A wide grin climbs across an aged and weathered face. It is an obvious sign of victory.
The grins grips a lethal weapon in final victory purging a bounty free of conscious or meaning other than cold hard cash.
The pistol echos and lingers as a dead weight hits the ground. Money made and well earned in the collector's eyes.
A simple method to clear conscious. A man handles the gun and wards only those who would do harm with the same power. Send a maniac to catch one.
The latest was no maniac. Just some young chump brought to a big city with promise of establishing some kind of name for himself. Now just a mere $500 note. That is what his pistols would earn. The ultimate trophy in these parts. Hardly anyone surrendered their firearms alive to tell about it. Each piece came with a unique story of craftsmanship or wizardry. The mortal fell all the same if the head was worth the claim. This was a mantra to the bounty houses of Akvero. It drew many a hardworker.
This latest collection was a team effort completed by Craftsman and apprentice.
Gunslingers had become a common breed as their trade grew in popularity. Many races adopted the work where available. Sioux was one individual who was drawn to the craft. He adored many gunmen he'd seen ride through his hometown which was leagues away from Akvero. Sioux had trailed and tracked a strange bounty hunter in secrecy until they were gunned down by an adversary. Sioux took the chance to seize the hunters weaponry to become a bounty hunter himself. It wasn't long until Sioux was indentured into the service of a Craftsman known among many as Time. Time is one of the main disciples to the Gunslinger known to have established their unique trade.
There were many tricks and schemes into the establishment. Sioux had seen enough in his short existence to capitalize on the naive, however most of his victories came on even ground. Pistols at dawn, pistols at dusk, pistols at brunch. The duel was Sioux's calling. His victories in small territories gained him quick reverence and had silenced many loose cannons.
Sioux is afforded his share of the hunt. His sire, Time, leaves with a majority of their recent bounty's value.
Sioux counts his earnings dons his mask and then heads out into Akvero. Gallantly striding with the status symbol at his hip. Sure he didn't earn well currently, his services benefited many. Any of those who could recognize his station would offer respect. It was a job that could cost you your life.
There was a haunt called 'Grande Canal' that Sioux would frequent to find himself aloof within the city. A place where mask or favour found you little but the grace of someone else wishing to disregard the city's power to instill order. Sioux liked it here, for it was simple. Masks could be taken off and faces would blur, depending on how deep you rowed your boat. Sioux's feet found him here whenever he wanted to launch. A fresh bounty to burn was reason enough to get lost on distant shores.
Sioux found his was to the bar head and ordered up a usual to all slingers.
"Yo ho to those who row! A round of H 2 O before I go!" His lips were dry and everything else needed nature's relief before any proper adventure.
The grins grips a lethal weapon in final victory purging a bounty free of conscious or meaning other than cold hard cash.
The pistol echos and lingers as a dead weight hits the ground. Money made and well earned in the collector's eyes.
A simple method to clear conscious. A man handles the gun and wards only those who would do harm with the same power. Send a maniac to catch one.
The latest was no maniac. Just some young chump brought to a big city with promise of establishing some kind of name for himself. Now just a mere $500 note. That is what his pistols would earn. The ultimate trophy in these parts. Hardly anyone surrendered their firearms alive to tell about it. Each piece came with a unique story of craftsmanship or wizardry. The mortal fell all the same if the head was worth the claim. This was a mantra to the bounty houses of Akvero. It drew many a hardworker.
This latest collection was a team effort completed by Craftsman and apprentice.
Gunslingers had become a common breed as their trade grew in popularity. Many races adopted the work where available. Sioux was one individual who was drawn to the craft. He adored many gunmen he'd seen ride through his hometown which was leagues away from Akvero. Sioux had trailed and tracked a strange bounty hunter in secrecy until they were gunned down by an adversary. Sioux took the chance to seize the hunters weaponry to become a bounty hunter himself. It wasn't long until Sioux was indentured into the service of a Craftsman known among many as Time. Time is one of the main disciples to the Gunslinger known to have established their unique trade.
There were many tricks and schemes into the establishment. Sioux had seen enough in his short existence to capitalize on the naive, however most of his victories came on even ground. Pistols at dawn, pistols at dusk, pistols at brunch. The duel was Sioux's calling. His victories in small territories gained him quick reverence and had silenced many loose cannons.
Sioux is afforded his share of the hunt. His sire, Time, leaves with a majority of their recent bounty's value.
Sioux counts his earnings dons his mask and then heads out into Akvero. Gallantly striding with the status symbol at his hip. Sure he didn't earn well currently, his services benefited many. Any of those who could recognize his station would offer respect. It was a job that could cost you your life.
There was a haunt called 'Grande Canal' that Sioux would frequent to find himself aloof within the city. A place where mask or favour found you little but the grace of someone else wishing to disregard the city's power to instill order. Sioux liked it here, for it was simple. Masks could be taken off and faces would blur, depending on how deep you rowed your boat. Sioux's feet found him here whenever he wanted to launch. A fresh bounty to burn was reason enough to get lost on distant shores.
Sioux found his was to the bar head and ordered up a usual to all slingers.
"Yo ho to those who row! A round of H 2 O before I go!" His lips were dry and everything else needed nature's relief before any proper adventure.
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