Thread: Guns of Camelot

The creature was fast, there was no doubt about that. He couldn't tell exactly what it was but Landarin was quite sure it was not human. As the thing bolted towards Mitchell the gunslinger emptied three bullets, all three of them missing with a thwap as they hit the dirt. Landarin thought about the situation for a split second unsure what to do.

This thing is ridiculously fast. I'de be hard pressed to hit it but spells are out of the question.

Grinding his teeth togethor Landarin thought hard about all of this. The creature gave him no time to rest. Before his thoughts could even organize a set of claws wereheading directly for his face. Swift reflexes brought his revolver up just in time to parry the swing. Sparks flew from the barrel of his weapon and he slid back a few feet from the force. This was his chance. Landarin fired off a single bullet into the night as he grabbed a cloaked arm with his free hand. A shriek echoed through the night as the black robed being burst into flames. Taking his chances Landarin rushed over to Mitchell.

"Get up! Are you hurt?" He blurted out looking over his shoulder watching the creature flail knowing full well it wouldn't be killed that easy.

The events unfolding was something John had seen before, Maybe not in this sense but hell right now they had a vampire they needed to kill. John hand went for his revolver but stopped half way, No this was the job for a blade.. His blade. His right hand crossed over his body removing a thin dark blade from its scabboard on his left hand side. The Vampire was quick as he heard the removing of a deadly bladed weapon, It had a certain aura around it that made the Vampire want to.. Rip John apart in every single type of way. John readied himself, His right foot pressing forward as his left slid back into a neutral fighting stance.

The vampire acting on its blood lust charged John in a blur of motion, John braced himself his stance not caving in as he slid back picking p dirt and gravel as the Vampire charged him Into a tree knocking the window out of him. John reacted in reflex as he brought the blad rip vertically blocking a bite that would have been deadly if it had reached his neck in time. "You piece of shit fucker!" Yell John as he struggled for dominance before jerking all his body mass and power to the right. He rolled as the vampire hand ripped into the bark of the think tree damn near ripping it in two.

It was John turn to be on the offensive as he pivoted his foot letting the blade get a deep knick on the Vanpire calf, The attack was intended to slow the creature down not kill it. It did just that as it howled gibberish to John before kneeling on its knee out of reaction. It was a grave mistake. John was about to lift the blade up to break into its flesh though its heart, He was stopped by it leasing out at him pressing him into the ground. His revolver still in his holister was loosened to make it just available enough to be grabbed, But John was focused on keeping this thing away from his neck using his short sword.

"I'm fine!" Mitchell replied, his eyes wide and his heart pumping. If there was anything he was glad of about the situation, it was that he didn't have to face it alone.

When the vampire went after John next, Mitchell aimed his revolver at the vampire's back and was about to fire until he saw the five holes the other Gunslinger had put there before dying. Mitchell could see that they were exit wounds, right around where the heart and lungs ought to be.

By the time the vampire had John pinned to a tree, Mitchell knew that ordinary guns and bullets weren't going to cut it. A Caliburn Gun would have been ideal for the situation, but there were none around and in lieu of such a weapon, it was going to be a hopeless fight, unless...

"I dunno how you did it, but try to set the thing on fire again," Mitchell spoke rapidly to Landarin. "Do it now, while it's busy!"

Just then, John managed to roll away from the vampire's grasp, only to be pinned again, this time to the ground. Other Gunslingers were beginning to approach now, having cleared away the Avalonians. The first one to arrive immediately fired two near-simultaneous shots at the vampire.

The vampire staggered away from John, blown back by the force of the bullets punching into its body. It looked up at the Gunslinger who fired and let out an angry snarl, baring its bloody fangs. The thing was pissed.

Landarin's mind raced with ideas, his eyes shifting back and forth. Mitchell wanted him to set the vampire aflame again but he couldn't risk revealing his abilities. What could he do. There had to be a way to do it without suspicion but what was it. Time was running out just as two wolves jumped through the night tackling the robed figure, biting it over and over.

This was his only chance. Without hesitation Landarin fired his revolver. Following the shot, he cast a quick spell and with a spark a ray of fire flew from his fingertips following behind the bullet and it sailed right into his targets stomach. The fire struck the creature as it trailed the bullet setting it once again on fire and singeing the skin around its stomach. This only made it more angry, demonstrated by the fact that it screamed out once more at the top of its lungs.

"There!" He yelled out at Mitchell as he shook his hand putting out the flame that kindled on his finger tip.

I hope that worked.

As it was, there wasn't much Sparrow could do in the first place. After running away, she had to stop after a few paces to look back over her shoulder. She was seeing if the strange men that were armed still followed her. She knew enough of what her tribe spoke about, that the weapons they held were something called 'Guns'. A dangerous batch they were, she recalled her father telling her before she left on her journey. To be shot with what they had inside, would bring certain death right away. Shaking her head, her teal green orbs soon looked up into the sky, when she heard the sound of more gunfire....and screaming. Part of her instincts bade her to take off once more.

But deep down, that curious and soul of who she was, said something different. Without much of a pause, the female was taking off once more on bare and swift feet.

The sound of a commotion became louder, the closer Sparrow came to where it all came from. When she finally turned around a small grouping of boulders, she noticed what it is that they were fighting. For the first time, the female Native let out a hiss of disgust and hatred came over her face.

"Perversion!!!" She yelled out at the top of her lungs. Her soul recoiled in fear and anger. The creature they fought, Sparrow was able to feel that it was unnatural, and it went against the order of the Spirits she listened to daily. Unfortunately, Sparrow's rash side of her personality showed itself, as she began to sprint towards the undead creature.

Just as a fired bullet went slamming into the stomach, causing it to scream out, Sparrow would jump high into the air. With her legs in a crouching position, she had aimed her right arm up above her, the palm flat and straight. Her eyes blazed, as she bared her teeth while aiming her hand right towards the body of the creature. Amazingly enough, Sparrow's hand would have suddenly slam right through the chest without much problem. How it was done, was more or less her controlling the muscles within her hand and arm, making them almost like stone. And making it possible, that her hand would have stabbed right through the chest of it. The downside of it though, was that it only enraged the creature more, and she had to jump quickly back.

Sparrow was able to dance around the wolves, they didn't even notice her, as if she wasn't a danger to them when she had attacked the vampire. She bared her teeth at the creature, almost acting like the wolves that were fighting against it.

[ SORRY!!!!! DX Finally I was able to fix the broswer so I can post once more....I can't believe explorer couldn't post at all. >.> ]

John lifted himself from the ground, He was literally seeing red, probably from the blood in his eyes. His sword his knuckles were trunkf a deep white from him clenching the blade with such fury. Every muscle in his body screamed pained to him but at the current moment John was only focused on the blasted monster that did this to him. Letting out a primal yell he pushed his body to its limits sprinting towards the creature his legs probably falling to pieces in the inside. He lifting the blade high throwing his body on the beast letting his weight and the sword stab though the monster chest barely misusing his heart pinning him to the ground.

A deep growl escaping his throat John lifting his fist bring it down on the monster lay creature face hearing a surprising crunch as the monster howled in pain from being stuck between John and the ground. John gripped the creature by the underside of its chin and neck his fingers dong into it as he gave a twist with all his night the vampire eyes widen as it howled with pain again. John was intent on ripping this blasted thing head off its body.

He momentarily forgot he and it was burning from whatever Landerin had did eariler. But John held no mind to it even if it did kill him, He wanted this thing head. He slammed its head against the ground once more and testing hearing cracks and that sound if fleshing being tested from each other. The thing let out a weak grapes as John used all his night to twist it's head left from right and jerk it up as a final pop! was heard. It's head was im between johns fingers as it went slack jawed blood pooling under John.

He stood weakly to finally subcome to the strain he went though eariler, letting out a "Argh!" He hit the ground face first the Vampire head rolling from between his fingers pooling in the blood.

From a distance, the Avalonians huddled together, antelopes and minnows worried of whatever lions or sharks might still be roaming the dark edges of Camelot, but a cheer slowly cut through the night, rising at the sight of the fallen monster. There were none ungrateful, none more delighted at that moment, and they moved forward in a cautious, but eager tide to congratulate, help and soon finish their long journey by entering Camelot. A small group surrounded their murdered compatriot, family, and soon friends and the sympathetic. A healer moved to check him and others scattered to do what they could, save one.

Two eyes dimmed to gray by what little torchlight mantled about the group watched with piercingly small pupils at the scene. The undead was finally dead. How fortunate they were, but these men… These were wounded and the price had to be fully paid. The lone visitor raised the lip of a high-crowned, up-winged black hat to move the brim out of the way, to get a better look at these men that fought so admirably. Had it been any other thing, this stranger knew that those that breathed even now would have lived, but not now, not against this.

Even Camelot suffered from the gray pestilence. If they didn’t finish the job, their problems would quadruple; all undead, even the new, had to be put down, but they showed no concern to this.

This individual laid a hand softly on another’s forearm and murmured worries of their rejection of death, but the Avalonian only stared, puzzled and wide-eyed. He turned to another, repeating it in question, and they both gave assurances, it seemed. When pressed, they brushed the other away and the outsider backed up. The hat twisted from one mangled man to the next before hurrying off for the mouth of Camelot.

Mitchell stared in opened mouthed horror as he watched John tear the vampire's head off. He had never before seen nor imagined ever seeing something so... so... brutal! It was the only word he could think of to describe what he had just witnessed. In that moment, when the vampire's head was lifted from its shoulders with a gruesome wet noise of separating meat and bone, it seemed to Mitchell that John was the more demonic creature, all covered in blood and gore, and possessed with a berserker's unholy might. I should go help him, Mitchell thought, though he could not help himself as he leaned down on his knees and felt his lunch being to rise in his throat.



As the other Gunslingers gathered around to survey the scene (some disappointed to have missed the fight), a lone snapping of fingers cut through the night, followed by the soft fwoosh of igniting air as the vampire's body suddenly burst into flames. It scared Mitchell enough to make him yelp and fall back on his arse with a hand held out to shield his face, but the other Gunslingers merely turned around with casual laziness to see the burly Gunsmith who was now amongst them, sitting astride the unluckiest horse to ever bear a rider.

Martin looked at the burning corpse, saw the vampire's head and set that on fire too with another snap of his fingers, then looked at everyone else nearby in turn, his eyes drifting from face to face with cold and silent appraisal, as though examining cheap trinkets in a market stall. His words were curt and minimal, "The Merlin will want to know about this. Everyone involved in killing this vampire, follow me. That includes foreigners."

The Gunsmith turned his horse and began trotting towards the city, making it as obvious as possible that he was not going to wait. "And someone help this guy up," he added as a careless afterthought whilst passing by John.

Though still somewhat unnerved by the astonishing conclusion of the fight, Mitchell went quickly to help John to his feet and support his weight as he staggered limply. "Bloody hell, John, what was all that?" Mitchell murmured as he turned to follow the Gunsmith.

Landarin looked emotionless at the disembodied vampire head. The sight itself didn't disgust him as much as the pure ferocity it took to complete the act in such a manner as John had done. The first thought that ran through his head was to help John. However, before he could even move the body of the dead creature it burst into flames and burnt to pure ash before his eyes.

Parting the sea of onlookers a strange man approached upon horse back. As he grew near the vampires head was turned to ash in the exact same manner. The man stared upon them with what might be considered hate or disgust, which one he could not tell. He explained the situation and soon enough Landarin realized what was happening. Mitchell began to follow the stranger as if he knew him, which he very well might. Without question Landarin holstered his revolver and followed Mitchell.

His thoughts strayed as he lagged behind the group. Before he knew it he was the last one in the line of people. He scanned the ragtag group of individuals and noticed the native american girl that he had found on top of Mitchell. He assumed that it had not been an attack considering the girls obvious heritage. Her presence in Camelot intrigued Landarin to say the least. What might she be doing in this land, and more than that why was she along. He sped up a bit to catch up with her and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

"Who are you. What are you doing in Camelot?" He asked her.

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Sparrow continued to stare at the creature in pure disgust. It was a crime against nature itself, and called out to her soul to destroy the thing. Yet she wasn't the one to do so. It was actually one of those strange men that did it. Her teal green orbs watched in horror amazement, as the man went and tore the monster's head off. Blinking her eyes a few times, she stared in strange fascination, at how a lone man was able to do something that no mortal could do before. For a while, Sparrow remained crouched down, staring with wide eyes, and a blank face. As the vampire fell dead, the body was soon burnt to ashes as a strange new man came.

She couldn't help it. The female native jumped back another pace, when the fire came. She stared back and forth, from the burning remains of the creature to the new face that showed up on horseback. It was clear, he was the one to have started the magical fire. While she understood the gifts the Spirits could give to her people. It was a unknown one that always threw her off the most.

She shook her head, clearing all of her hatred that she had when she saw the monster. Sparrow listened carefully, as everyone who took part in the fighting had to come along. Grudgingly, that meant she had to follow along with. Something she rather not do, to be honest. She wanted to get into the city, to find out a bit of who she was. Then again...as she thought about it, she was given a chance to enter without trouble.

Letting out a breath, Sparrow quickly lifted herself out of her crouch, moving towards the other men that followed the one on horseback. The whole time, her olive gaze was on the men in front of her. She could feel another behind her, but didn't say much. Part of her wanted him to move forward, away from her.

Then she heard a hushed voice behind her. Sparrow acted without thinking, quickly she spun about, her leg stretched out on the ground, as she gave a sweeping kick. She did it more or less, without thinking much of it. When she realized what she did, Sparrow would blink a few times as she stared at the man. She would then tilt her head, her face indifferent as she stared at him the whole time without saying a word. She was thinking of how to say it, and opened her lips to speak slowly in a slight accented voice. "Sparrow The Swift. That is the name my people gave me."

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↳ ██ █ ██▌▌{ NATIVE AMERICAN } ▌██▌█ ██ ↲

Landarin's feet flew out from under him as the strange woman swept her leg underneath him. Landing with a thump right on his ass he looked up at her dumbstruck. What the hell was that for, He thought to himself.

"Ouch," He said as he stood up slowly rubbing his hips. "Nice to meet you too. What are you doing here in Camelot?"

This lady was strange to say the least. Although he knew what it's like to be a foreigner surrounded by people of a different nationality he had never acted like that. Maybe it was the mixed blood that made him so tame.

Turning his head towards the group he made sure nobody had noticed or heard any of the exchange. Hopefully this wouldn't be a meeting of bad news. The Merlin seemed nice enough to an extent but Landarin wasn't sure how he'd react to a full blood native american in his kings nation. Maybe he would send her back to America. Whatever the outcome of the meeting was he hoped it would end in a good tone, unlike his last one with that witch.

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The female didn't say much, when the male gave her a look like that. She just continued to stare at him with a indifferent look on her face. Her bare feet still moving, as she walked backwards easily like she done it many times before. As Sparrow watched the male get up, asking his question. It was her turn to tilt her head to the other side, while she stared at him with her dark green orbs. The way she did that, tilting her head to the side, would remind anyone that they were looking at a wolf or something. That was just it. Sparrow was mimicking the the wolves themselves as she stared at this man called...Landarin?

Sparrow would glance over her shoulder, making sure that they were still following that man on the horse and others. So far, the two of them were now near the back together. Away from the others as they spoke. It took a while, for the strange female to answer. And when she did, she spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "Came looking for answers. My peo-.....tribe stated that was not one of them originally. So came to find answers." It was simple, and by listening to her, would know that she did know some words. But others were hard for her to grasp when mouthing them.

Sparrow would give a single shrug of her shoulder. Never once, did she turn back from the man. Continuing to walk backwards as she spoke to him. It was clear, that she didn't want to speak to him with her back turned.

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↳ ██ █ ██▌▌{ NATIVE AMERICAN } ▌██▌█ ██ ↲

John felt like someone had sent him though a shredder, his body ached as it had been pushes far over its limits and he was paying the deadly price for it now.He has felt Mitchell carrying him so he reached out and grabbed his arm to only grunt before going limp. He had finally passed out due to the strain in him, He needed medical attention as soon as possible.

Landarin thought about the girls words for a minute. It was obvious that she was trying to say that she was not originally Native American. Now that he took a closer look even in the dark he could tell she wasn't of American decent. However, she acted like one. This fact led him to the conclusion that she spent her childhood among Native Americans. What a strange situation all of this was. Landarin shook his head. He was slightly interested yet at the same time he wanted no part of any of this. His foot steps sped up until he was in front of sparrow. Hoping they would get to the Merlins home soon he reached up and rubbed his chin in hard thought.

After the fight, all Mitchell could think about was the brutal savagery that John had dealt to the vampire. He had never seen anything more incredible or terrifying. It was just now that he started thinking about the wolves that came from who knew where to help, or that strange woman who had fallen on him and later helped in the fight. They didn't seem so strange then, but they did now. Looking around at the others - John, Landarin and... Sparrow? Was that what he had heard the woman call herself? - Mitchell couldn't help but wonder if he'd be seeing stranger things later on.

Without any warning but a single, tired grunt, almost like a sigh, Mitchell suddenly felt John going limp and almost dropped the wounded Gunslinger before securing a tighter grip. "Whoa, what the- John? John! Hey, hold up everyone, I think John's passed out!"

Martin took a glance over his shoulder, which was all the notice he gave as he continued trotting his horse through the street. Avalonians and Arturians alike were looking on with dull curiosity.

Being behind everyone else, Mitchell stopped where he was and called out, "C'mon, we need a healer over here!"

"No shit," Martin blithely responded. "Just find a place to dump him and try to keep up, will you?"

"All right, fine. You guys go on ahead, I'm going to take John some place where he can be treated."

Crouching down to carry John over his shoulder, Mitchell stood up again with some effort and hurried off to the home of the nearest healer he knew.

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When Landarin just stared at Sparrow for a while, the female in question would just tilt her head to the other side. Quickly, her body twisted around easily like it was breathing, and began to walk forward once more. It was a while, before the other gunslinger called out to have everyone wait. Curiosity got the better of her, and Sparrow stopped to look behind over at the male in question when he held up another one. One that was passed out. Her olive orbs stared at the pair with a blank face, having had stopped to see what had happen. Yet when the male on the horse just kept going, giving his remarks, the female would look back then over to the guy when he agreed. These were strange people. Leaving one that apparently needed help to himself, not even worried out right, and kept on going. In her tribe, each other would help another out no matter what. If this was what her birth people were like, Sparrow was wishing she had been a true Native.

Her eyes were like flint, as she turned about on her heels without a sound. Her bare feet taking up the strides as she caught up with Landarin once more. Sparrow didn't make a single sound, just staring straight ahead. Yet it was only a few seconds, that she stared to trail her gaze around the area they entered. All the strange buildings. All of these people. Staring at some of the Avalonians, she had to admit that her coloring almost matched theirs. Even though her skin wasn't as pale, tanned from being under the sun most of her life, her hair and eyes were like she was part of them.

It brought a sad like feeling inside of her chest, but she banished it away. Sparrow wasn't one to think on the sorrows of the world. Always staring straight ahead, with the spirits speaking in her ears. With the dull stares the people gave as they walked, Sparrow felt a bit cold at that, and couldn't help take a few steps closer to the one male that spoke out to her. He knew this place better then her, and she had a childish impulse to hide behind the taller male as her olive gaze glanced around with a slight lowering of her eyelids.

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↳ ██ █ ██▌▌{ NATIVE AMERICAN } ▌██▌█ ██ ↲

Martin continued leading the way through the main thoroughfare, heedless of all the chatter behind him but most certainly annoyed by the grunts of his horse. "If you don't shut it, I'll smack you in the ear," Martin whispered in an almost affectionate tone as he patted the animal's head. It whickered in response then quietened down, as though recognizing the hidden threat in its master's voice.

Satisfied, Martin looked ahead and saw that it was nearly time to dismount, for the end to the main thoroughfare was in sight. Looming above the steps to the upper town was the statue of King Arthur, standing tall for all to see and silvery in the moon's pale light.

The thoroughfare itself was a wide road of paved concrete and illuminated only by the glow of the lanterns from nearby houses. Oil was precious in Camelot and used sparingly, so the streets were generally a dark and gloomy sight at night, especially in the lower town and even more so when it rained.

Looking up at the sky, Martin judged that there might be rain some time tomorrow or the day after. That could be a problem for the Avalonians who had yet to enter the city, but Martin had no such concerns. He was only glad to have finally reached the end of the road, where he promptly dismounted his horse and handed it off to a Gunslinger of the night watch for stabling.

"We'll walk the rest of the way," Martin said as he walked up the steps. With a click of his fingers, a flame appeared above his thumb where it flickered and burned like a torch, and the closer he got to the statue of King Arthur, the more visible its stern face became.

From the top of the stairs, one could see that the lower town was a sprawling sea of houses and streets, packed to the walls, but here in the upper and more ancient half of the city, the buildings were larger and more densely grouped. It was not long before Martin had led the group to the Merlin's workshop.

Motioning for the others to follow, Martin opened the door and entered the workshop. Within was a single wide room full of tables and equipment. At one of the sides was a forge like no other, and at the back of the room was the door to the wizard's tower, where the entire workshop had been built into the wall as an extension.

"Wait right here," Martin said as he gave a mistrustful look at Sparrow, then went to fetch the Merlin.

After a while, the old, short and stout wizard came out of the room of the tower with Martin close behind. Casting a curious glance at Sparrow, the Merlin said to Landarin, "So Martin tells me there was a bit of excitement in the night. Tell me, what happened?"

~~~

Mitchell was moving slowly but surely towards the healer's house, until an Avalonian man came to help him with carrying John. "Thank you," Mitchell said to the stranger.

"It's no problem, Gunslinger," he replied. "I'm just wondering why no one else around here helped sooner. It would have been a lickety split thing in Avalon, er, before the war that is, and judging by the look of your fellow, I'd be hollering for Morgana. Those wounds look serious."

"Aye, it's why I'm taking him to this healer, just up ahead. So is it true then that Morgana appears whenever you call for her?"

The Avalonian looked downcast for a moment then said, "Only in Avalon it seems. I called for her myself when I broke my arm as a kid and I remember her showing up just to fix it. My parents always told me she'd appear whenever you needed her... but sometimes, I wonder who's going to appear when she's the one needing help, like right now."

Mitchell looked quizzically at the man, wondering what he was implying. "Ah, sir, I do believe that's what the Guns of Camelot are there for."

With a kindly but somehow pitying expression, the Avalonian responded, "Boy, you have no idea what's going on over there, do you?"

Mitchell didn't know how to respond to that and as soon as they reached the healer's house, the Avalonian bade farewell and left.

There was something incredibly ominous about the man's words. Mitchell tried not to think about it as he entered the house and gave John over to the healer, but even as he left to go to the Merlin's workshop, there was nothing else to think about. The Avalonian's words simply echoed in his mind, over and over again.

Landarin took a single step forward as he was addressed. Noticing that the rude man who had escorted them back to the Merlin's tower followed the wizard back into the room. That man left a bad taste in Landarin's mouth. Although the man had been rude to John, his hate was apparently well founded. John seemed to be a delinquent and a troublemaker. He hadn't really given much thought to what exactly had happened, everything occurred so fast. Gathering his thoughts quickly he addressed the old man.

"Well, I'm not a man of many words so I'll try to keep this short," Landarin started. "I was out doing my patrol when I heard a single gunshot. I ran towards the sound to find Mitchell on the ground with this native american woman on top of him."

Nodding to Sparrow he continued, "While I was trying to sort out that situation we heard multiple more gunshots. When we ran to investigate we came across a vampire, which John promptly killed in a rather disgusting fashion. Afterwards your, what I assume to be, apprentice showed up and escorted us back here. Mitchell separated in the city to find a healer for John as he became rather hurt during the fray."

Landarin tried to think of anything else he could tell the Merlin but nothing he really thought was important came to mind. Stepped back with a nod he indicated his explanation was over.

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It was a while, before they even got to where the man on the horse was leading them towards. The whole time they walked, Sparrow never once spoke up again to Landarin. Even though she was a curious young woman, she was the type to speak up when someone spoke to her first. Her olive orbs, would slowly stare at everything, as they made their way inside of a building. When they came across a statue of a man, Sparrow would stare at it for the longest time. That's when she first heard the whispers of the Spirits around her. Interesting. The Spirits in this place were abundant. That must mean these people also used magic or something to have called or have them near. Tilting her head, she saw as the man from before was moving into a room, and Landarin was inside of it as well.

Sparrow was the last to enter, when the man from before he would get someone. The look he gave her, she just stared back with a indifferent expression on her face. She didn't care that he mistrusted her. She had no evil intent in the first place, so she had no fear that the Spirits would watch out for her while there.

Soon enough, a larger male entered. Of course, he was large in the muscles he had, but he was short. Making her look down when he entered. As well as one that seen a good number of years, then asked the 'Cowboy' what happened. As Landarin gave his explaination, nodding towards Sparrow when he got to that part, she would just tilt her head to the side while she stood there for the longest time. Her gaze, wandering back and forth from Landarin then towards the other male.

Once the story was ended, and he stepped back, everything was silent. Sparrow didn't say a single word. Not really needful to even say a thing, since the man basically explained it all of how it happened. Her dark green gaze was soon enough wandering away once more. Her eyes taking in everything in the room, as she easily listened if she there was something to be said to her. Or watched out of the corner of her eye, if some movement was made towards her.

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↳ ██ █ ██▌▌{ NATIVE AMERICAN } ▌██▌█ ██ ↲

The Merlin raised his eyebrows upon mention of the vampire and looked from Landarin to Sparrow, to Landarin again, intrigued and a little bit amazed at the idea of these two foreigners managing to go head on against one of the most dangerous creatures in Arthuria. "Were there no Caliburn Knights present?"

"I can fill you in on that one," Martin interjected. "By the time I got there, the vampire was headless and someone had the good sense to set it on fire - I finished the job by the way - but there were no Caliburn Guns around, just these two, the other two what's-his-face just mentioned, and the other Gunslingers who were on watch at the time."

"Were there any casualties?"

Martin shrugged non-committally as he replied, "Just two that I saw. A Gunslinger and some Avalonian guy who looked like he didn't have a drop of blood left in his body. Vampire must have been thirsty."

"Thirsty enough to come near the city."

The Merlin paused for a moment as he contemplated this disturbing turn of events. He had expected any number of issues with the coming of the refugees, but a vampire attack was most certainly not one of them. What a situation...

"This is some serious business indeed, I thank you both for bringing it to my attention," the Merlin said, referring to Martin and Landarin. "You and your fellows in particular, Mr Ellenmyer. When it comes to vampires, tonight could have been a bad deal worse, mark me well. They're deadly dangerous creatures, they are... Well I suppose you've more than earned that land you wanted now. Just wait here a moment while I go get a map."

The Merlin made to enter the wizard's tower again, but stopped by the door as he turned to look at the native American woman. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name," the Merlin said to her, and then to Landarin, "Does she speak our language?"

"Her name is sparrow," He said bluntly. "She speaks some but not much, and not very well at that." Thinking to himself Landarin wondered what kind of land he was getting. Hopefully he could hire some commoners to do some manual labor rather easily. He had no interest in doing much of anything himself, more interesting things clouded his mind. This acquisition of land marked a milestone in Landarins goals. One long annoying step.

Although he was glad to be done with the vampire encounter he realized that it had been the most excitement he had in a while. These Arthurians never ceased to insert themselves into his life when all he wanted was some time to be alone. He had never needed any companions before why should he start now. Letting out a low inaudible sigh Landarin thought about his situation with logical yet clouded deliberation.

"Is that so?" the Merlin said as he glanced at the woman again then turned to enter the wizard's tower. "Well I'll deal with her later then. Just give me a moment to find a map and then I'll have Martin guide you to your spot."

Not wanting to be saddled with such a job at all, Martin cleared his throat loudly for attention and said, "I was actually on my way to the factory before coming here. I've already chosen my people and gotten the foreman's permission to take over the place, you see, so I should really be there by now."

The Merlin stopped in his tracks and replied, "Wait, what's this about taking over the factory?"

"You did say to form teams, so I formed one. I figured all the revolver specialists could be put to work on making ammo if they're not making guns. You know, on account of what you said about every Gunslinger having-"

"Yes, yes, I know what I said," the Merlin grumbled. "Fine, I'll allow it, but someone's going to have to escort our guest here."

As if on cue, the door of the workshop opened up as the Caliburn Knight standing guard outside called out, "Sir Mitchell Landerson here to see you, Merlin."

"Yes, send him in. Well Martin, looks like you can be on your way now. I'll visit the factory tomorrow to see if you settle in all right. If not, I'll find something else for you to do."

Martin simply nodded and left without another word, not even glancing at Mitchell as he passed by.

"Well onto business then," the Merlin said as he entered the wizard's tower. "Just wait right there, I'll be back in a moment."

Mitchell entered the workshop and went to stand beside Landarin. The young Gunslinger tried not to pay much attention to the strange woman, as he still remembered being in the way of a very sudden crash landing.

"I got John to a healer," Mitchell said to Landarin. "So what's going on here?"

Not too long afterwards (and Mitchell guessed that Landarin wasn't going to say anything anyway), the Merlin came back with a scroll and spread it open on a table.

"Your land is right here," he said, pressing his finger onto the map and leaving behind a singed spot. "It's remote, it's on a hill and close to the city. You'll like it, I reckon. If you need help building a house, there's plenty of folks willing to land a hand nearby. They're mostly farmers and whatnot, but they know a thing or two about making what you need, otherwise, there are professional carpenters in the city if you've got the coin for their services. Mitchell, I'm assuming you know your way around these parts."

"Uh... I guess I do," Mitchell replied, seeing where this was going. He didn't mind, but after the fight with the vampire, he wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep already, although he doubted whether he'd be able to. "Had to ride to a lot of places during training and I think that area's one of them, so yeah."

"Okay, good. Kindly escort mister Ellenmyer to his spot, and here." The Merlin fished around in his pockets and offered a few coins to Landarin. "This ought to be enough for a room at any tavern in the city until you get your house built. Now... I'm not sure what to do with miss Sparrow here."

Mitchell watched as the Merlin stood in front of Sparrow and looked up at her for a moment, frowning in thought. "So Mitchell, Landarin said something about finding her on top of you. Care to elaborate on that?"

"Well, uh, it was all very sudden," Mitchell replied nervously. "I was making my rounds on night patrol, just outside by the walls, and then the next thing I know, this lady comes out of nowhere, falling from the sky and landing on me. I fired off a single round on reflex, but didn't hit anything, and then Landarin and John came over while I was, um, on the ground. Landarin's the one who pushed the lady off me and she scampered away behind some rocks. We were about to give chase, but then that vampire showed up and after a while, for some reason, the lady came back to help us in the fight and now here we are."

As the Merlin hmmed and looked up at Sparrow again, Mitchell was beginning to feel a little hesitant. He had only meant to say what he said as it happened, but now the thought occurred that he might have inadvertently landed the strange woman in hot water.

"I might have to get someone to question her, figure out what she's doing here in the first place," the Merlin said. "If language is too much of a barrier, I suppose I should send her back to wherever she came from. America most likely. Only place I know with clothing like hers."

The Merlin looked at Landarin and Mitchell, and said, "Well you two can leave now. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Camelot, mister Ellenmyer, and thank you again for dealing with that vampire. You as well Mitchell, and John Reduns too. If you don't mind, please check up on mister Reduns tomorrow to see how he's doing. I'd like to hear his side of the story about the whole vampire business."

Mitchell didn't feel right leaving Sparrow to an uncertain fate with the Merlin. She did help out in the fight against the vampire after all, but what was she doing, sneaking around outside the walls of the city at night? Perhaps it was for the best to not get involved, whatever it was.

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Sparrow was silent the whole time the conversation went on. As it was, she didn't see the need to speak up, or say about herself to this small buff like man. Instead, her olive green orbs wandered around the room. Always looking in a different place, each time. Yet when she felt eyes on her, she did quickly glance to stare at the person in question that would look at her. A few times it went to Landarin. Other times it went to the one called 'Merlin'. After a while, the scantly dressed female made her way to a collection of books on a shelf. She would look at the objects on top of it. So far, she couldn't shrug off the whispers of the Spirits while in that room. They mostly were centered around the older male, who was doing most of the talking. Just as he was about to leave, the man from before she fell upon, entered. The shrewed eye male soon left, and the older one left real quick to a place.

Sparrow's dark gaze, wandered over the blonde man that entered. She couldn't help it, she ended up wandering around him. Her gaze looking him up and down as she reached out to pluck at his sleeve. Sparrow was a curious one, that was clear. When she heard a door open, she simply wandered away once more, this time to a window when the small man came back. The native easily understood what was being said, her time with the Outsider in her tribe helped with that.

What she didn't like, was how they were talking about her, like she didn't understand a thing. There was a difference between able to speak it then understand it. Then again, she never stated that to Landarin at all. He just assumed by her slow speech, that she didn't know much of their language.

That's when the Merlin said about sending her back, gaining the females attention. After the whole conversation ended, Sparrow spoke up in a stern tone of voice, her voice was like honey and smooth when she spoke. "Will not go back to tribe's homeland. Sparrow came here to find answers, truth of where she came from. That is Sparrow's task. The spirits led me here, and here Sparrow came." She was soon pointing a finger at Merlin, as she tilted her head, her eyes curious as she spoke in a low voice. "Why do the Spirits talk about you? Sparrow listens. They speak of wonders of you, of something great. Why is that?"

If her stating that whole grouping of words didn't get them to know she knew how to understand their language, she didn't know what else would.

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The Merlin blinked in confusion for a moment then replied, "Spirits? I, uh, I have no idea what you mean by that, but I can see that you understand a bit of our language at least."

The old wizard turned to Landarin and said, "You're from America, right? I can tell by your gun, do you know what she's talking about? I just want to know if I should be feeling concerned or not." Then to Sparrow again, somewhat warily, "You're an Indian, aren't you? You should know that this land is no stranger to spirits, and few of them have ever been kind."

Mitchell looked between the Merlin, Sparrow and Landarin, wondering what this whole talk of spirits was about. Such things had an ill reputation in Arthuria. Indeed, there were many stories of dwellers near the frontier suffering from the presence of ghosts and demons, as if vampires and bandits weren't enough.

Mitchell had also heard a few stories about America from travellers and the like in the odd tavern. The country supposedly even had its own barbarians. What they were called, Mitchell couldn't remember, not until the Merlin had mentioned it anyway. All he knew about Indians was that they were to the Americans as the Scottish clans and dwellers of the frontier were to Arthurians. Savages.

"I'll wait outside," Mitchell said to Landarin as he took a final uneasy glance at Sparrow.

He had found it a little unnerving when she was looking, no, inspecting him with such intense curiosity that it seemed almost animal-like, but she didn't seem so terrifying... and then Mitchell remembered seeing the woman stick her hand through the vampire's gut like a spearhead, and that was that. Mitchell decided to stay well away from her and began to wonder what might have happened if she meant to do any harm during their sudden encounter. It was an unpleasant thought, considering that she had the drop on him in more than its literal way.

Landarin pulled out a cigarette and lit it, watching Mitchell leave as he thought about the statements. Sliding his lighter back into his pocket he addressed the Merlin.

"No worries, friend. It's probably nothing bad," he said exhaling a large puff of smoke as he spoke. "I'll take care of her for you if you don't mind."

In truth Landarin had no idea if it was a good or bad thing, he couldn't tell what the spirits were saying. Either way he couldn't just let the Merlin send sparrow back home. She was here for a purpose and Landarin knew just how that felt. With no desire to stay there any longer Landarin stepped forward examining the map quickly. Stepped back once more he bid the Merlin a quick farewell not allowing the old man any room to navigate for more questions before turning towards the door.

"Follow me," He said to sparrow as he stepped out of the tower. With the native in tow Landarin walked past Mitchell heading towards the nearest gate out of Camelot that he could remember. He didn't think the Merlin was a bad man but he still wanted to get Sparrow away from him as quickly as possible. This land was a strange place especially for someone not from it. Landarin needed time to rest and think, therefor he needed to get his home up and ready as quickly as possible.

Taking another drag off of his cigarette he directed his attention to the gunslinger. "Lead the way Mitchell."

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Sparrow lowered her olive orbs to the older man, when he remarked about how some of the spirits around here weren't nice or good. She saw how unnerved he was, when she mentioned the Spirits. What was so bad about that? The Spirits were guardians, protectors, and mentors. They wouldn't really want to harm people all that much, unless they were use to be alive and human. Tilting her head to the side, she would remark softly, as her gaze looked away, almost over Merlin's shoulder as she spoke. "Yet not all Spirits are like that. There are some, who do not suffer the morals of what you White Men know of." She then went silent once more, never once speaking up.

Then Landarin butted in, stating that he would take her off their hands. Sparrow's dark gaze, went quickly towards him, keeping a blank face the whole time. It was almost hard to even tell what this native female was thinking half the time, since she wasn't expressing herself like she usually did. But that was because she was in unknown territory. You didn't really bare your neck in a crowd of wolves right off the bat, would you?

Soon enough, the male in question, told her to follow once lighting a strange stick on fire. Sparrow sniffed the air a bit, following right behind quickly as her slightly covered form was silent as she walked on her bare feet. Once outside, and in front of the other male from before, the female was moving up towards Landarin a bit more. Lifting her head up, going on her toes, she put her face in close to the male. But what she did, would be funny. Sparrow sniffed at the lit stick, and then made a slight face. Moving away, she would shake her head, as she spoke in a tone that seemed almost sad. "That is bad tobacco. Where did you get such weak stuff at?" It was pure curiosity when Sparrow asked that. Her hand sliding up to push her dark hair behind a ear, as a wind came by. She instinctively moved her face into the wind.

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↳ ██ █ ██▌▌{ NATIVE AMERICAN } ▌██▌█ ██ ↲

As the highest authority currently present in Camelot, the Merlin had command of the city's Gunslingers and the very law itself. Though the thought never occurred to him as he called after the trio, "Hey, wait, I wasn't done talking yet!"

Just then, when Landarin stepped in and took Sparrow away to evade further discussion, the Merlin was strongly reminded of his old friend, the king of Camelot, Gunther, in his youth. Brisk, blunt and quick to rescue women from serious conversations.

"Want me to get them back?" the Caliburn Knight at the door said after Landarin, Sparrow and Mitchell had virtually fled out of the workshop.

"Oh, just forget about it," the Merlin replied, then muttered with a smile on his face as he turned towards the wizard's tower, "Gunslingers."

Now what on earth was that girl going on about just before she left? the Merlin thought as he entered the tower. He had no doubt that benign spirits existed in the world, but was there any such thing in Arthuria? Food for thought... he honestly did not know.

~~~

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Mitchell said as he tried to keep up with Landarin, who was walking as fast as one ought to after what he had just done. "I mean that was the Merlin, I don't think brushing him off like that was a good, er..."

The young Gunslinger fell into a bemused silence as he watched Sparrow acting, well, curiously. When she expressed her disapproval at Landarin's cigarette, made all the more amusing by her foreign accent, Mitchell couldn't help but chuckle, in spite of his wariness towards the woman.

When he realized that the Caliburn Knight guarding the workshop was not giving chase, Mitchell decided that there was nothing to worry about after all and walked out in front of Landarin and Sparrow, taking the lead.

"It's a bit dark right now, so try to keep close," Mitchell said as he walked past the statue of King Arthur and down the path towards the city gates. Thinking about the healer's house several streets away, he added, "I hope John's doing all right."

~~~

In the healer's house, John was lying stretched out on a healing altar, one of several beneath the cross of the crucifix which hung on the wall directly opposite the front entrance. The healer had gone to work immediately after Mitchell knocked on the door and quickly explained what happened before leaving.

Not a second was wasted in treating the wounds, knowing what vampire inflicted injuries could potentially lead to. By some miracle however, there was no trace of infection in John's blood. The healer figured that the injuries were caused indirectly and after closing the wounds, he went to fetch some dressing so the Gunslinger's flesh might heal naturally without risk of infection. That was about the time when the dream happened.



John was sitting cross-legged within a circle in some house, but not the one he was currently inside in the real world. The walls were blue, the very air seemed blue, and standing over him were several white robed figures with their hands held above his head, chanting rapidly in some foreign tongue.

A voice began to speak as though it were coming from within the very centre of John's mind, but it was most certainly not his own voice. It was a woman's, the same as the one who had been talking to the Merlin through a crystal ball, what was her name? John did not recall ever hearing it, though he could guess that she was the ruler of Avalon.

"Warrior," she said, her voice faint yet resonating with power. "My time here is short, so listen well. Your mind was strengthened as well as healed in this place. You will not remember, but you must know."

A pause. John realized that the voice had been ebbing as though it would vanish at any time.

"The Goblin King will try to win through guile what he could not take by force. Go to Avalon before it's too late... and beware the lies."

The circle around John began to glow white and then intensified until it became a blinding glare. The chanting began to fade away and, eventually, so did the light. John was still squinting his eyes as he woke up and, when his vision gradually cleared, he saw the healer looking down at him with a curious expression and a handful of medicated paper strips.

"Where am I?" John murmured.

(Krie, you post first and then Morph, reply as you will)

John was unamused by not recieving a answer from the unknown person. "Hey? You here me?" He said louder expecting a reply.


(SURPRISE.)

The brown clad, down-hooded monk remained turned away as he dabbled with several bottles upon the table, basking in the careful placement in front of an eastern window. With an average height and featureless apparel, the most noticeable thing about him (aside from the brown, flyaway halo of hair circling a growing bald spot) was his quiet demeanor. It emphasized the clanking of measuring tools, the tinkling of glass and the crinkling of turned pages as he prepared a concoction. He swiveled around with a vial in hand and locked brown eyes on John as he walked forward as the tassels of his rope-like belt bounce with each stride. He stopped at the bedside to scoop John’s head up and titled it back as he offered the liquid in monotone, “Drink, please.” This close, the blur of battle fatigue couldn’t fuzz out his features.

Graying hair flanked his wide brow with open eyebrows and gentle, if tired, eyes, and all of that above a long nose. His thin physique and advanced age made for loose skin scratched with a thin beard and mustache. The flesh of his lips midlined in volume and emphasized the flow of the upper, an easy pair to smile with, if he ever bothered. He clearly had some sun, despite his bookish aura, and a cleft on his chin helped to distinguish an otherwise weak characteristic. He was no fighter—not hardly—and not a looker either with those ears flared out, but confidence still showed, or maybe this whole business bored him. So much blood and bruises and broken bones; it was just another day in the life of a healer as John already knew from a lack of a hole in his body.

John took the drink between his lips swallowing as commanded by the strange healer man. It wasn't much else he could do for all he knew it could be poisioned.. Then again what would be the point of saving him. He looked up to the healer noticing cleft on his chin was the most noticeable feature on his face.. Also his vision wasn't the best


"Thanks."