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Memories of a Deserter.

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These are a collection of stories from the prospective of someone on the other side of the Legions, and are primarily to get me back into writing. I haven't written out a short story in a good few years now. But, with that out of the way. These stories are on the side from someone from the Flame Legion. Some harder themes will be included here.

I'm interested in feedback, or questions for the character as well!


"I have always hated the Iron Legion, more so than any of the other three."

"And, why is that?"
The woman asked as she leaned back in her chair, crossing a leg over the other as she awaited her answer.

"Blood Legion will maim you, Ash will stick a dagger in your back. There is something to fear about a dagger in the dark, or having your head split open with an axe. You can watch out for these things. You can train, you can do something to prevent them. You cannot prevent an artillery shell from hitting you. You can hide in a building, or a tunnel. But you run the chance of it collapsing and killing you."

"You cannot look that in the eye and face it."


1324 AE, Late Autumn.
Date, Unknown. Time 17:32.

'Crack!' Rifle shots rang out through the rain. Shot after shot, the barrage landing across the pass where the Flame warband had taken cover. Bullets whizzing overhead, clashing with the rocks and embedding into the trees that they hid behind. Between shots, a furred head would poke up above the rocks. Only to be met with another loud crack of a rifle being fired off, and another chunk of block being blown out from the stone.

The gray furred Charr yanked his head down as the shot rang out, hearing it ricochet from the stone. Flipping around, he sat. Resting his back against the stone. Using clawed fingers, his hand came up to his brow, as if to shield the sun from his eyes. Although, that gesture was quickly broken. Hand coming down, and thumb tucking into his hand as he raised four fingers. From the second signal, it flowed into the third. Arm moving down, hand flat out. He waved it above the ground over his legs.

Vitus had received the signals from Appius. He had been sitting up in this damned tree long before the firefight had even began. His orange and chocolate fur blended in nicely with the autumn trees. Waiting quietly for the others to come into position, across the ridge to expose themselves. Fortunately, he was one of the lucky few to be equipped with a weapon with any sort of ranged capabilities. Index finger had came from the trigger guard as he readied himself. Finger slipped from the side of the trigger guard, hooking down into it. Carefully wrapping it around the trigger as he took aim. He took his time, lining up his shot. Finger softly squeezing down onto the trigger. He fired.

That single shot rang out across the pass. The Iron warband at the other end of the canyon, didn't flinch at the sound of the shot. Flame Legion soldiers being equipped with rifles was an incredibly rare thing. But, as that shot landed, They flinched. That shot had landed just left of the poor bastard's left eye. Bullet expanding as it entered the Charr's skull. That shot had blown out his eye socket, along the side of his cheekbone, taking out his horn and one of his ears. The figured dropped, hitting the ground with a rough thud as what left of his eye hung from his socket, blood pulling out on the ground from the fist sized hole in the side of his face.

"Go now! You little runts." Pullus shouted.

Vitus gave a quiet grunt to himself as he heard Pullus shout. He was their resident Shaman. While, he was their leader. He wasn't the smartest person in the warband, or the next one over. Always into the fight without a thought with him, Vitus waited for the day that the Shaman would become the poor sod that he had just shot. But fate had been kind to him, for now. Orders where orders, but being killed in a stupid charge was better than being beaten with molten chains when they returned to the Castrum if they refused to follow. It was not a luxury that Vitus had. Being hooked up into the tree meant as soon as he was spotted. He was a dead man.

With another squeeze of the trigger, another shot rang out. It wasn't a clean kill, from what he could see. He had hit the man in his shoulder, or perhaps his chest. He saw the splatter of red mist as it entered the man down range, but he fell down into the brush. It'd be something to keep an eye on. A wounded man could still be trouble, but also a boon. Others would come to his aid. If he did not die by the time the fight was over, he could be prodded before information and hopefully killed. He may have been a killer, but he was not cruel enough to subject another man to the perverse tortures that some would seek to inflict upon him, or worse, her.

As another shot from the marksman above them rang out. The Flare warband advanced out from their cover behind the rocks and trees that provided them with cover. Moving from cover to cover with a jog as the cracks of rifle-fire wizzed down from the embankments of the Iron fortifications. Taunts yelled through the frigid air. The cluster of grunts and snarls as the warband charged through the fog and rain. They where moving fast even with the concealing weather, it was dangerous.

With an eye down his sights, Vitus spied at the Iron Soldiers taking cover behind their barricades. Occasionally raising up to take shots at the charging warband through the light fog. Some of the shots had connected, even wounded, the Flare warband still charged through the hail of fire. While Vitus was fortunate enough to have a rifle, he was not lucky enough to have a scope. Scanning the encampment for a quick moment, he could see the faint silhouettes moving through the fog further in the encampment. But they where to be ignored until he could get a clear shot. There was risk in giving his position away for a shot that may not connect. Turning his attention back to his warband. He could see one of the Charr seize up as he was shot. He had gone stiff for a moment, and then within second. He went limp and fell face first into the mud lifeless.

It was the reality of Legion life. Iron. Blood. Flame, or Ash. It could be ended within the blink of an eye. As one of the Iron Legion troops peeked over the barricade to place another shot. He aimed in, his sight being broken by the furred back of one of his warband mates crawling of the barricade and beginning to squeeze the life out of the Charr. Charging the few soldiers holding the line and tearing apart the Iron Grunts that had taken shelter behind it. Shifting his gaze up, he peered back through the sights further up into the camp. The silhouettes where together now. He could faintly make out two people, both kneeling behind a crate with a rifle of some sort rested on top of it. Taking the initiative, he let off another shot at the figures behind the crate. He missed. Bullet striking off the metal crate with a spark.

He tried not to break his sight from the figures behind the crate. Hand drifting down to his side to open up the leather, Iron legion marked satchel and withdrew out another strip of cartridges. His gaze only broke for a moment to look down at the open bolt of the receiver as he pushed the cartridges in. His attention was broken by the sound of gun fire. It sounded like a volley, a full strength warband, perhaps even two. Snapping the bolt closed. He gazed into the haze to see what had caused the noise with a fright.

There was carnage. One.. Three. Five.. Six.. Nine. Nine corpses where piled up around the barricade. Four Iron, Five Flame. With the one in mud outside the camp, that left six dead. They where at half strength within but a moment. His eyes frantically darted around the camp. Looking for the source of the gunfire. There where no reinforcements as far as he could see. No other Charr. Where could it have come from? Swiveling back to eye his dead and dying comrades. He could only see distress. Three ascended towards the figures ducking behind the crates, the shaman stood in the open yelling at two who had found the option to flee through the field back to the canyon.

This time he saw it, it was the two figures behind the crate. Another burst erupted, fire spitting out of the barrel of their weapon and illuminating the fog. Within a few seconds, it had shot off more than a rifle equipped warband could have. Pullus, and the three that had decided to charge instead of flee had been cut down within the blink of an eye. A hail of bullets tearing through their bodies. Soon, their blood with join the others that laid upon the earth.

That had been more than enough for him. Whatever they had did, he was not going to stick around and find the cause of it. One more glance was cast over to those retreating. One was making his way off into the trees, and the other was moving to take cover behind one of the bullet ridden trees. He couldn't see the other that had decided to flee into the woods was, but he could see the one closest to him.

"Appius." Vitus hissed through his teeth at first. Trying not to alert anyone else than his brother. "Appius!"

He lurched forward, and threw his rifle out of the tree. The Rifle hitting into the mud as he desperately began to undo the harness that had hooked him into the tree the night before and provided security from falling out by accident. With it loose, he jumped out from the tree. He hit feet first, ducking down into a roll and landing in his side in the mud. It was not a graceful landing but he didn't think he had been seen yet. Vitus was wrong. He had made a terrible mistake. He had sounded out, and that voice was located by the others still in the encampment.

Bullets ripped through the air. He could hear them whizzing overhead. Striking the tree he had just been in. He could have sworn he could feel them overhead. He stuck his hands into the air, there was no fighting this. He heard the sound again, and just as quickly as they had went up. They came down to grab at his sides. Trying to make himself a smaller target from the hail of gunfire. Hitting rocks, trees, and.. Him. Normally, the adrenaline in ones body would have negated the pain at least for a moment. But this was not the case. He could feel the sting as the bullet had hit his leg. Reaching down, his hands grasped at his leg to help staunch the bleeding.

He didn't know how bad he had been hurt. He wasn't going to move until the gunfire stopped. Once the sound died down into the cool wisp of wind. Breaking free from his huddle to look at his leg. There was blood coming through the gaps of his finger. Pulling them back, he could see the broken armor. A large chunk of fur was now missing, as well as skin. The flesh had been grazed. It hurt but it was not life threatening yet. It was the least of his worries. His gloved hand brushed at the wound. Sending away some of the blood but leaving mud in its wake. But Appius health was what was on his mind. Vitus rolled onto his belly, planting his hands down into the mud as he scanned for the signs of his brother.

Appius was still there, but he was in worse for wear. The Charr's body was slumped back against the stone. Vitus could see the smear of blood slowly being washed down and away by the rain. He could not see his brother's chest rise or fall. There was no movement, it was tough. But there was no other choice to make. Rolling onto his side, the Charr got ready to spring to his feet to run. Until he heard a cough echo out through the rain. He was alive.

"Fuck." Vitus cursed out under his breath.

He wanted to call out to the other. But he had enough of whatever the Iron Legion had at the end of the pass. He wasn't aiming to risk it once more. With a quick glance around, he carefully went to crawl out. Keeping low to the ground and dragging himself through the mud. It was all quiet, he could only hear the sounds of the rain pounding away at the ground, and the occasional grunt of pain from Appius.

Reaching his brother, he turned to look down the ridge. He could see figures through the fog moving around the barricade, inspecting those who they had killed. It gave him time to get to his comrade, and hide behind the rocks with him. Grasping his shoulders, he adjusted him against the rock face and gave him a good look over. He had been hit once in the leg, and another shot went through his lower back. From what Vitus could tell. He would live if they weren't killed. Although, Appius would never likely be walking properly again.

Appius groaned out, before he could finish. He was interrupted by Vitus' gloved hand covering his mouth.

"Be quiet." Vitus snapped. "You make a sound, they'll come over here."

He debated about dragging his comrade over to a nearby stump to at least get him out of the way. Those that remained in the encampment had to know that someone where there. He was no medic or healer. But he knew that dragging him across the ground in such a state would do more harm than good, or get them both killed. Grabbing at his satchel and turning it over. Spilling out ammunition, rations, before finally what little medical supplies he carried with him. He grabbed small tincture of alcohol and the rags from the satchel. Dumping the alcohol onto the rags, he would go to tie them tight around Appius' leg. As quick as he could bandage the other, it was not quick enough. He could hear the sounds of footsteps and voices approaching through the rain. They where looking for them.

Vitus brought both of his hands up, he gripped the side of Appius' face. Looking over the other Charr's features. Searching to see if he was still conscious. Appius could only look back through half lidded eyes, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Vitus' gut churned as he looked at his brother.

"Appius, you need to listen to me." He hesitated.

The Charr glanced away from his bandmate, looking over his shoulder with his bright orange eyes before turning towards the other to speak.

"I'm going to leave you. Do as they say, understood? They have actual medics who can tend to you. I'm going back to camp. I shall be back soon with reinforcements and we will get you back." Vitus stated.

Appius could only nod, the gray furred charr slumping back against the stone face.

The proper thing to do was to take the blade from his belt, and put it into his brothers throat to prevent him from speaking. That was simply something Vitus could not bring himself to do. In the back of his mind, he knew he it was a shot in the dark that he could return and free his brother. Vitus had his own doubts about living once he made it back to the Castrum. But, leaving him here with Iron was better than returning back to base with a wounded Charr and nothing to speak of.

Having lost himself in thought, Vitus was broken out of it as he heard twigs snap under foot. His head swiveled to look for the source of the sound. They where only getting closer. Vitus turned his head down to Appius, looking at the resting Charr for a moment. He gave the side of his face a light pat before he would stand without a word. Hand gripping at the wound on his leg. He moved to run at the best of his abilities through the forest. Disappearing off into the fog and rain to find the other that had fled into them earlier.
Posted Jul 8, 18 · OP · Last edited Jul 8, 18
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It was a warm summer. He could feel the heat radiating through the coverage of the tree branches above him. He was used to the heat, to the blaring fires of the castrums. It would have been the perfect day to roll out a bedroll, or even some hay out in a field and take a nap underneath the sun. Instead he was stuck with the earth firm against his belly, and his frame covered by bits of the autumn foliage. Obscuring him from view, he must have been perhaps fifty or sixty feet out from the dirt road that the Iron Legion had been using to bring men and supplies up to nearby village.

The foliage itched. The crawling of ants on his arm or leg bothered him. It wasn't the worse of it. It was the occasional snivel of a Dredge that bothered him. He had never even seen one up until this last year. Some disliked them for not being a Charr, others where bothered by their furless appearance. Their large, yellowed teeth and their pink skin. They looked like a human who had been left out to long to dry on a rack. None of these bothered Vitus, it was their incessant sniveling that grated him.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell them to shut their snouts, but it was no use. They could not do anything about it and shouting could only draw the attention of anyone that was traveling the road. The village was perhaps an hour walk from where they hid. It had been sacked earlier in the morning by the combined forces of the Dredge and remnants of the Flame Legion. But that was this morning, there was hardly any time to rest. There would be a counter attack soon, warbands would be mustered to drive them back or rescue any survivors.

His head began to bob, at first it was nothing more than a blink and then another one came. Quickly it elevated into the Charr resting his eyes for a few long moments. Beginning to drift off into another world and only to be snapped back into reality as he heard something from down the road. He heard voices, he heard machinery. It was the heavy grinding of gears and the voices of the warband escorting it. It grew closer and the ground began to rumble underneath him.

It was a tank.

Hellish Iron Legion monstrosities made of iron and steel that towered above the battlefield. Any other time it would have been a sign to fall back. Vitus had dealt with the smaller buggies before, while armed with small cannons and lightly armored. They could be whittled down with the combination of rifle-fire and magic. These where a force to be reckoned with. Cannons that had to be loaded with shell and then charge, sponsons for dealing with anyone who had dared to get close. Not to mention supported by infantry. This time was different, they had the dredge there to support them.

Vitus watched the warband and the wagon they escorted as they came into view. He could see them. He could hear them talk among each other without any care, they where absent minded as they escorted the tank. Thinking they where still far from the enemy. He could see their faces as they talked and laughed. Unable to crane his head high enough to see the full height of the tower tank. But just high enough to see the sponsons and their prodding guns. That alone had him having second thoughts about the encounter.

It was almost as if they were deemed to roll on pass them as they waited lying in the brush. If it had not been for the two Dredge that had been about twenty-five feet behind him. The two of them sat in a small blown out crater waiting for the perfect time to strike. Vitus had never seen anything like the equipment that they had. It looked like a mortar tube that had been cut in half and had a spring installed in it to lob the shell. It looked clunky, it was clunky. The spring was so heavy that none of the Dredge had the strength to depress it, they had to rely on him for that as he was the only one stupid enough to try.

As the tank threatened to leave his view, he heard the weapon pop from behind him and lob the shell. Time almost slowed to where he could see it enter his field of view. Terrified of the idea of it falling short of the target and maiming his face instead. It struck true, the projectile hit the side of the tank and exploded. The faint wave of heat and pressure washing over his face as he watched. It ripped apart the riveted hull of the tank, leaving a large mangled mess of iron and Charr where the sponson gunner had been moments before.

Slowly the lumbering machine came to a halt with a shriek of the metal stressing from the blow and the hiss of steam. It was a horrible sight, one that Vitus had come all to used to seeing. Staring into the wreckage was like looking into the abyssal maw of a metal hell. Jagged shards and twisting metal stained with the blood of the crewman. Leaving nothing but chunks of meat and fur in the place of where a man once sat. The rivets had exploded everywhere from the pressure. Into the tank and out into the warband that had been guarding it. Two bodies laid dead upon the road.

The warband escorting the tank had scattered at the sound. Caught in the center of the road between the forces of the Molten Alliance. It took less than a second for him to take the carnage in, and just as long for the Charr to bust out of the foliage and to his feet with the rest of his warband. The sonic weapons of the Dredge disorientated the Charr in the road. Leaving them unable to form up and to be picked off by the rest. Somewhere taken down by arrows, others by bullets and the rest where put to the sword.

It was well executed. Swift. The conflict had just began and none of the Legions had a proper response towards the combined might that now plagued both Ascalon and the Shiverpeaks. It was evident by the wreckage in the road. The blown out tank that was still billowing smoke and the corpses of the nine dead men and woman that laid in the road with Charr and Dredge standing over their corpses and soaking their feet in the blood of the dead. It was the Dredge who had their hands in the pockets of the dead first. Taking valuables while the Charr were busy taking ears and other 'trinkets'.

"Take it, Comrades!" One of the Dredge sniveled. His nose twitched as his head swiveled around like a curious rat. "Take your share, and we will meet back at the town and leave before they knew what hit them."

Vitus could have sworn he was allied with a Skritt rather than a Dredge with how fast they claimed their 'fair share' of the post battle spoils. But that was not what concerned him, none of them had the thought to check the rolling beast that they had disabled prior. With the Dredge scurrying off and eager to get back into the holes whence they came and his warband following along. He had hardly known any of them, with the pressing of the Pact and Legion forces on the Citadel of Flame. So many had come and gone.

Soon he was left alone, standing before the wreckage.
Posted Jul 8, 18 · OP
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Even destroyed, it was still awe-inspiring to see. The fact that one could make such a machine with nothing but some tools and a set of hands. They had effigies, but it was nothing compared to this. He stepped forward and over one of the corpses that dotted the road. Moving to peer into the hole that had been blasted into the side of the machine. Orange eyes spying the interior. He could see a dead Charr slumped down on the side of the hold, items had been knocked over and debris blown in. But there was no signs of life.

He stepped over to the side, reaching out to grasp the metal bar to the small, hatch like door that was just behind what was left of the sponson. With a firm tug and a creak. The metal door swung open and bared the guts of the tank's chassis. Directly across from the hatch was the dead Charr that he spied from the crack in the hull. Slumped back against the metal wall and peppered with rivets. Vitus moved his hand from the handle of the door. Wrapping along the rim of the frameway as he ducked inside and moved to stand upon the first deck of the tank.

Vitus could not decide if it was spacious for what it was or if it was cramped. If he had only been a few inches taller or had horns that stuck upwards, his head would be rubbing against the floor to the second story. The Charr gave a sharp inhale. Taking in the scent that wafted through the interior. The smell of gas. The smell of death. The smell of melted metal. Orange eyes peered through the darkness. Looking down to the loose shells that rolled through the blood before his eyes fell to the end, and the stair well that led upwards.

His curiosity got the better of him. Vitus took a careful step forward as not to disturb the mess on the floor. If anyone was still alive above him, he wanted to do his best to prevent them from knowing he was coming up. Moving to the end of the hull, he placed his back against the wall. Tilting his head up to gaze up the stairwell as he placed his rifle against the supporting wall. Such a weapon was far to unwieldy for such an environment. Replacing it with the small knife he kept at his side. Holding it before him out as he made his way up the stairs. He peeked up, looking at the command deck. There was no one to be seen, and then up to the exposed in to the gun deck that still loomed above him. Shells lining the walls, discarded weapons. There was no bodies to accompany them.

It left him wondering it the crew had bailed or if there had been anyone in there to crew it in the first place. Approaching through the second deck. His head swiveled, looking from station to station, before finally to the very front of the tank. There was a body in the driver seat, he could see the light reflecting in from the hole in the floor against a metal cap on one of driver's horns. Step by step, he inched closer. Claws clinking against the metal flooring of the Siege Tank. At the sound, the head moved. Stirring with a pained groan.

"Don't move." Vitus barked through the hazy, smoke filled interior of the cabin. "I'll shoot you through the back of your chair."

Vitus pointed the knife at the back of the chair, as if he had a gun in his hand to make the threat with. It was nothing more than a bluff that could have easily been discovered, but there was only a groan in return to his words.

Taking another step forward, he closed in towards the wounded Charr in the chair. First, his knife came out to prod at the back of the chair to further his bluff. It would do nothing if the person was playing wounded and decided to attack him. Second his hand came out to grip at the side of the chair. Tucking his fingers between the chair and the Driver's shoulder. Peering over the driver's frame to see who had the displeasure of driving such a vehicle. It was a woman. She looked to be a little younger than he was, perhaps into her early thirties. Wearing a standard Iron Legion uniform. Dull grey, and plated. Both of her hands gripped at the lower side of her stomach to staunch the flow of blood. Vitus regarded her with some curiosity, and the favor was not returned.

"What is your name?" He asked, his eyes flicking to the other seat that was across from her.

"Kill me, and get it over with coward." She hissed through bared teeth.

He had no intentions of complying with that demand. The wound on her side didn't look bad from what he could see, superficial compared to what he had seen in the past. She'd live through it even if stood there and let her bleed for the next hour or so. He removed his prodding knife from the back of his chair. Stepping over the hole in the floor to take up residence in the seat from across from her. His attention briefly looked down to the control panel. Looking over the surfaces of dials, knobs and gauges that where nothing but gibberish to him. He was still fascinated, his gaze lingered until the other coughed.

"Why would I kill someone that is already dead?" He lied. Giving no thought to what he had just said.

"If I had a desire to kill you, I would have done so with your back turned.. If I desired to do more, I'd already have my pants off, woman." For some reason, this was the kindest thing he thought he could say to ease her mind.

She spat in return.

Vitus raised his blade, giving it a waggle in the direction of the wounded woman acting like he was scolding her. If she wasn't going to speak to him. That was fine by him. Vitus sat back in the chair. Is this what the Iron Legion had? Even the chairs they had in their machines where much more comfortable than the damnable rocks that the Flame Legion used for everything. His new allies where also guilty of such a crime. Metal chairs and no padding, was it such a hard thing to ask for? He leaned back and settled in. Enjoying the small comfort as he hand reached to the gauges. Wiping away the dust that clouded the glass.

He had no clue to what they where for, or what they could even do. It was a world of possibilities. Fingers drifted from dial to switch-board. Flicking some of the switches up and then back down. On both the dash before him and on the console that was overhead. None of them had done anything. It was something that he would never admit to, but playing with the dead switches and touching the dials had brought him a small amount of joy. Something that he had not experienced in a long while.

"Stop." The voice spat through the darkness. "You'll damage it further, you oaf."

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Vitus grunted back at her. "The dead don't speak."

There was a hacking cough before a response. "Fuck you."

Vitus didn't reply this time. Instead he looked down to his waist. Looking at the satchel on his side, he popped the clasp with a clawed finger. Withdrawing out a roll of gaze and gave it a gentle toss over the the hole in the floor towards the wounded woman. Letting the fabric fall over her lap and leg.

"You're not going to die, cub." With his hand, he motioned to the supplies in her lap. "Use that, put pressure on it."

She gave Vitus a skeptical glance, but was in no position to refuse. Taking her blooded hands she grabbed the offered supplies. Wadding them up, she placed them against the wound in the lower side of her gut. With a pained grunt, she pressed her fingers in to help staunch the blood flow with the gaze. There was a silence for a long moment.

"Where are your bandmates?" He asked.

"Where are yours, did they leave you for bait?" The driver snapped back at him.


"So, you're just a moron then."

"Yes." He'd not deny that, only a moron would have crawled into the tank. "I assume they are about ten or fifteen minutes up the road. Give them another thirty minutes and one of them will notice that I am gone. It'll be another five after that before one decides to turn around and come back.I assume by that time whatever bandmate you have hiding in here will have put a slug into my skull."

"So, you're a moron with a death wish then."

This time it was Vitus who went silent. Bringing out his hand once more to brush along the surface of the dials. His hand stroking over the gauges, dipping down to touch the warm metal of the machine.

"Give it.." The driver paused, exhaling out as she pushed herself up in her seat. Slumping over slightly to stare at the orange-furred male across from her. "Give it up then, you idiot."

Her brown furred hand came out, her clawed fingers curling in. Beckoning him and then dropping shortly after.

"Give me your gun."

"I can't give you what I don't have." His head dipped to the side, motioning down to the boot knife that he left on the tank's console. "I don't care to spend years rotting in a dungeon, only to be hung five years down the line."

"Aelius.. Aelius Geartrotter." She coughed out. Avoiding the answer to his statement.


"Your warband?"

"Gone. I hardly consider Dredge or greenhorns to be my brothers."

"Pathet-.." She paused, blue eyes going wide as her brows rose. "Dredge?"

"How else do you think we disabled this machine?"

The words had brought back around the reality that Vitus would have killed her but ten minutes ago if he had the chance. She scowled at him. Bearing her teeth with a pained wince. It was hard to see through the darkness of the interior and the haze of smoke. But he could see part of her face due to the light peering in through the damaged floor board. He didn't rule out the idea that she may have had a gun, or a blade of her own somewhere on that side of the cabin. Placing his hand on the back of his chair. He stood to a hunch leaving the boot knife upon the dash.

"Perhaps the most civil conversation I've ever had with a woman."

He heard the leather of her gauntlet straining from her free fist clenching tight. It was time to leave.

"Be well, Aelius." He gave to her as he stepped between the chairs, moving back into the second story of the hold. "Keep it pressed to your side."

As he walked through the hold and to the stairs. He heard the sound of the brass clasp of her holster coming undone and the weapon being drawn. The sound of the hammer being pulled back, and the prime of a revolver as the cylinder seated itself. He picked up the pace to quickly round down the stairs, snatching his weapon that he left against the wall. He departed from the hull before he became another rotten corpse to pull free.

Greeted by the sun, he turned and made his way down the road with a brisk pace to catch up with his warband.
Posted Jul 9, 18 · OP
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