Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20160720133828/@comment-5583506-20160725222209

The remainder of the battle hadn't gone the way Frizzle had wanted it to. She wasn't sure how, why or when the battle tide was turning against them. The two groups she had ordered to scout for their attackers had all been gunned down from several directions.

"Just who the fuck would do such a thing?" she groaned as she crawled across the dirty ground.

A well-placed shot from some dark alleyway had completely crippled her left leg. From somewhere behind her she could hear the sound of heavy, steady footsteps approaching. She glanced back over her shoulder and furrowed her brows at the sight of a tall man in a duster coat, vaguely resembling the main protagonist of those old pre-war movie posters she had seen lying around: Three Desperados: Hunt for the Confederate Gold.

She grunted and swept up her side arm attached to a holster by her ankle. Taking aims at the man she fired a shot against him.

The man barely seemed to flinch as the bullet buried itself deep into his shoulder. "Lousy shot", he grunted. "Didn't even hit any meat." The man retaliated by firing one of his revolvers at her hand. The bullet went straight through, causing her own pistol to fly away.

She cried out in pain and agony, watching her wound pump out blood all over the ground. On the ground around her the bodies of her fallen comrades surrounded her on every side. Just what sort of man could eliminate her entire crew and didn't even seem to react to the fact that she had shot him?

"Now", grumbled the man seriously and holstered his revolvers as he crouched down by her side. "Before you go into shock or fall unconscious, I want you to tell me if you know anything about the Preachers?"

Frizzle looked at the man's stern and humorless face with a mix of fear and hatred. "Fuck you!" she growled in pain, clutching to her bleeding hand. "You fucking shot me, you piece of shit!"

"And I don't mind doing so again", replied with a slight growl. "I have plenty of experience of where to shoot people to make their deaths long and painful. If you don't spill out anything you may or might not know about the Preachers, I will make sure that you live long enough to experience the life slowly spilling out of you."

Frizzle wheezed and cursed. "The Preachers", she snarled. "They are some sort of marine-based Raider group. More like pirates. They travel around the islands with boats. Like to make attacks from the coasts."

"Where are they keeping their hideout?" asked the man and pressed the muzzle of his revolver against the gunshot wound in her leg. The revolver was still burning hot from the constant gunfire.

"Fuck, I don't know", she sobbed. "They are no fucking friends of mine! They could be keeping their hideout on some other island for all I know."

"Hmm", mumbled the wester-clad man and slowly rose up.

"Please, don't kill me", pleaded Frizzle. "You've... you've killed my friends already. I have nothing you want. I don't want to die."

The man looked her over. There was no compassion in his gaze. No mercy. Yet somehow he didn't seem to have any desire to kill her.

"Deaph?" the man asked to someone behind him.

A young woman approached. She was completely dressed in black and her hair was bleach blonde that it might as well have been white. Frizzle found her to be gorgeous, and if she hadn't been straight this woman would have definitely awoken her desire.

The woman observed Frizzle curiously with eyes like a set of two pale full moons. Frizzle found her eyes to be... haunting, almost as if they saw right through her. A part of her wanted to look another way for fear that this woman would somehow stare into her mind and read her thoughts. Of course no such thing was possible, but the experience... of just being near this woman, felt downright supernatural. It wasn't a pleasant experience either, no matter how beautiful she was.

"Let her live", she giggled. "I can see upon her face that her death here will have little meaning for the balance of it all."

"Understood", said the cowboy and holstered his revolvers within his duster coat. "You heard that, Raider trash? You are good. You have been measured, judged and found that your time... has yet to come."

''Balance? My time?''

Frizzle didn't know what to make of their statements, but she guessed that they were lunatics of some sort. Speaking out of her own experience.

The gorgeous woman approached her and bent down over her, cupping her chin in her slender hand. "Listen to me... Frizzle", she said and smiled warmly. "Sarah Henderson, continue down this path and you shall find nothing but misery... and even more pain than my brother here could possibly hand you."

Frizzle froze up. How did this woman know her name? Were they mercenaries of some sort? Had someone hired them to find her?

"Return to your mother and your uncle in Pearl City", said the woman and stared deep into her eyes. "Live out your days in peace."

Frizzle felt cold sweat trickle down her skin, mixing with the blood and the dust. If she didn't wash herself off soon, she would probably get an infection or the like.

"Do you understand me, Sarah?" said the beautiful woman. "Go home. Never stoop down this path again."

Frizzle swallowed hard. She did not know what to make of this woman, or how she could possibly know her identity. But she crawled up into a position in which she could lean back against a barricade of sand bags behind her. She nodded shortly.

The woman then smiled again and stepped back. "Until we meet again, Sarah Henderson."