silence.

"Y'alright in there?" he asks.

"... I'm... alright. I'm alright," you respond. Physically, anyway. You're starting to realize what deep shit you're in, and some wild sharpshooter with a rifle isn't always going to come to your rescue. Cautiously, the stranger doesn't come through the doorway, content to talk to you through it.

"Do you need medical attention, or a ride outta' here?" he again asks, genuine concern in his voice. You're curious about him, but frightened of both the gun he's holding and the possibility that he's law enforcement that might be looking for you, you opt to stay out of his sight and respond simply:

"Uh... no, no, I'm good. Just uh... thanks." Not exactly the most enthusiastic thanks, but he can hear your voice is shaking.

"Well. Ya' care to come have a chat with me about what just happened? Wonderin' what these Ashozro folks wanted with you..." He nudges the one dead outside with his boot, pushing him over onto his front and looking at the insignia on his cape idly. "Maybe I can help you."

"Ashozro, huh... uh. Sorry, I don't talk to law enforcement," you say meekly, keeping yourself as flat as you can be against the wall. You expect annoyance in return for that refusal, but...

He chuckles, slinging his rifle over his back and you watch his shadow on the floor shrug. "Hey, that's not always a bad policy. Stay safe, alright? Watch your back. These folks tend not to back down when they're lookin' for somebody. But hey... you handled yourself pretty well. I bet you'll make 'em regret it. Oh, and by the way... if you change your mind, send me a letter." He casts a little card into the room.

"...heh. Uh. Yeah. Thanks." You aren't really in the mood for levity, especially with that grave warning, but his kindly assurance does make you feel a bit better. With a nod, his shadow turns, and bleeds out of the sunlight on the floor. You peek through one of the windows, and see that he's vanished into the forest again. You scoop the card off the floor, giving it a look.

Gail Clarke, Private Investigator, huh.

Fuckin' Ezwaris... didn't even warn you.