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Guns of Camelot

The sword gives way to the gun, technology replaces magic, and after a thousand years since its beginning, Camelot still stands strong... yet dark forces are rising and bad times are on horseback......

Tags: action, adventure, arthurian, camelot, fantasy, gun, gunslinger, knights, legend, magic, medieval, romanticism, western

Character Approval: Yes

Player Level: Intermediate

New Players: Open

Creator: rumxcoke

Created: 02-26-2013, 05:15 PM

 

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Game Log in The Wizard's Apprentice

Roland wishes to become the next Merlin, but so does his fellow Gunsmiths. It's going to be another day in the Merlin's workshop that'll turn out... about as well as one could hope when in the company of rivals.



Posts 1 to 29 of 29

Thread: Guns of Camelot

  1. Characters in this post:
    Meredith had been thoroughly engrossed in her work when the Gunslingers came into the workshop, but not so much that she didn't notice them at all. She was in fact quite intrigued by their arrival, but made an effort not to show it. It took even more of an effort to ignore the urge to see what guns they were wearing, before they followed Roland into the wizard's tower.

    Perhaps it was a quirk of ego, but whenever she saw a Gunslinger wearing one of the revolvers that she or anyone else of her family had made, it was just a bit more than satisfying to see. The illustrious Caliburn Guns had of course been created by her many times great-grandmother, Samantha Colt, and every other revolver since then had been modelled on those enchanted guns. To Molly's thinking, this was more than enough to qualify her for becoming the next Merlin. After all, where would Camelot be right now without the Colts? Still, she knew it was going to take a lot to impress the current Merlin and the old homunculus was indeed hard to impress.

    As she put the finishing touches on her latest project, engraving the name of its owner-to-be on the barrel, she turned to see Roland coming out of the wizard's tower with a thick tome in his hand. Brushing up on his magic, no doubt. "You're wasting your time there, goldilocks," Meredith said in an unashamedly taunting manner. "You should stick to reading the fates of insects in the old looking glass. It's probably just enough for you to handle."

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    The book felt heavy in hands. Roland eyed it with a peculiar interest as he made his way back to his bench. The man may have been ostentatiously vocal about his opinions and their expression thereof, but his true passion lay in the furthering of knowledge and all its’ exploits. Currently he was interested in the theory behind certain alchemical properties of metals because he believed that there was a potential there that remained heavily unused. Yet now wasn’t the time to delve head first into such fantastical thoughts, and so he pocketed the book in one of massive pockets on his apron. Of course he hadn’t moved quite enough because he heard one Meredith Colt comment on it.
    Out of everyone here- he didn’t much care for her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t talented because she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t, or that she was even hard on the eyes because she was quite attractive. It was her damn ancestor, Samantha Colt, and the fact that Meredith figured that made her the Merlin’s replacement almost by default.

    “Ah Mere, and here I thought that you would grace us with silence today. Ah well- maybe someday I’ll have that luxury of not knowing the sound of your witchy voice.” Roland stated in a bored manner. “And yes I am brushing up on my magic- we can’t all lean on legacy around here. I mean some of us do like to engineer something new instead of leaning on their great ancestor’s design again and again.” It was then he sighed audibly and with extreme exasperation. “I mess up with scrying only a couple of times and I can’t hear the end of it. When was the last time you scryed? Or did anything magical for that matter?”
    With that he pulled his rifle up again and started whittling away- attempting to finish the design in the side of it. “Now why don’t you shuffle off and be a bitch somewhere else.”

  3. Characters in this post:
    "Love you too Roland," Meredith replied with false sweetness as she hopped off her stool and stretched. It amused her to think that Roland was serious about becoming the next Merlin. His family was virtually unknown in the world of Gunsmiths, perhaps Roland was the only one to accomplish such a role, and she had never heard of any Gunslingers clamouring for his works. He wasn't a nobody, being one of the Merlin's chosen, but close enough.

    "And although I do like the idea of being rid of your country bumpkin ass, I've got work to do. A lot of people seem to like my guns, you know. As for scrying," Meredith cocked a thumb at the door of the wizard's tower, "Haven't you noticed that the old man's been in there more and more lately? I've thought about telling him that staring at a glass ball for too long is gonna ruin his eyes, but he's already half blind, so..."

    Meredith gave a dramatic shrug as if to say 'what can you do?'. "Anyway, what's up with those Gunslingers? Three of them coming in to see the Merlin at once, that's a bit strange innit?"

  4. Characters in this post:
    Roland pantomimed a kiss to Meredith’s direction as she sarcastically stated her affection for him. It was a game they played, and had played for quite some time. Considering all the contenders for the spot of the Merlin they were honestly the most prolific in their personal conquests. It was a rare sight in the smithy not to hear their bittersweet engagement as they made their feelings for each other known on a daily basis.
    “Country bumpkin ass?” That brow rose up quicker than a whore to the sound of money. It was the truth. Unlike a lot of gunsmiths here Roland lacked the heritage to make his guns a rather popular item. Of course that didn’t mean they were poor work- considering his place in the smithy they were up there- but very few of them found homes in gunslinger’s holsters. It also never helped that the man was more fond of riles than pistols, and considering the swaggering ideal of shoot-outs at dawn- well- many a man wanted a pistol. Why keep the enemies away when you get them in killing distance of you? Roland always thought sarcastically. “Cheap shot today Mere- thought you had a bit more class in yah with you being a woman and all. I think you’re a woman anyway. Sort of hard to tell these days considering your physique is starting resemble Martin over there.” Roland stated as he brought his small chisel up and pointed towards one of the bulkier gunsmiths who was currently handling the oven. He obviously didn’t hear the blonde’s jab, or just chose to ignore it because there was no acknowledgement from Martin that Roland even existed.

    “Awe you care about the old man- how sweet.” He stated in a saccharine tone before turning his eye away from Meredith. “But yes. He hasn’t been poking his head out as much recently, breathing down our necks, and informing us of smallish mistakes that he can see in an instant and we have to stare at for years to notice.” He shrugged at her question, and screwed his lips into a tight frown. “When I walked in- of course Merlin would say ‘barged’- he was talking with Morganna. If you want to know my thoughts- which I know you don’t- I’m thinking that the goblins are a bit more out of control than previously thought.” He paused and went to change gears, “and as much as the gunslingers- I don’t know- they just wanted to talk to him. Are you suggesting Mere that we eavesdrop? How could you. Do you not have any honor?” So Roland was also interested at learning why three gunslingers would show up as well, but he hadn’t had any excuse to linger about. “Though I’m sure you just want to loiter about so you can hear them claim ‘golly gee Mister Merlin I sure do love my Colt- so much so that I clean it every night real real good. I’m never not going to have anything else. So make Meredith the next Merlin’. That’s what goes on in your head Mere- I’m almost a hundred percent sure of it.”

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    "Ayep, you know me too well, blondy," Meredith replied as she held her hands up in mock surrender. "And other folks too it seems. How did you know they just can't get enough of the good old Colts? Then again, I do suppose it's just common knowledge. Only the best for the best, eh?"

    Now that she had finished engraving her customer's name on the barrel of the revolver, she moved onto making sure its belt and holster were ready for wear, having been dyed a day ago then left out to dry when the creation of the gun was also entering its final stages. The speed and accuracy of her work was something Meredith prided herself on, particularly since she did it all on her own, with no assistants or apprentices to get in the way and make a mess of things.

    Of course, it still took her longer to fulfil an order than other Gunsmiths who did have helpers, but to her thinking - and she made sure to let customers know that they were expected to think the same way - good things took time. She knew the standards, knew how to do a job right and make things that could only be recognized as the work of a proud member of the Colt family. No apprentice could be allowed to pollute her creations with amateur handiwork.

    Satisfied with the feel of the belt's leather, she strapped it around her waist then slipped the revolver into its holster. "So how do I look?" Meredith said as she turned towards Roland and drew the revolver with a flourish. "Reckon I could pass for a Gunslinger?"

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    Roland finished the detailed engraving along the metal lined stock, and went to apply a bit of stain to the shallow inlay to give it some character. His mind ruminated over black or brown for a moment before Meredith’s voice perked up. “Of course of course- best for the best.” Roland offered a stern rolling of his eyes as gently dolloped the stain in and brushed it away with clean cloth. “Practicing your new slogan on me Mere-? I don’t think it is going to convince me to own one.” As he finished both sides of the stock he just gave it a once over. It was apparent that he spent a good amount of time handling his own creations. Maybe he wasn’t as solely dependent on just his own hands like Meredith was, but he left a lot of the final touches to himself. The metal chiseling started at the stock went around to the trigger, the magazine, the forestock, barrel, and muzzle. It had a deep red gem in the forestock that seemed offer a sweet luminescence that was devoid of needing any light around it. Roland like to think it was the heart of the gun- what gave it its’ magic. Of course the magic was worked into the entire creation, but it let the user know that the weapon was very much so enchanted even for the fact that it didn’t seem any different than any other rifle out there.

    When Meredith swaggered back up to him he was offering a somewhat paternal polish to the piece. “Where are you aiming that thing Mere?” He stated as he glanced at the angle of it all the way down- and his eyebrows lifted. “Going for my goods I see.” Slowly he sat his rifle down and approached her with a once over. “Maybe you would- but I think you are a bit to clean for it.” Without much provocation he went to take his stain covered digits to her face to offer a bit of blackening to her cheeks.

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    "AH! What are you, an infant?" Meredith yelped as she clocked Roland in the arm with the barrel of her revolver. "Oh great, now look what you made me do. This shooter's meant to go to someone really rich. I swear, if you got it dirty..."

    She trailed off in a mumble as she gave the gun a rub with a square of silk cloth. "There, good as new again."

    Taking off her belt and putting it away on a rack with the gun in its holster, she sauntered over to Roland's work station and commented airily, "So this is the rifle you've been working on. It looks terrible, I could have done a better job in half the time and rifles aren't even my speciality."

    In the background, an assistant was complaining to Martin about hogging the oven. The man casually intensified the flames with magic as he turned around to take another rod of metal for heating. The assistant was now complaining about being singed, but no one seemed to be paying any attention, least of all Meredith.

    "And what's with this gem here?" she said as she looked at the forestock of Roland's rifle. "Goodness, it's tacky. I feel sorry for whoever paid for this."

  8. Characters in this post:
    Roland immediately seized his arm back as he felt a sharp pain shoot through it from the blunt force of the gun against his arm. “Holy hells Mere calm down. No need to get in a tizzy about a bit of a smudge on your damn gun. I was going for your face any who- should have just let me.” With that he wiped his tarnished fingers on his apron and called them clean.

    As Meredith babied her tiny little pistol- Roland took a seat back at his station. He glanced over his handiwork with the same amount of incommunicable pride that anyone has after a project comes together after fruition. There were only a few things left he had to do before he shipped it off to its new owner. Of course one of those things was apparently getting judged with an obstinate eye by none other than Meredith Colt herself who knew almost nothing of rifles and yet still acted as if she was an expert.

    “What do you know about rifles Mere?” Roland glanced up with narrowed eyes. Their silly palaver might not seem to affect him so much as that was as common as sharing the same air, but to insult his work- well he was immediately rubbed the wrong way. “This is a damn work of art- both inside and out. It can outshoot any other shoddy rifle that roams around these parts, and by the Old Ways it’ll kill a man without so much as a warning.” When she pointed out the small gem his frown only became sterner. “It is infused with magic- and that is its’ calling card for it. What you never seen a- you know what- I’m not going to grace your ears with it.” With that he brought his hand forward as to brush her off. “So shoo Mere- go back to your bench with your precious little ole Colts and wallow in ole Samantha Colt’s legacy as some of us around actually create something of worth.” Roland would have rambled on about her being a hack artist, but he was honestly treading on thin waters as it was. Truth be told he didn’t think any of that about her work, but he wasn’t about to let her know. Especially not with her treating his creations like she did.

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    It was as Roland had said, Meredith was no expert on rifles and she conceded on that particular point. However, what she could not, simply would not tolerate was a word against her family name. "You only wish that you were a tenth of what Samantha was," she replied icily.

    "Don't you know that it's because of her that Camelot still stands? We would never have been able to fight back against all the vampires and demons back then if she never made the Caliburn Guns. I mean, I know I might not ever be able to match that kind of achievement, but I'm still a Colt and gunsmithing's in my blood. Can you say the same thing?"

    And then before she could stop herself, "No, you're nothing, absolutely nothing."

    For a while, Meredith simply sat back down at her table, looking at the order from her customer. Then, as though realizing what she had just said, she turned back to Roland and hastily muttered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. You know how I can get sometimes, I just... I'm sorry."

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    “Aye Mere maybe-“ was all that Roland managed to get out before the woman saw red and began berating him. The first half of it was expected- a retelling of how the Colt named saved Camelot in the beginning, and that the Caliburn Guns were legendary pieces within themselves. This fact Roland couldn’t contest too, and didn’t much care to. Anyone that said that they could create a gun better than the Caliburn Guns was not a savant or prodigy- but a fool.
    Yet unfortunately Meredith continued on, and her last statement caused Roland to seize up. He was very well aware that he was the first in his family to be able to use magic publically, or at least have enough control of it to have found themselves in the Merlin’s apprenticeship with it. Truth be told it was hard to say if the Reinhardt legacy had been anything but ranchers and their ilk, but it was present now in Roland and he tried to use it to the best of his ability- which considering his current place in the hierarchy was quite talented.

    "No, you're nothing, absolutely nothing."
    With that said Roland turned back to his bench and stared somewhat lifelessly at his rifle. Slowly he wrapped it up in a thick cloth, and placed it in a large wooden box that it was meant to be delivered in. Everything about the piece was extremely detailed even down to the small engravings on the metal latch.
    When he finished that those digits were shaking in fury, and he was trying his best not react in a volatile manner- it wouldn’t bode well for the flammable items about his form.

    Roland was drawn out of his thoughts by Meredith’s return- in which he didn’t even manage to look her in the eye.
    “Look Samantha Colt was a revolutionary genius, and you Meredith are a talented gunsmith yourself. But dammit if I want to hear how everyone has their damn names on these guns, and all this legacy, and all this pride and prestige. Yes you are right- I am a nothing,” with that he jerked his apron off and threw it into his workstation. Those deep blue eyes then pressed into the woman as he leered over her. “But I am a goddamn talented nothing- and I will show you that. I will show all of you that.” He raised his voice over the last sentence before jerking the rifle case up and making a production on leaving the gunsmithy.
    Roland even managed to use a bit of magic to slam the door after him- causing the air to rush around his body as he stood right outside.

    “What in the nine hells am I doing?” He questioned himself silently, and then found himself standing next to their gunslinger guard Angus. "You don't have to answer that- it is apparent that I am standing outside."

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    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDuXmil8AQg

    Most of the Gunsmiths ignored all the drama. The one with the singed eyebrows continued to complain about his singed eyebrows, and Martin was still keeping anyone from using the oven. Everything went on as normal, but Meredith had fallen into complete silence, looking down blankly at her order sheet and regretting what she had said. Damnit, I said I was sorry, she thought, without feeling any better for it. After a while, she simply went back to her work and tried to take her mind off seeing Roland upset... but she couldn't. Try as she did, she simply couldn't.

    ~~~

    Angus looked sideways at Roland with eyebrows raised. "Yep, it is apparent," the Gunslinger said and then looked towards the horizon, above the multitude of streets and rooftops in the city. "Nice bit of fresh air out here, but the day's starting to turn cool."

    He leaned back against the wall of the workshop with his arms crossed and took a deep breath, enjoying the sight of the setting sun. Its saturated glow seemed to set the horizon ablaze with bright fire. Angus knew that it wasn't going to remain that way for long, but it was always a brilliant sight while it lasted.

    "Though I suppose it's what everyone needs from time to time. A bit of cool air to keep a cool mind. Does ya a world of good, I reckon."

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    Roland suffocated the gun case against his body as his eyes fell over the peachy red of the slowly setting sun. It was gorgeous, and no matter how obtuse he could be to the outside world- sometimes he still saw the glory in things. He flicked those deep blue eyes over to Angus and studied the older gunslinger for a moment. Though the gunsmiths crafted guns of both precision and excellence for these men for their livelihood- he never put much thought into the stories these creations would weave. Once it left the smithy and entered the hand of the gunslinger it was no longer Roland’s story to partake in. Yet he found himself glancing at Angus’s holster, and then sighing somewhat deeply.
    Everyone had revolvers. Stories would be woven with Colts and not Reinhardts, and that was that. There were no grand heroics with a ranged weapon, no squinty-eyed duels, no facing off behind tight quarters with only your flesh protecting you from impending death. So why did Roland fashion them? It was a long story- for another time.

    “I figure you are right about that,” Roland admitted softly. "You ever wonder what the world would be like had you chosen a different path?" He paused and sighed. "Ah bothersome question that- don't worry about answering it. Just because I'm filled with doubt doesn't mean I need to harassh the gunslinger at the door. I'm sure you have other more important details to take care of." It was then he followed the trail of sight back towards the sunset. "For instance watching nighttime come- it loooks extremely riveting." Sarcasm- yes- but not too rude.

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    "Ain't it just?" Angus replied, then after a moment's pause, "It's not a bad question, y'know. I've thought of it many times myself."

    Were he the type for it, Angus would have lit a cigarette at that exact moment and taken a drag. It certainly would have been the typical thing for a Gunslinger to do, but being an old Caliburn Knight, he had long ago neglected such shows of pretentiousness. He merely looked towards the sunset as he thought of what to say next. This one of the Merlin's own was clearly going through some things that Angus felt he could identify with.

    "Yep, sure were a lot of places where life could've turned out way different," he continued. "If I stayed on the path I used to walk, well, let's just say that the war in Avalon might not be the only thing to worry about these days... or maybe it would've never happened in the first place, who can say?"

    Angus chewed on that thought a while before he glanced at the box held in Roland's arms and said, "That's a rifle in there, ain't it? Mind if I have a look?"

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    “I think about what it would be like to have been the rancher my father wanted me to be,” Roland remarked quicker than he could retract it. “In case you weren’t aware that I came from nothing- because you know it is a riveting facet of conversation in the smithy.” Those blue eyes fell to the case in his hands and then down further to his feet. Angus was not the sort of person that he cared to have this conversation with, but with the sky stained an honest peachy-red and his emotions erupting within him it was hard to stop the dam once it opened.

    “Or,” Roland went to add. “Pigs could fly, and magic would be owned by fairies and door mice. They teach us that the smallest of decisions can affect the largest of realities. But to be honest Angus- I would rather have you as the doorman than any other gunslinger. You’re intimidating- and you’re eyebrows are just downright enviable.”

    It was then his attentions turned towards the case, and he found himself somewhat bamboozled that Angus- a Caliburn gunslinger- would want to see his rifle. Yet with almost a numb hand he placed it on a barrel besides the door and popped the latch. “I- really- don’t know what to say.” Roland said slowly. “Ta-da?”

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    Angus raised a quizzical eyebrow at Roland and then at the rifle as he noticed the gem in the forestock. He was aware of enchanted guns and wondered what effects this particular one was meant to bestow, but ever the pragmatist, he merely asked, "Have you test fired it yet?"

    He looked up at Roland as though to find the answer in his noticeably blue eyes, and of course found it as only a Gunslinger could. There were other things written into the Gunsmith's face and, taking his absent-minded palavering into account, Angus decided to address them. There was perhaps a world of difference between them, given their professions being the polar opposites of each other - one a creator and the other a trained killer - but both of their lives were centred on the gun and bullet. There could be that level of understanding between them at least.

    "As you know," Angus began as he inspected the rifle again. "You can only tell the true quality of a gun by firing it. Sure you could decorate it, mark it, name it, give it a story and such, but in the end, none of all that matters as long as it does what's it's supposed to do, and does it damn well."

    Looking up at Roland with a light smirk, Angus said, "Pardon my language. Incidentally, I also came from nothing. A farmstead to be precise, and now, well..."

    The Gunslinger's eyes returned to the sunset with an almost dreamlike gaze, as though seeing the past in the light suffused horizon. "Here I am."

    At that moment, the three Gunslingers who were talking to the Merlin came out of the workshop. As they left, Angus and Mitchell exchanged a silent nod of acknowledgement, and then one of the Gunsmith apprentices also stepped out to say, "Hey, uh, Roland. The Merlin's, um, making an announcement. Should, ah, probably get inside. Er, hi, Angus."

    The Gunslinger gave a desultory wave and then said to Roland, "Sounds like something important."

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    “Of course,” Roland remarked as he glanced at the sleek design of his rifle. It was quite different than a lot that were placed out on the market, but then again so few firearms were rarely ever customized as this one had been. Many would ask ‘why’ considering that rifles were a ranged weapon, and no one would much ever admire the detail before it would return to its’ holster. Roland just countered that with: ‘why not’.
    “I tested it before I added all the detailing- didn’t want to go through all that intricate work if it wasn’t going to shoot straight and true. Because if I had to alter any of it- well then- I would have ruined all of this.” Those calloused fingers ran over the stock with a somewhat paternal grace.

    He blinked as he stared at the gunslinger in an attempt to focus on Angus. There was something about the other man that forced his attention to attempt to be drug elsewhere. It wasn’t like looking in those younger gunslingers that he had met at the door earlier, but more so glimpsing at a deeply intricate tale. Roland offered a slight laugh, “well we do all have to start from somewhere. I once tried to-“ but Roland was cut off shortly after that moment. As those aforementioned fresh-faced gunslingers left Merlin’s shop- Roland couldn’t help but to find himself a bit aghast at what was said afterwards.
    “An announcement?” Those brows narrowed. “Very well- this is going to be embarrassing.” Roland remarked as he covered his rifle back up and latched the case closed. It was probably a good thing that Angus had held him up- otherwise he wouldn’t have caught this. Whatever this meeting was about had to be somewhat important if the Merlin was gathering everyone in the same area.

    “Have a nice evening Angus, and have a good time with your family.” Not that Angus would wait for him, or fail to have a proper evening with his loved ones without the gunsmith’s go-ahead. While the blonde was blunt, honest, and sometimes gratingly so- he wasn’t without a bit of heart here and there. Patriarchal figures that did good for their family happened to be one.
    Another one was- well- he needed to apologize to her once he got a chance, and hopefully apply a heavy salve to the wounds he lashed into Meredith before he left.

    Slowly he slid back into the smithy and may his way back to his workspace.

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    "Only when my shift is over," Angus said after the Gunsmith as he went back inside, and then shortly afterwards, Angus saw his replacement approaching. "Well speak of the devil."

    ~~~

    Meredith heard Roland coming back into the workshop, but didn't turn around to look. She only kept her eyes fixed on the Merlin as he stood by the door to the wizard's tower, calling for everyone's attention. Meredith was still feeling somewhat guilty about making Roland upset and hadn't yet thought of a way to make it up to him. The best she could hope for was the both of them forgetting about it after the Merlin's talk, and then maybe things could go back to normal between them.

    When the Merlin saw Roland entering the workshop, he thought briefly of asking where the Gunsmith had been, but that wasn't important right now. What did matter was getting everyone in the workshop up to speed on the war in Avalon and what that meant to the Gunsmiths of Camelot. If ever there was a time when their duties mattered above all else, this was it.

    "All right, first thing's first," the Merlin began. "All the civilians from Avalon have been evacuated. The last of them are on their way to Camelot and so far there hasn't been any trouble with them, which is good, but supporting them as well as our own people is going to be a challenge. You all let me worry about that though, I'll be dealing with it myself. As for the situation in Avalon, here's where you really got to pay attention. Write it down if you have to. We..."

    He paused to find the right words as he looked at his apprentices. They had no idea how truly dire the situation was. No one did, not even the witch queen herself until it was too late.

    "I'll be frank, it looks like we've underestimated our enemy. Our guns in Avalon are already starting to run dry and I've heard mention of Gunslingers making last stands with nothing but swords and knives. Now I've already sent as much as we can spare from here, but it's not enough. Our guys are in serious need of rearmament and we're the ones who'll have to make it happen. That means no more special orders."

    He paused a moment to let his words sink in. Meredith in particular felt a devastating loss, thinking about all her half-finished projects and the customer orders she had yet to fulfil, but even this quickly gave way to a rising sense of... panic? alertness? anticipation? She didn't exactly know what she was feeling, but it seemed as though the immediate future had suddenly acquired a terribly daunting aspect.

    "No engravings, no enchantments, nothing fancy, just simple guns and ammunition, that's all we focus on from now on," the Merlin continued. "You name it, we make it. Bullets, cannons, cannon shells, Gatling guns, grenades, the works. Whatever you're most proficient at, find others to work with and split yourselves up into teams. I want you all to spread the word to every Gunsmith and former Gunsmith in Camelot and then get your asses into gear. Do not waste a single second, you hear me?"

    "Aye, Merlin!" the Gunsmiths all shouted in unison.

    "And don't bother with revolvers, every Gunslinger's got one of the bloody things, but they'll definitely need rounds to shoot the enemies with, so let's get to it!"

    As all the Gunsmiths scrambled to leave the workshop, Meredith went over to Roland and whispered, "Oh shit, this is serious."

    Before either of them could leave as well, the Merlin said, "Meredith and Roland, hold on a sec and come over here. I got a different job for you two."

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    Roland offered a glimpse to the Merlin as he entered and then rather sneakily managed to offer a longer glance at Meredith. He wondered to himself when he had become worried about her feelings. They had always been at each other’s throats since their time here, and had always made it well known that they reviled each other in the fashion that most competitors did. Yet to look at her now he felt a whole wash of new feelings cascade over him before withdrawing back into his body. Did he have feelings larger than he realized? Mind you , he did respect her talent and her capability (because there was no denying her ability as a smithy) but he had always thought that to be a downside to being near-about attached to the hip of another person.
    Oddly enough he wondered if they would have time after this meeting so he could air out all the odd questions that were currently souring themselves in his belly.

    He listened to the Merlin’s spiel as it poured from the elder’s lips. As much as he hated to admit it the Merlin was looking quite taxed these days. It was no surprise given his sudden advancement in ranks with Gunther gone, but maybe he was a bit more frazzled around the edges than he should have been.
    Roland’s eyes narrowed as the elder condemned their commissions and forced them to work on quick production of laymen’s weapons. Oddly enough he found a similar reaction in Meredith’s form, and he was at least comforted in the fact that the extra money would be missed by someone other than himself.
    Inevitably it all sounded as if they were back in the nitty-gritty wartimes, and they were no longer allowed to strike out to make their name in the gunsmithing world. When he finished- the Merlin dismissed the lot of them, and he felt Meredith creep into his proximity. Roland eyed her somewhat cautiously and then smirked. “I was wondering when this would happen- he is not quite the man of inaction. Though he is getting there- the old age and all.” He dithered on for a moment and then brought his hand Meredith’s shoulder- his eyes pressed against hers. “Look I want to talk to you about something- maybe you can come over tonight?” Yet as Roland was considering that he was throwing caution to the wind- the Merlin made a bold note to call him and Meredith to the side.

    The blonde hesitated and dropped his hand before he sauntered over to the elder with a sort of lazy appeal. “Is death creeping up on you Merlin? Are you in need of counsel in your last flickering moments?” Roland jested. “But- ah- in all seriousness- I am here.”

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    Meredith gave Roland a half-amused sidelong look before turning her attention back to the Merlin, who was eyeing them both with an expression of such exaggerated weariness that it was almost comical.

    "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I was you," he said curtly as he opened the door to the wizard's tower. "Now come inside, no one can know about what I'm about to tell the both of you."

    The Merlin was already beginning to regret his decision and wondered whether it would be wiser to place his trust in someone else. Perhaps one of the Gunsmiths of his own generation, but there were few of them who were still alive today and they were much too valuable to send away from Camelot. No, Roland and Meredith would suffice. Although not exactly the most shining exemplars of their time, they were capable and suitable enough for the task... or so the Merlin very much hoped.

    Upon entering the wizard's tower, the Merlin turned around and said, "Close the door, Meredith, and Roland, go return that book you took earlier to where it belongs. You won't be needing it where you're going."

    "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what's with all the hush-hush?" Meredith asked as she closed the door.

    "You don't need to know, just listen. I need you both to go to Avalon."

    The Merlin went to the crystal ball on the pedestal and placed his hands over it. Gradually at first then very suddenly, the ball glowed white hot until its light coalesced into a solid image of an island, viewed from above.

    "As you can see, the Goblin King and his army seem fond of burning things," the Merlin said as he marked out a patch of scorched land on the south-eastern edge of the island. "Makes them easy to track, but it's not like that's doing us any favours. Anyway, here is Morgana's castle."

    The Merlin jabbed at the centre of the island and then produced a horn from his apron pocket.

    "I need you two to go there and deliver this horn to the witch queen. It's from one of the three Gunslingers that came in earlier and I figured it might be more useful at Avalon than over here. Apparently it can control the weather to summon fog, but I have a feeling that Morgana might find a way to get more out of it. In any case, I can only hope that it helps in some way. Here, Meredith, you hold onto it."

    Meredith took the horn and turned it over in her hands as she examined it. There were three bands of bronze etched with runes around the narrow end, and the horn itself seemed to be carved out of grey stone, yet it felt as light as wood. There were no other decorations except for the black rim around the wide end, and whether it was paint or part of the material itself, Meredith couldn't tell.

    "For now, just get ready to leave first thing in the morning," the Merlin said. "Once you deliver the horn, come back and then help with the munitions production. A war zone's no place for Gunsmiths."

    Meredith cocked an eyebrow at Roland and then said to the Merlin, "Okay, seems like a simple enough job. So why do you need the two of us to do it?"

    "Insurance. I'd send Gunslingers with you, but there's few enough as it is over here, so if you two run into any trouble, you cover each other's backs. I'm hoping it won't come to that, but better safe than sorry. Now, are there any more questions?"

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    Roland offered a polite sigh as Merlin told him to return the book. Of course he had tucked it away in his apron which was currently lying over his workbench and nowhere in reach. While he would be hopeful that the old coot would forget about it- he knew better than that. The Merlin would watch him with hawk eyes until it was filed (alphabetically) back onto the shelf.

    The older man called an image to the crystal ball with an effortless ease and Roland felt a pang of jealousy as he still had quite a problem calling forth the simplest of ideals. Either way he remained silent with terse anticipation as the Merlin outlined what they were going to be doing. Apparently Roland and Meredith were to be gifted with a mission outside of the norm for gunsmiths. Immediately he thought to proposition the Merlin to instead send gunslingers, but realized just as swiftly that they were far more useful at Camelot than running a magical errand to Avalon.
    And the Merlin reiterated this point quite gravely.

    Roland’s eyes fell over the small horn and he seemed almost so intrigued with it that he forgot the seriousness of their meeting. It was a curious but powerful little token. And that of course brought countless thoughts to his head mostly about how the gunslinger had come across such an artifact and more so why it was given to the Merlin’s care. The blonde knew he should have eavesdropped but damn Meredith and her feminine wiles kept him away once again.

    “This is quite an undertaking,” Roland stated quite seriously. It was honest that the gravity of the situation settled on his shoulders almost immediately- along with the anticipation to finish it. The only thing he wished was different about the entire mission was that Meredith wasn’t coming along. How was he supposed to prove his worth if the same woman he was competing with also went with him. Of course he realized it was not a competition, but it still burned that he couldn’t allow it to be his shining moment.
    “So,” he paused. “Anything else to achieve in Avalon? I know we are short on some supplies because of certain thoroughfares being cut off. Just figured since we are heading that way-“ he dithered off somewhat. “But beyond that I do believe that I don’t have any questions- and you can consider it done.”

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    "Yeah, what he said," Meredith chimed in as she turned the horn this way and that, examining every minute detail. It really didn't seem like much at all, but she could feel the magical power in it. Nothing impressive when compared to the crystal ball, which Meredith had practised at using whenever she could, but it was something potent nonetheless.

    "Hey, be careful with that now," the Merlin said gruffly. "I want you to deliver that thing to Morgana intact. Speaking of whom, there is one more thing..."

    Deactivating the crystal ball with a flick of the hand, the Merlin leaned down on the pedestal and rubbed at his eyes as he grunted a sigh.

    "Sorry, just a bit tired. Now as I was saying, about Morgana... I don't know if you noticed when you barged in here, Roland, but I'd say that the witch queen must be feeling as worse as I look right now."

    As though to emphasize the point, the Merlin turned towards Roland and Meredith, and pointed at his eyes to indicate the bagginess underneath them. Or perhaps they had always looked like that. Roland would certainly have something to say about it, so Meredith thought.

    "For some reason," the Merlin continued. "She seems absolutely convinced that only she can handle the magic side of the war. She's refused all offers of assistance and I have no idea what she's been doing or what she's had to deal with lately. When you deliver the horn, try to find out and help in whatever way you can while you're there."

    "So, in other words, you want us to spy on her?" Meredith said, squinting her eyes at the chicanery of this whole business.

    "No, that's not what I- Look, just deliver the horn, see what you see, do whatever small thing you can to be helpful, and then come back as soon as possible. That's all you have to do, now go and get ready to leave first thing in the morning. We're done here."

    The Merlin turned to face the pedestal again and seemed content to simply stand there, rubbing at his eyelids. As Meredith went towards the door with the horn in her hands, she whispered to Roland, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that I made him a bit upset."

    Then a heartbeat later, the Merlin said, "And don't forget about the book, Roland."

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    As much as Roland teased the Merlin for being an aged gunsmith- he didn’t much care to be proven right. The way the man’s eyes creased around the edges made him seem older than he was, and for some reason that made Roland’s wily grin soften a bit. “Well she must be feeling like death then- considering the way you look.” He offered.

    "So, in other words, you want us to spy on her?" Meredith had stolen the words right out of his lips, and maybe at that mention he let his smile bleed back in just an iota or so. It was apparent that the Merlin- while concerned about Morgana’s health- seemed a bit interested at what the witch queen was doing. To be honest- so did Roland.
    “Consider it done Merlin, ole buddy ole pal.” Roland stated with wistful bravado. He then turned with Meredith and shuffled out at the Merlin’s stern dismissal. He leaned in when the woman began to whisper and stifled a laugh. “No Mere- not you- the prodigal daughter.” He paused, “I wouldn’t worry much about it though- I think he is far more frazzled than he lets on and he is letting on a lot.”

    As they exited- Merlin’s call for the book made Roland exhale. “Yes yes,” he stated with a paltry wave, and then shut the door behind him. “That man never gives up.” Roland went over to his workbench and pulled out the book from his apron. “So I’ll see you in the morn- bright and early? You want to bunk at my place to make it easier?” He offered a suggestive wink afterwards.

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    Meredith's mind had blanked out Roland's mention of 'the prodigal daughter'. Perhaps she thought that it was referring to herself, but in any case, when Roland made the suggestion of bunking together at his place and then winking afterwards, the chance for a choice retort was too irresistible to pass up.

    "Only in your wildest dreams," Meredith replied as she laughed scornfully. "I think I'd rather 'bunk' at my family mansion and enjoy all the luxuries that entails, you know, things like being able to take a bath and having my every need attended to... but thanks for the offer anyway, it's been a while since I've roughed it and I suppose there'll be a lot of that tomorrow."

    Meredith paused as she looked down at the magic horn. It was going to take at least two days to get to Avalon, one of which would be spent travelling by boat. Then afterwards, who knew where the war would have spread to by that time? Without any protection asides from their own skill in magic, Meredith wondered whether she and Roland would be able to get to the witch queen unmolested, and all to deliver a horn that could summon mist. The more she thought about it, the more crazy it seemed.

    "You know, the thought occurs to me that we'll probably be risking our health for this little venture," Meredith said as she followed Roland out of the workshop. "So, for what it's worth, I'm really actually sorry about earlier. Just to make it up to you, if we get into any situations where I have to save your butt, I promise I will. I won't even use you as a meat shield."

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    “Yes- yes you are richer than the lot of us.” Roland offered with a lowering of his eyes and his lips forming a thin line. “Well remember this when you are going to bed alone. I would say something now about your bed being cold, but I’m sure it isn’t even that.” The blonde remarked in an exasperated moment before he followed her eyes down to the horn. It was so cryptic, and honestly Roland wasn’t much appreciative of it. He didn’t know how much the Merlin knew about Morgana or her methodologies; but it seemed much like they were being sent into wild territory- and the outcome wasn’t at all fathomable.

    Roland’s eyes inevitably left the horn and with the flow of traffic he left the workshop and entered the crisp night air of Camelot shortly afterwards. It took a moment to focus on Meredith, but he did with a bit of skepticism. “I do believe the Merlin would have sent someone he could have lived less without than us- if he thought the trip was going to go smoothly.” He smirked, “surprisingly enough I do believe we are not that low on the figurative totem pole. Tobias is still around.”

    He paused for a moment as she apologized to him- not really expecting that amidst their usual banter. Roland seemed to squirm before rising out of it hopefully quicker than she could acknowledge that her statement had brushed against his emotions. “Ah- yes- well no problem I reckon.” Then he slid into a hot laugh a moment before speaking again, “well thank you for that. But I am going to take that with a grain of salt- because you said nothing about not using me as a human distraction.” With that he clapped his hand on shoulder and turned to the direction of his house that was amidst more of the crowded homes in Camelot- something that he had scraped long and hard to purchase. “Have a good night Mere- see you in the morning. And don't choke on your well roasted pheasant.”

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    Meredith didn't bother with a comeback as was her usual habit. She simply replied, "Yeah, good night." and left for home, wishing she wasn't the one carrying the horn. Thinking back on Roland's words, Meredith knew that she'd be spending the rest of the night thinking about tomorrow, wondering what adventures delivering the horn would bring, and what dangers might be encountered.

    True enough, it seemed to be a menial sort of job, something for apprentices or couriers. The Merlin could have picked someone more expendable than two of his own potential successors for this mission, but he didn't. That either meant that he was trusting Meredith and Roland to be able to overcome whatever problems they came across, or he had simply chosen them because they were the last ones heading for the door when everyone had been dismissed.

    Knowing the Merlin, it might have been both. He had ever been a practical man and wasn't above lazy convenience. It was in fact what Meredith liked about him. In spite of all his authority and responsibilities, he never made any effort to be a paragon of his station. He simply went about his work the way he always did as a Gunsmith, without pomp or preamble, and it kept him honest, but Meredith couldn't help thinking how much the war in Avalon was weighing down on the Merlin, for it certainly was.

    As for Morgana, Meredith simply had no idea what to think about her. Some mysterious lady who happened to be immortal, that's all she had to think about the witch queen of Avalon. Morgana was also apparently as tall as the statue of King Arthur, and wouldn't that just be a sight to see?

    It was a little scary come to think about it, but Meredith was no stranger to the strange. Gunslingers had a habit of telling her stories of their travels and showing the odd souvenir, emphasis on odd. Bizarre did not begin to cover a few of them, but none seemed so humble and yet so potent as the magic horn that the Merlin gave her. She was tempted to try to use it, but knew better than that.

    Arriving home, Meredith ate a meal of roast pheasant - which she was suddenly cautious about upon remembering Roland's parting words - then went to sleep, dreaming of mist and giants. As soon as she woke up, she packed some food and spare clothes into a bag, told her servants about being away for a few days, then left for the stables.

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    Roland slunk back to his small home in the midst of Camelot. It wasn’t much but it didn’t leak, didn’t have an infestation of vermin, or even require many candles to mask the scent of the musky streets. The only thing that might have been viewed as a downfall to his living arrangement was the fact that it was filled to the brim with alchemical and magical texts. Mind you they were all perfectly organized and without a shred of seeming clustered or dirty, but they still consumed near about an entire room. Roland dismissively called it his library, without shelves, tables, or any other furniture to rest them on.

    He ripped off a slice of bread, grabbed some cheese, and some meat that probably needed to be eaten before he left and made a paltry meal out of that. Afterwards he stumbled up to his bed and went to sleep on lumpy blankets and a cold pillow.

    The next morning Roland waited by the stables with a fierce yawn stapled to his lips. His travelling pack was minimal but seemed to own everything he needed for their journey to Avalon. Out of conscious worry about the dangers they might face he grabbed a knife that rested easily on his belt, and a rifle of his own construction with enough bullets that they could hopefully be able to take down something- well a lot of somethings.
    The cool and brisk air wafted through his blonde locks and made him think of all the other early mornings that he was just waking up now from and making his way to gunsmithy. There seemed to be an electric appeal to this one- almost as if they tides of ate were changing and he happened to be somewhere in the midst of it. What Roland wouldn’t give to be able to look at the crystal ball and surmise his fate, but alas he was assured that Merlin had that locked up tighter than his extensive tomes of magical indexes. More so he wondered if he could actually get a reading off of his fate or if he would succumb to seeing how some manure shoveler was handling their job in America. Yet he had an odd feeling given the sheer influence of their deeds that he may have glimpsed at something.

    “Oh come on Mere- I woke up early- don’t be late.” He grumbled- thinking of the wasted minutes he was waiting for her could have been ones he was sleeping through.

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    As Meredith walked to the stables, she slung her bag towards her front and took out a pair of leather riding gloves which she had not worn in a long time. Fortunately, they could still fit over her hands. Unfortunately, she had not worn them in a long time, because she had not ridden any horses in a long time and, without having the space of thought to dread the prospect last night, it only occurred to Meredith now that she was at a very probable risk of making a fool out of herself.

    The last thing she wanted was for Roland to be around to see that, and she could only hope that he was either going to be late or already on his way out of the city. Of course, true to fortune's consistently spiteful nature, Roland was already there at the stables and, by the looks of it, for some time now.



    "Oh, were you waiting for me?" Meredith said as she entered the stables. "My fair haired blondie, you honour me, but do take your leave first, I insist."

    She had no idea which horse to choose.

    "No doubt you already have your steed saddled and ready, so don't wait on my account."

    She had mostly forgotten how to saddle a horse as well.

    "Seriously, just go. I won't be far behind."

    And there were no stable hands around at this time of the morning yet.

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    Roland offered a rather gruff sigh to Meredith’s shenanigans. “Really Mere-? We are supposed to travel together, and while I love stroking Merlin’s beard-hair against the grain- I have to agree with the man on this: it is dangerous to travel alone.” It was then he pressed a hand to his chest as if he was about to state something monumental. “And what if I get kidnapped- Mere? This damsel in distress won’t fetch many knights to come save him from the evil Goblin King’s clutches.”

    The man followed her into stables where his own horse was saddled and read to go: a white Welsh Pony Horse with a strong stance and a seemingly disgruntled outlook. His name was Archimedes, and given his stoicism, patience, and misanthropy- he did deserve his name. “So get your horse saddled- we are burning daylight.” It was then he paused and glanced the woman over. The look upon her brow and her incessant bantering about him ‘going ahead’ did poorly to mask her apparent lack of equestrian knowledge. “Seriously Mere- do you not remember how to saddle a horse? Does the ‘lowly born ranch boy’ have to help you prep?” It was then he paused and a revelation sparked across his eyes. “Wait wait- not yet- lets’ draw this moment out a bit longer. I want to relish it.” Roland held up a hand in hopes of staving off his female accomplices groaning and moaning. He managed to pop back into reality shortly thereafter. “Alright let’s get you on your horsey- and pray to the Christian God above you still know how to ride.” He then offered a pale whisper, “side-saddle because you are a lady- I think.”

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    -ABORTED-

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