Thread: Guns of Camelot

Landarin looked over at Mitch confused. This boys brain must be running faster than his mouth. His thoughts turned to Avalon. He tried to remember all he could about the land although truthfully he never spent much time in the civilized parts. What a strange thought it was to think that a man could call the wilderness more of a home than his actual home. After contemplating it for a long time and pulling out another cigarette and lighting it Landarin finally came up with an answer that suited him.

"Well, I remember when I was a kid my ma used to make this wonderful pie from the winter berries that grew just outside our house. The berries were sweet yet sour at the same time, it would probably be wild for someone from Camelot since you're not used to our food. But, I tell you thats the best dang pie you'll ever have. She would also make alcohol and mix those same berries into it. As I got older she would let me taste it and even then I have to say it was the best damn brew I've ever had."

Landarin took a thick inhale and let the smoke out thinking about home and wishing he could go home to have some of his mothers pie and brew. He never thought he'd see the day he would miss home. Then again he never thought he'd see the day he'd talk about it either.

"On another note, the forests are big and thick. The trees grow taller than you would believe. Such wonders don't stop there in Avalon. The whole country is crazy and completely different from Camelot. Long beaches with fine pink sand, strange creatures that are just as likely to attack you as to befriend you, old ruins that nobody knows the origin of, the place is magical."

Landarin stopped as he noticed himself rambling one. He didn't miss his home but then again nobody really cared to ask him about it.

"That's about it son. If you're interested I can tell you some stories of my exploits later."

Walking along the streets of Camelot, her bare feet slapping softly against the stone ground, Nuala headed to a tavern she thought Angus would be. Not that he goes to them often to drink. In fact, surprisingly, Angus wasn't a big drinker. Rose was considered a drinker. A shot here, glass of wine there, but she was controlled about it and never got raging drunk. Knowing Nuala's mother liked the sauce was a curious thing for most to hear. Even so, Rose didn't visit bars either. She relaxed at home, smoking a pipe Nuala carved for her, and sipping a shot of 'Tullamore Dew', a favorite whiskey of hers.

No, Nuala looked for Andrew Jax. He was the drinker. The kind of man who drank too much. But, Angus and Jax had a history of friendship. If her father was at a bar, it would be Jax's favorite place, the 'Black Stallion'. So that's where she headed. Nuala would check there first. Then of course she would go to his other haunts. Her father liked books and no one in Camelot had better books for reading than his pal Christopher Sam Lewis. Maybe this late in the day, he would be relaxing at the fireplace with a book in his hand. Or Angus might be winning or losing poker games with Maverick and the rest of his friends. In that case he would be in the Caliburn hang outs where the Old Guns 'dueled' with cards and money. Instead of lives and bullets.

Where ever he was, Nuala hoped to find him soon. She barley got to see Angus the day before, when she came riding in on Clover with her wagon. He was busy, as per usual. And all he got to say to her before running off from Aunt Jane's, where he stayed for free, was, “Cain't talk now Bug, got to go see to some business talk'n to a highflautin'-slick-heel, take care and I'll see ya tonight at sup.”

Nuala did see him later, and the two of them spoke a little more before bedtime. “Night, darlin'.” He called to her when she went to her room. Angus only ever used their given names if he was talkin' serious. Most of the time he had nicknames for his family. Rose was 'Honey', or 'Boss' for fun. 'Buck' referred to Ryan, who loved horses and James was called 'Scuff', because he was once smudged with ink for a week. His messy inky face reminded Angus of his scuffed boots. Then it just stuck with James. Nuala had the longer list of names.

Among the terms of endearment Angus used for her like 'Snickle-Fritz', 'Snickers', 'Bunny', 'Dove', and 'Pumpkin', he has used 'Toot' (like a train), but only once. Nuala's mother hates that name. Says it reminds her of cutt'n the cheese, and no daughter of hers was going to be called 'Toot'. No matter how often Angus explained that it referred to the noise a train made, Rose refused to keep it. He thought of it as a joke really, since Nuala used to run around with her brothers and yell at the top of her lungs. But Rose put an end to that nickname. She didn't mind the other ones though.

Nuala brought her attention back to her search, dragging her mind away from thoughts of nicknames. She never knew where Angus would be on a Saturday night. As many times as she has visited, Naula learned quickly that some nights were unpredictable. Angus could be anywhere. So she checked the 'Black Stallion' and left for Lewis's, but when he wasn't even at the hang out, she knew there was one place he would be. The Merlin's work shop.

“Well, come on feet.” She grumbled. It was never fun taking a walk up to that place. The stairs were murder. The fox hunt turned into a tired hike and passingly empty 'Good Evening's were said to the residence of Camelot she ran into.

"Interested? Heck man, I'm upright intrigued!" Mitchell replied with zest. He closed his eyes as he tried to imagine the place Landarin described. Avalon, the island of magic, the island of fruitfulness, a pocket of everything strange and wonderful in the world, distilled into an island beyond the sea. Such a fantastical place... such a pity of its current state.

"It would be very well of you to tell your stories, friend," Mitchell said, veering his thoughts away from the war. "Later of course, and in your own time. Look, here we are."

He stopped at the top of a staircase and pointed up at the tall statue of Arthur Pendragon, king and founder of Camelot, standing sentinel over the city with hands clasped over the hilt of Excalibur. Carved from grey stone, it was somewhat weathered here and there, but centuries after its making, it was still a mighty and imposing figure.

The statue stood at the back of a wide and open quadrangle which created the gap between the upper and lower halves of the city, accessible to each other by ramps and staircases. Everywhere else were walls, towers, large houses, winding staircases and streets. It was almost as crowded as the lower half of the city, but from the statue of Arthur, the path to the royal castle and court was clear.

"The Merlin's workshop will be next to the castle," Mitchell said as he picked up the pace again and walked towards the statue.

"Well then, lead the way Mitch."

Landarin was excited to meet the merlin. If what he had heard was true Camelot was full of interesting places and such. He was so excited to get back to exploring his fingers were moving around erraticly as if he was looking for something to grab. If he wasn't walking in a group he might take off and run. Landarin though about his house and all the things inside it. It was stuffed to the brim, he was actually surprised he kept it all secret for so long. What am I thinking. I can't hide anymore stuff.

"Are you sure the Merlin can help? Don't forget I need a plot of land also," He asked sort of doubtful. He needed a place to store all his things. Someplace safe where he wouldn't have to worry.

"Relaaaax, the Merlin will accommodate any needs you'll have," Mitchell replied in a jovial manner. "I'll vouch for ya like I did at the gate, except I probably won't have to lie to the Merlin. He's a good man and he'll see that you're a Gunslinger. A man of worth."

And then to John Reduns in frosty tones, "You on the other hand, I'm afraid I'm not so certain."

While all the duels the man had fought weren't illegal, strictly speaking, they had certainly caused unrest. In Mitchell's mind, such a presence ought to be as unwelcome as possible here in Camelot, but John was in a right fix and perhaps not entirely of his own doing.

A right fix? Yeah, four years long and eight bodies deep, Mitchell considered briefly, but as far as he knew, John wasn't the sort to seek out trouble anyway. Only someone to whom trouble was attracted to. Little difference, but enough to warrant a friendly hand.

"Oh well, guess we'll find out," Mitchell said as he walked past the statue and continued along the path to the castle.

Along the way, he split off the path and directed his fellow Gunslingers to the Merlin's workshop, next to the castle but not exactly on castle grounds. It seemed as though it was built directly into the side of the wizard's tower, once the main office of the original Merlin and all others thereafter, now a dusty old archive of ancient knowledge, devices and magic.

The tower was marked by its blue peaked cap, and the workshop by its gilded roof and purple banner, marked with a golden 'M'. Guarding the entrance was a single Gunslinger who looked no different from any other, though he was perhaps older than some, yet his weapon marked him as a Caliburn Knight; that elite fellowship of captains, veterans, royal guardians and the king's very own men and women. The Guns of Camelot, the wielders of the fragments of Excalibur.

"Master McNair," Mitchell greeted politely with a bow.

"How d'ye do," the Caliburn Knight replied with a tip of his hat, then as he glanced at Landarin and John, "Got business with the Merlin?"

"Aye, that is so. May we proceed?"

The mention of the word 'we' was enough for Angus McNair. He had known Mitchell from squire to Gunslinger and had witnessed the young man's anointing himself. He knew his student well enough and said, "You may."

Motioning for John and Landarin to follow, Mitchell stepped into the Merlin's workshop.

John looked at the older man, Giving a tip of his hat as he walked by him. You had to pay respects to someone like that in a world like this. Catching up to Mitchell he took note of the young man before speaking.

"You don't seem to be very fond of me." Stated John, He might as well confront the kid about it, "I don't want no trouble but don't judge me kid before ya know me."

He began to think about the Merlin weather or not he would be hostile towards him or just treat him like a stranger, Only time would tell as they approach the building.

The workshop had an odd air about it. Yet it was not what one would suspect when they looked at the outside. To anyone else’s eye it was a massive structure that was keenly decorated in the banners of The Merlin, and by all means meant to be respected. That might give one a fleeting fantasy that the inside was alight with some elaborate decorum that was both a feast for the eyes and mind. Unfortunately disappointment would follow shortly afterwards if that was one’s idea of the place.
It was just like any other gunsmith’s shop- well lit, but with tendrils of smoke wafting over one’s sight. There were work benches strewn about with countless gadgets, tools, and resources. Racks were mounted against the wall that had both finished and unfinished projects resting somewhat pleasantly in them. The ceiling was low, the wood flooring creaked when you stepped on it, it smelled of wood and sauntered metal, and by all means there was the a pleasant symphony of metal against metal that resounded throughout the place.

Currently Roland was paying no heed or mind to the traffic of the other gunsmiths throughout the place- as he was propped upon his stool with a long barreled rifle over his knee. Spectacles adorned his face, and in his hand was a small delicate file, and a miniature ball-ping hammer; currently he was carving a design into the side of the metal-laden stock. While it wasn’t the most needed of characteristics for a gun it was by all means an aesthetic that branded the weapon theirs. Roland liked to visualize that it gave an feeling of individuality amongst all the other low-grade weaponry that existed out there.
“Roland,” a voice crisped his concentration.
The blonde looked up from his work. His hair was pulled away from his face, beard neatly groomed, and well defined nose was covered up by those thick glasses. “This better be important Tobias, because I really have no time for any more of your shenanigans. ‘Oh but Master Roland I singed my eyebrows. Oh but Master Roland I broke a bone. Oh but Master Roland I seem to have gotten my apron caught in the press again.’ And I swear if it is that last one, you will walk around here with your arse shown to the world until you learn to keep your garments under check.”
Tobias- a fresh faced apprentice that was sadly not his but kept coming to him for certain problems- blanched and pointed the way towards the door. “No it looks like we have some gunslingers.”
“Oh,” Roland pushed up his spectacles to get a better look. “Oh. Why didn’t you mention that in the first place.” It really wasn’t a question- but a statement. One that he didn’t much figure Tobias would grant with an earnest answer.

He set the gun gingerly down on his bench along with his tools and approached the three men, and their female compatriot. “So Angus let you- fine- I suppose that is well enough and good. So what are you here for? Can’t say we have any orders for the general lot of you. And just because you are gunslingers doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and take what you wish.” It was then Roland grumbled, “they get younger every year. Before we know it- we’ll strap young Tobias here with a gun and tell him to protect Camelot.”

Feeling like her legs were made of led, Nuala continued up the stairs, then finally let out a sigh of relief when she reached the top. Turning away from the Castle, going past the impressive statue, she made her way off to the Merlin's workshop. How interesting it is to see it now and then. Her mother Rose liked to visit the Merlin when she was a Gunsmith. But those were simpler times, and Rose hadn't been up there since she had Ryan.

“Nuala!” A voice called to her. Nuala recognized it as her friend Becky. A short brunette who makes up for her height with a towering personality.

“Oh, Beck. Hey there.” Naual was almost to her father, she could see him talking to, well wadda-ya know, he was talking to them three from that morning. Mitch, John, and some guy she didn't catch the name of. After a nod from Angus, the three went in, and she locked eyes with her father. Realizing who she was talking to at the moment, Nuala's cheeks flushed and she tried to shoo Becky Gibbs away.

“Cain't talk now Becky, my Pa can see you.” Naula said, nudging her friend away a little.

“But I wanted to know if you were still coming to the Mid-Race, this Wednesday.” Becky protest at the shoving was no use, Nuala pushed her along. “And why does it matter if your Pa sees me? He's got to get over that whole 'tar and feather' thing we did to Scuff. We were 8 years old, for heavens sake!”

“You know that's not all he's got to worry about, you scamp.” Naula growled. “But your my friend and I forgive you, but now's not the time to argue, now get!” Grumbling and being prissy, Becky walked off from Nuala who turned to greet her father. Running over with a smile on her face.

“Hey, Pa!” Nuala flung her arms around him, giving him a bear hug. The first kind of hug she ever learned.

"You're right, I don't know you," Mitchell said to John as he entered the workshop and left it at that. The place was as industrious as ever with several Gunsmiths working here and there. The Merlin's apprentices, and their own apprentices as well by the looks of who was in charge of whom. Some so engrossed in their craft that they didn't realize there were visitors.

Upon being addressed, quite rudely as well, by a blonde haired Gunsmith, Mitchell replied, "We're looking for the Merlin. May we speak to him?"

Even as he asked the question, he couldn't see the Merlin anywhere. There was a wooden door in the back of the workshop, which lead to the wizard's tower, this Mitchell knew, and he guessed that the Merlin would be in there if he wasn't here among his students. Suppositions aside, he waited to hear it from the blonde haired Gunsmith.

~~~

Angus was surprised, but not so much, to see his daughter approach. It was what he had been looking forward to for the entire day after all. It had been two weeks since the beginning of the war in Avalon and his relocation to Camelot, and Nuala had made it clear that she would come to the city every weekend for a visit.

"Well hello, pumpkin," Angus said as he returned his daughter's hug. "How did you find me here? It's uncanny how you always show up when my day's at its dullest."

He did not let go of the hug until it was a good one, and then he said with a smile, "So how much wool did you sell today?"

Letting go of her father, Nuala was glad he didn't ask about what Becky had said to her. Maybe seeing his daughter shoving her mischievous friend away did the trick. If Nuala had any hope of going to the midnight hay races, she was going to have to keep things quiet about it. It's not like she be fibin'. Angus didn't ask about it, so she wouldn't tell. Relocating to Camelot was a burden on the soul of her family, but now she had the perfect opportunity to hang with her friends at the Gibbs ranch. Nuala hadn't been able to go in a while, ever since two young adults were caught..well...let's say they were in serious trouble. But that was only once. S'not like it's happening every Mid-Race!

So the disappointment of Angus staying away had a little bit of an upside. Naula was dying to run Clover in a hay race again. It was so much easier to sneak out of the house when Rose was asleep. Her mother was a deep dreamer. Ryan and James weren't there to enjoy the night races with her, but she would tell them about it when they came back.

If they come back. The melancholy thought stung her heart. Her brothers were new squires, off to help Avalon. It wasn't a surprise that they became squires, but it was hard enough with Angus going off to Camelot with out Ryan and James heading to war.

“Not hard to find you Pa, you can only be in so many places.” Naula answered him. “As for the wool, we are 243 coins richer. Mama's gonna be happier than a kitten with a ball of wool yarn.” she beamed, telling Angus that Rose sent her love, saying she'd visit as soon as she could.

Thinking back on that morning, she went on about her day. Nuala left out the part where she snatched a hot pie from Cook, and about waking up late. Her father wasn't one for lazy bones. But Nuala mentioned seeing John. Nuala told her father she saw how John Redun had shot Steve, a man who knew about him from four years ago. Nuala said Mitchell had been the Gunslinger to commence the duel. A little blush of pink came on her cheeks when she said his name. It was habit by now, since she's been coming to sell wool, so Nuala didn't cover it up. Unaware of what her oversight might mean for her father, she commented on the duel.

“It was a hot-shot move John pulled, Pa. It made such a mess too.” Nuala told him. “John didn't stay long. Before he walked off with the other two he tipped his hat to me though. I didn't smile, but I gave him a nod. I reckoned you wouldn't want me to be rude and ignore him.”

“What do ya think he's back here for Pa? You think he's lookin' for trouble?” Nuala leaned against the stone walls of the Merlins work shop, swishing her skirt a little absentmindedly. The day had been hard on her feet. “What do ya think he wants the Merlin for anyway? And who do ya suppose that other strange lookin' feller is?”

Roland eyed the blonde gunslinger with a bit of trepidation and uncertainty. Yet who was he to deny the Merlin company? He hadn’t seen the old man poke his head out all day, and that was quite uncommon for their head gunsmith. And while the man would love to intrude on whatever ruminations the ‘great and power’ Merlin was up too- he really didn’t have a feasible excuse to enter his private quarters. “I suppose I need to check to see if the old man is alive. He is getting up there in age- I keep expecting there to be a foul odor waft from that door.” Roland stated plainly. “Well more foul than usual.”
With that he waved the others with him as he made his way to the back of the gunsmithy to a large wooden door that seemed somewhat askew amidst the workstations and their countless occupants.

Roland rapped on the door, but gave no pause for someone to welcome him in. Instead he barged through the threshold and announced his presence in his usual fashion. “You have guests,” he stated loudly- unnecessarily so. “Also I’m doing my daily check to make sure you are still kicking, and by all means if you are not- please don’t respond. I would like to suceed you before I inherit your terrible elderly condition of growing your nose hair into a feasible mustache.” There was an heir of indelicacy there that almost seemed warm- as if Roland wasn’t at all saying this to be derogatory but instead had no other way of relaying his thoughts.

The Merlin was completely focused on the glass ball embedded in the pedestal before him, but even so, he heard the insufferably familiar voice of Roland, loudly spouting his irreverent remarks as usual, and his entering the room with several other people. "Just be quiet a moment," the Merlin said above the voice coming from the glass ball. "News from Avalon."

To Mitchell, who had never been in the wizard's tower before, it was a most bewildering sight to see a woman's face in the ball, her voice clearly audible as she continued speaking like there were no interruptions at all. Later, Mitchell would realize that it would of course seem that way to the speaker, but for now he was struck by the strangeness of it all. He had the feeling that much had been said before his arrival, but the seemingly one way palaver was coming to an end.

"-every soul from Avalon has been fully evacuated now. We are ready to fight this war in earnest." The woman looked to the side as though someone else was talking to her, and then she looked back to whatever she was speaking into. "Take care of my people, Merlin. I leave them in your hands."

Morgana, Mitchell thought with wonder as the face in the ball gradually became the Merlin's own reflection. Bless my eyes, the actual witch queen of Avalon herself!

For a moment, the Merlin remained silent as though he was ruminating on everything he had just heard. Then he turned to address the people who had entered the room and said with a mildness that did not at all match his stocky appearance, "It's awfully rude to come in without permission, you know."

His statement appeared to be directed at the blonde haired Gunsmith, but Mitchell felt somewhat guilty all the same, as if he had walked in on something he shouldn't have seen. Not a place for Gunslingers, that's for darn certain, he thought as he looked around the ancient room at the bottom level of the wizard's tower.

~~~

"John Reduns, hm," Angus said as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So that was John... and Mitchell you said? The kid's just two weeks out of squireship and he's already signalling quick draws? That's a little concerning."

And more than a bit surprising. As a squire, Mitchell seemed no different from the rest. He was a quick study, like all the others; eventually learned how to shoot true, like all the others; and had the insolence beaten out of him as early as possible, like all the others. He was a good kid though, Angus had to give him that... and maybe good looking as well judging by the blush on Nuala's face as she mentioned his name.

Oh darling, you should know better, Angus thought, but didn't say anything on the matter. He merely smiled and said, "Well you know what, I think that's all something we can discuss later on when I'm not on guard duty, you silly toot!" Angus said as he ruffled Nuala's hair and then added in a hush-hush voice, "And don't tell your mother I called you that. Now go on to the place where I'm staying at and tell Desmond that I'll be back in a bit to help him get dinner ready."

If he hasn't already got it sorted out, Angus thought, considering how devilishly efficient Desmond was in his housekeeping duties. Ever since Angus had moved into the manor belonging to his friend - a fellow Caliburn Knight by the name of Lowan Grimm, who had gone to the war in Avalon - Angus could have sworn that Desmond was working harder than usual as if to say, You don't have to be here and I don't need your help doing my job.

Well that was understandable. The man had more pride than sense in his duties as a servant. It was something that Angus never particularly sat well with, a man should be his own master after all, but he was able to comprehend it.

As an afterthought, Angus continued, "Oh, and keep your hard earned money safe, y'hear? Don't want some street dweller getting all greedy eyed. If that happens, remember that you have my gun and you know how to use it. I'm hoping that you won't have to, but you will if you do, understand?"

While Roland was the type to continue on with his yammering despite the rather stern plea not too- he did quiet down at Merlin’s mention. It wasn’t from something as simple as just being ‘commanded’ too, but instead when he caught a glimpse of who was on the crystal ball he found his lips sealing. So instead of his preoccupying his mouth by asking the multitudes of questions -that he felt form in his brain with a wish to be answered- he instead turned the shelves and began glancing over the tomes that rested there.

A powerful silence came shortly after that, and then a quaint but powerful reprimand for his sudden appearance. “Ah right I needed ‘permission’ not a ‘reason’ to barge in. Well noted. I’ll try again some other time.” It was then he turned around and gestured to the three gunslingers that crowded the doorway. “Anyway these came for you,” he stated as if they were parcels. “I don’t know for what reason they came, or their names. But I’m assured that they have mouths to tell you both of those little important facts.” Roland hesitated for a moment as he glanced between the two parties and then inched towards the door. “Either way my job is done here, and I’ll get back to my work. Have a good day Merlin.” With that Roland made his way to the door assured that he was not further needed. What was the point of him lingering about in gunslinger business? While he much rather enjoyed intruding on Merlin at all hours of the day, and sometimes night, the general bravado that followed the gunslingers were not something he would call ‘interesting’.

Questions kept popping up Nuala's head, but when her Pa said they would talk later about it, well, that's what she'll have to do! It was like being hungry and a fresh meal was right in front of you. But you can't take a mouthful. Her disappointment was turned around by use of the forbidden nickname. Naula shook her head and giggled.

“Don't worry, Pa.” Nuala chuckled. “It'll be between us rebels.” For indeed it was rebellious to cross a line Rose drew. But little things like that were fun to share and made good stories for later.

“Now go on to the place where I'm staying at and tell Desmond that I'll be back in a bit to help him get dinner ready.” Angus told her, ruffling her hair.

At first Nuala scrunched her nose at having to talk to Desmond. He seemed so grumpy. But then the thought that Cook was still at Aunt Jane's house, with her scorching spatula and temper to match, she was visibly relieved. By the next weekend Cook should forget her blasphemous thievery. Nuala would be scott free of repercussions. Hooray for another place to stay! If Aunt Jane didn't want to see Nuala too, every weekend, she'd just bunk at the Grimm's Manor every time.

“Oh, and keep your hard earned money safe, y'hear? Don't want some street dweller getting all greedy eyed. If that happens, remember that you have my gun and you know how to use it. I'm hoping that you won't have to, but you will if you do, understand?”

“Yes Papa. I know.” Nuala sighed, and slumped her shoulders. But then immediately stood straight. Angus didn't have his kids slouch!

Although she has agreed to use one if need be, she still didn't wear one on her hip. To Nuala, doing that was a beacon to all gunfighters that this girl can shoot. What person wants to advertise that? Yet, Angus pointed out that not everyone just wanted to duel. Some people would attack you weather or not you carried a piece. So the argument goes round and round.

“See you Pa.” Nuala parted with a hug and a quick peck on the cheek, waving good-bye as she walked off into the darkening sky.

I'll tame your insolence yet, boy, the Merlin thought as he watched Roland leave. A promising candidate for succession that one, but imagine him mouthing off to the king if he became the next Merlin. Not that Gunther or his son were ones for beheading, but if they were...

Turning his attention to the three Gunslingers before him, the Merlin picked out the one in front, the youngest so it seemed, and asked, "So who are you and what'll you have from me?"

Mitchell, feeling somewhat nervous in the Merlin's presence, replied as he gave a deep bow, "I am Mitchell Landerson, son of-"

"No need for formalities, young gun, I can see you're all Gunslingers. Just tell me your names and why you're all here."

Burning with embarrassment, Mitchell straightened up again and coughed as though to clear his throat. "Uh, right. As I said, I am Mitchell and I come to bring my fellows here to your attention. I have no business here with you myself, but they do."

He turned and indicated with his hand as he introduced them, "This is Landarin Ellenmyer, and this is, uh, John Reduns."

The Merlin raised an eyebrow at the mention of John but made no comment. He simply looked from one Gunslinger to the other and said as he pointed at Landarin, "You, what business have you here?"

Landarin stepped forward to address the Merlin. This man seemed so strange to Landarin. Although he had some very interesting things in his life this man intrigued him. There was an aura about him that just felt like it held mystery in his presence.

"Well, I'm looking to get some land here in Camelot," Landarin said quite bluntly. Clearing his throat he lowered his voice. "Also, I wish to know of any strange happenings lately in Camelot, or any legends or stories that may be of interest. Anything at all really."

Leaning back he looked the Merlin in the eyes waiting for an answer. This was the moment. If he was going to find anything of use this was the place. If he couldn't get what he needed here he would have to spend a large amount of time wandering aimlessly, and he hated doing that. Adventure was in his blood. He needed action. The sooner this little phase of his life was over the better.

"You want land, eh?" the Merlin said as he looked at the Gunslinger's firearm. Certainly not from around here, he thought, recognizing the gun as being of American design. "Well if you're as much of a Gunslinger as you look, you can either pay in gold or deeds. Usually when foreigners ask for things, I'm supposed to offer them a chance to be at the king's service. If they accept and the king likes what he sees, they'd be provided with whatever they needed. Food, house, if you can earn your stay, you got it."

Stroking his beard in thought, the Merlin paused for a moment to ponder the appropriateness of taking over the king's duty in this regard. "Seeing as he ain't around right now, the king that is, I... suppose I could do the same thing. You swear to serve the kingdom of Camelot and do whatever is asked of you, then you'll get your land, otherwise you can pay for it. As for stories and legends."

The Merlin waved his arm in an expansive gesture at the room of the wizard's tower. "There is much to be learned of that here. There are tales of the first Merlin and his travels; the rise of Camelot and King Arthur; the Knights of the Round; Excalibur; the traitor knight Mordred; the witch sisters of Avalon; the making of the Caliburn Guns; the rout of the vampires, and many other accounts, historical or otherwise."

He turned back to Landarin with a look of appraisal. No mere killer with a gun, this one, he considered. "If you want, I can lend you a few books for you to borrow, but back to that matter of land. As I've said, you can either pay in gold or deeds, so what will be your currency?"

Landarin chose to present a third kind of payment to the Merlin in the form of a magical artefact from Avalon, a horn able to summon fog. Intrigued, the Merlin accepted and then turned to address John Reduns regarding his business here.

Taking the initiative, Mitchell explained John's situation for him, including the duel with Steven in which the hate-addled Gunslinger had died. Unimpressed with the situation, the Merlin requested John to replace Steven who was meant to guard the refugees for the night, same as Mitchell. The Merlin reasoned that this would help John by serving as an example to other Gunslingers, that those who challenged another to a duel must be prepared to take over the loser's responsibilities.

John accepted, albeit reluctantly as he was unaccustomed with bowing to authority. The Merlin also requested Landarin to join this night's watch, if only for something to do in the time it took the Merlin to find land to give away. Landarin accepted and so it came to pass that he, John and Mitchell were soon on their way to the gates of the city, to patrol the area beyond the walls where the refugees milled about, ready to make camp.

In the meantime, the Merlin returned to the workshop to make an announcement to his apprentices, regarding his palaver with the witch queen of Avalon.

The first thing Mitchell wanted to do after leaving the workshop was to ask Landarin about the horn and any other artefacts he might have been carrying, but that would surely have been impertinent beyond proper conduct. Instead, he turned to John and asked, "So, that worked out pretty well, didn't it? As long as you're on duty, others are going to be less likely to mess with ya. Duels when you're out and about is one thing, but when you're in the middle of a job, well, that's just plain rude."

John shrugged after the kid finished speaking, He was most likely speaking the truth but nowadays any crazy nut with a guy would like to be able to add John to there list of win duels. "Im just glad to be back were I know myself." It was true he was glad but he felt a mixture of emotions for returning.. But these would not effect him
On his.. Quest.

"Ha, I can- well, no, I don't think I can relate to that, but I think I understand," Mitchell replied thoughtfully. "I think... so, uh, hey, just out of curiosity-"

Where did you go for 4 years? he wanted to ask, but knew how nosy a question it would be, so Mitchell opted for small talk: "It usually rains a lot around this time of the year. You reckon there'll be any storms soon if the weather ain't acting up now? Heck, maybe it's got something to do with the war."

Mitchell looked towards the horizon as though to check. Of course, he couldn't see any sign of the war raging in Avalon (not counting the refugees), but he could see that the sun was really coming down now. He judged that by the time he, John and Landarin got to the gates of the city, the sky would be dark.

As it turned out, Mitchell judged correctly. The three Gunsligners were now standing by the gates of the city where the refugees continued to stream through, and several lanterns had been lit.

Mitchell was nervous as he approached the gate, worried that the two Gunslingers who had accosted Landarin earlier would still be there, but they were not. There was a new pair of Gunslingers guarding the gate and they did not so much as glance at Landarin, but they did glower at John.

They probably saw the duel, Mitchell thought joylessly. His own temperament towards John had lightened somewhat after the talk with the Merlin. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as his reputation had made him out to be, but how many others were going to think that? Not many most likely.

"Well here's our post," Mitchell said as he stepped outside of the gate.

Beyond the city walls, the line of refugees was straight enough as they made their journey across the land, but they were positively crowded by the entrance. The Avalonians seemed a patient and peaceful folk, but they were still eager to be inside as soon as possible. Can't blame em, Mitchell thought as he looked towards the horizon, unable to see an end to the trail of refugees.

"All right, I'll make my patrol on this side," Mitchell said as he pointed to the right. "You two can pick whichever side you like, but remember to keep within eyesight of the walls, that's the rule. Landarin, I realize you ain't from around here, but there's no need to worry. All we gotta do is help out wherever we can and look out for trouble, simple as that. If there's anything serious, you just gotta shoot once in the air and help will come running. Now I think that's everything, so let's get to it."

Without further ado, Mitchell went off to make his rounds. Sure is a lovely evening tonight, he thought cheerfully as he looked up at the moon and stars in the night sky... then shivered in the wind, despite his duster. A bit cold though.

Landarin didn't much enjoy this task that was given to him but he didn't complain as he walked away and began his rounds. The cool air blew his jacket back and forth as he trailed the wall around the city. His thoughts strayed as his job became a mindless task. Slowly but surely his hands slipped towards his pocket as he patted his trousers and his belt pocket mking sure he had all of his belongings. To anybody but himself he may seem paranoid but he just wanted to make sure. After verifying that they were there he went back to his job minding his own business.

As night had fallen, and the river of refugees from Avalon continued on there way towards Camelot, there was one figure that was following them all. Yet it was more at a distance and within the falling darkness that was growing all around. The figure easily darted across the ground, her body lowered slightly towards the ground while her arms were behind her. Her hair, a brown shade, was piled up high on her head. Some strands of it, though, did fall down. The locks blown back from the speedy pace she was going at. Teal green orbs would stare straight head. Her expression a blank one, as the round face of the female continued on the path she was going. Sparrow The Swift, her name she was given by the tribe, glanced over towards the line of people first, then back towards the gate up ahead she noticed. With a slight twist of her ankle, she changed the direction of where she was going towards the right a bit. Sparrow barely made a sound, as she was quickly making her way towards the building.

Although her coloring and pale skin matched like those other Avalonians, the major difference between her and them were her clothing. It was a mismatch of cloths upon her form. Yet her slender and womanly figure could easily be recognized due to the top she wore was a simple one that wasn't really all that modest by others standards. The one other thing about her clothes; they were clearly a Native's outfit.

Sparrow's teal eyes would stare over at the gate and wall of the building for the longest time. As she made her way over a slight out cropping of boulders that were nearby, she decided to run up over them. Her bare feet padding softly with not a single sound, as she hopped from one point to the next. Just as she reached the top, she was soaring right over it.

...and right towards a blonde haired male in a leather duster that seemed to be walking outside in the night. Sparrow's eyes widen, and she only sucked in a breath as she quickly angled her body back. Unfortunately, the way she was going to land, was smack dab onto the male. With his face right at chest level by the time she reached him.

As Mitchell made his patrol, he tried to stay close enough to the refugees to exchange the odd word with them here and there. "Welcome to Camelot. Not too far now, eh?" he'd say, or, "How was Avalon when you left?" To which some would reply, "I didn't see any fighting, but I sure heard it," and others simply said, "Violent." These Avalonians had no taste for war, but they were stoic enough about it. Even the children seemed quite laconic.

As Mitchell wandered further along the wall, away from the refugees, he heard and then saw someone descending towards him from the sky. A figure wreathed in the darkness of night, so it seemed.

"Whoa!" Mitchell yelped as his hand flew towards the butt of his revolver, but the figure had already crashed into him. He had time to draw his gun and fire once into the air, but by then he was pinned to the ground, his face buried under the weight of whoever it was that came flying out of nowhere. What in the big, blue blazes of Tartarus is going on? he thought in bewilderment as he struggled to free himself.

The silent of the nights patrol continued for quite some while before being broken abruptly by the distinct sound of a gun shot. Landarin twisted around to face the sound and without hesitation began to sprint towards it. Quickly trailing along the wall he pulled his revolver out cocking it.

"And here I thought it was going to be a quiet night," he said to himself as the dirt path ran below his feet.

Rounding the corner he stopped to see none other than Mitchell lying on the floor with a woman ontop of him. Grabbing the female Landarin quickly pulled her off. His jaw dropped as he realized that the woman was a native from America. He took a step back and addressed them both in a demanding tone.

"What the hell is going on here."

John was leaning onto a tree trunk he had a roll of smoking tobacco in his mouth as the small embers of flames lit up with each puff. He was relaxing preparing for his patrol before hearing a loud crash and a scream. He immdetailly went into a dash towards the sound reaching Mitchell to see a a Native American style woman laying on him. "What the hell Mitchell!?" He yelled.

Sparrow fell backwards as the other Gunslinger pulled her away, but she quickly recovered with a backwards roll and sprang onto her feet, her eyes wide with alertness. Her first instinct was to prepare to defend herself, thinking that these strange men were angry from the sound of their raised voices. A moment later, she realized that they were only bewildered, and the one she had landed on seemed too confused to know what to do since firing his gun into the air. That shot was terrifyingly loud up so close, and Sparrow knew better than to tangle with three armed men. Simply explaining herself would have been tricky enough, so she took advantage of their confusion to flee behind the boulders she had leapt from. This was not what she wanted to happen at all.

When the strange woman turned and fled, all that Mitchell had to say was, "What just happened?" He still wasn't quite sure what to make of this completely out-of-the-blue encounter. One moment he was walking around on patrol, the next he was floored by a woman falling out of the sky and looking like... Mitchell didn't know what the woman was wearing, but she was definitely not from Camelot if appearance and behaviour was anything to go by. She seemed more like a wild animal than anything else, moving as fleet footed as a spooked gazelle. Mitchell holstered his gun as he picked himself up from the ground and patted the dust off his coat. "We should, uh, probably go after her," he said sheepishly as he turned to Landarin and Mitchell.

The Avalonians nearby muttered among themselves nervously as they moved away from the sound of the gunshot. A few were already calling alarms as two Gunslingers came rushing to investigate. Somewhere further back from the gate, travelling over the last stretch of open land to the city, was a hooded figure in black robes. Every Gunslinger within hearing distance, which was to say only a few, were rushing towards the sound of the gunshot. With none of them nearby any more, the hooded figure grinned as he walked up to a lone Avalonian and whispered into his ear... or so it appeared.



At first, nothing seemed amiss to the one Gunslinger coming up from behind, who had only faintly heard the gunshot. He had been travelling with the Avalonians since they arrived in the land of Camelot, but he did not recall ever seeing a hooded man in black robes. When had he joined the trail? Furthermore, the man he was whispering to had stopped so suddenly in his tracks that it seemed almost unnatural. The Gunslinger went to investigate and hailed a greeting, but when the hooded man turned around and his face showed in the moonlight, the Gunslinger gasped in horror as he drew his revolver and fired as rapidly as possible.

Mitchell was about to wave off the other Gunslingers who had come running, to tell them that further reinforcements were not required. He was going to follow after the strange looking woman to ask what she was doing, but then he heard five quick gunshots and screaming, SCREAMING in the distance. One shot was an alarm, but more than that was a downright emergency. "C'mon fellas, forget the lady, we gotta GO!" Mitchell said as he rushed towards the sound of trouble.

Multiple gunshots sounded off from afar as Landarin tried to process what was going on. Instinctively he turned towards the news and with a kick of dust he was once again off. What the hell is going on around here. Looking back behind him Landarin made sure that Mitchell was behind him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small fang. placing his hand in front of his mouth so that Mitchell couldn't see what he was doing and as he whispered into his palm the fang disintegrated and flew into the wind. As Landarin ran, not far from the group of gun slingers an echo multiple howls ran through the night air. Not a minute later the source of the noise was located as Landarin spotted a hooded figure.

John head was immediately up as he heard the gunshots, He followed Mitchell his feet pounding on the floor as he removed his six shooter from his holister. He was all to familiar with the gun shots and screaming. His eyes shifted to were Landerin was looking as he to a halt, The hooded figure so far was a enemy to the beast of his knowledge.

When Mitchell saw the man in black, he did not know what to think at first. The robed figure was crouching down beside a fallen Gunslinger, bending over as though to resuscitate him. Just a few metres away was an Avalonian with what appeared to be puncture wounds on his neck. Stabbed twice with a dagger, was Mitchell's initial thought, as the wounds were indeed quite deep.

"What's going on here?" Mitchell said as he approached, his breath puffing in the cold air.

When the man in black turned around, Mitchell saw that he was no man at all. He caught a glimpse of the thing's face

Spoiler

before it vanished quicker than the blink of an eye. The fallen Gunslinger gasped as though he had been holding his breath underwater for too long, then sat bolt upright as he picked up his revolver, trying to reload it as fast as he could. When he noticed Mitchell, Landarin and John standing around, the Gunslinger shouted, "Well what are you all gawking at? It's a vampire, draw your guns for the love of... SH-"

He never got to finish his sentence as something appeared to rush through him, flinging him high and far through the air. The Gunslinger landed as a pile of shredded meat, the sight of which horrified Mitchell for too many seconds before he gathered the wits to draw his revolver. Just then, the vampire came at him next and Mitchell got the impression of horrifyingly long claws before narrowly dodging a potentially lethal slash.

His Gunslinger reflexes was evidently a match for the vampire's supernatural speed, which gave Mitchell confidence but little courage. "Where is he?" he shouted as he turned this way and that, expecting to die instantly with each passing second. He had never felt so afraid... or alive with adrenaline at the same time.