Thread: Guns of Camelot

After leading Landarin to his new plot of land, where he and Sparrow stayed together for the night, presumably in a nearby inn or makeshift camp (Mitchell didn't stay around long enough to see), Mitchell had gone back into the city to his small hovel of a house, taking a quick bath before going to sleep in a hammock.

The place was little more than a shed compared to all the other neighboring houses, but it served Mitchell well enough since his boyhood years and all throughout his time as a squire. It was the same house his father had stayed in before becoming a Gunslinger of Camelot and moving into one of the rich mansions of the upper town, after making a name for himself. Mitchell knew that soon enough, he would have to do the same if he wished to gain any respect, and in Camelot, it was the dearest kind of currency.

As morning came around, Mitchell washed his hands and face briskly in a bowl of cold water, then put on his clothes and stepped outside to have breakfast in the local tavern. Asides from the events of last night, it was a typical morning with the same old faces. Jim the barkeep, Kenny the drunk and old Ella, the scraggly, grey-haired scrapper of a cat. Get too close to that one and she'd nick the veins in your wrist like she knew where to hit. Better security than a loaded shotgun, Jim would joke, though the mangy cat wasn't any less unkind towards him.

Mitchell didn't feel like speaking of last night as a story to tell, so he said his hellos and kept his lips tight as he fished around in his pocket for coins. As he did so, he noticed a stranger in the tavern. Foreign looking, just like that Sparrow girl.

"Howdy, I don't think I've seen you around before," Mitchell said by way of greeting. "You new here?"

Howahkan Mato found that he quite enjoyed taking his meals at the local watering hole. Although his tribe had continued to teach the art of the hunt and harvest to his generation, the land of Avalon had not given them much practice for their arts. The shaman found excellent food and drink ready for him at the tavern, giving him a perfectly leisurely start to his day.

Of course, his day started before dawn's first light. As an apprentice gunsmith, he worked much of the morning away, only stopping for a meal and strong beer in the late morning before he continued his studies.

This morning was different from the others -- his master teacher had been at a meeting with the Merlin the day before, vying for the coveted place to become the next Merlin. He wasn't surprised when his master called him in the previous night, settling him in on making bullets and casings and shells until they were both falling asleep over the anvil.

His master had gone to bed, but Bear was content to spend the rest of the day in his cups, pleased that he was able to help not only his master, but also his people. Mindless busywork didn't worry him -- he had a plan. Once he knew the forge was mostly deserted, he was going to set up his own series of projects...

The wiry, dark-haired Native blinked and looked around as he was addressed. His dark eyes rose up along the form of the gunslinger, and a pleasant smile stretched his mouth.

"Hau, Gunslinger." His voice was a low roll of thunder, deeper than expected in such a small man. "I am a refugee from Yuwipi-Wanagiyata - from Avalon. I am Howhakan Mato, but your people call me Singing Bear." He stood respectfully and offered one calloused hand in greeting.