The Story Thus Far...
Part One
Just another day in search of paradise. Another dawn wasted as twilight breathes it's last breath before engulfing the land in the night. Another hero returns from a fruitless search for belonging. On the crest of a cliff, he watches the lights in the nearby houses flicker out, like candles against the wind.
He starts his down-hill tread, the scent of the evening home-fires ligering in the chill, still air. Just minutes from town, he stops, hesitates, and glances at his hand, where he can still see the blood that long ago washed away. He will never be clean again. Nothing will ever be the same. Closing his eyes to the tears, he turns his back to his home town and retraces his steps.
Glancing back one final time, he takes a deep breath and makes his decision. Into the wilderness, away from his friends, away from his family, and away from his pain. Sitting against a tree he climbed years ago, be sobs quitely. Nothing. Never. Where is paradise? What is paradise? He once thought it was somewhere where he could belong, a place he never found. He thought he needed faith, but faith he never knew.
Happiness was a faerie tale, and home was no longer sanctuary. What was there now? Nothing but the burden of guilt and the weight of sorrow. The only feeling he had that made a difference was real pain. Physical pain.
He watched the fresh blood trickling down his arm from his new cut on the palm of his hand. Smiling bitterly to himself, he clinched his fist in cynical punishment for his own wrongs. Why had his life gone this way? He had a home once, he had loved once, he cared once, long ago, before the war. Nothing will ever be the same in this life. Purhaps the next will be better.
Tears streamed down his face as the pain got more real than he had ever thought possible. Love, hope, faith. It's all as near or as far away as you make it, he realized. This last thought was feeble at best, as he had little time to think. He slid over to his side, blade deep within his chest, in an agonizing scene of pitiful suicide. His blood left his body as his hopes and dreams had done so long ago, staining his childhood playground for all that he'd left behind...
Part Two
Just another day in search of paradise. Another hero gone to find a home. The sun on his back warms his weary bones, as he rides his horse into town. Empty faces pass him by, nameless people watch him pass. Another bed that provides no warmth and more people that need no hero. Another town to pass on by.
Off again, to find a home, our hero lost in the wilderness unforgiving. Again he finds a town that has no heart. Again he finds cold faces. Unwelcome at home, though welcome nowhere else.
Doomed to wander with nobody to love, in the desert, on a horse that he didn't give a name. He knows it will die, no use getting attached to it. He knows he himself will perish. He harbors no faulse hopes or empty dreams. He knows that nobody wants him, and there is no place for man like him in this world.
He effortlessly removes his revolver from it's holster and opens the empty chamber and loads one bullet and closes and spins the chamber. He climbs from his horse and kneels. Pulling back the hammer he places the barrel against his right temple. Closing his eyes, he squeezes the trigger.
Click. Opening the chamber, he loads another cartrige, closes and spins. Click. Another bullet and a spin. Click. Load, spin, click. Load. Spin. Click. Nodding, he replaced his gun into it's sleeve. He isn't meant to die yet, but what is he meant for?
He was startled to feel something hit his bare hand. Gazing down at it, it was a drop of water. Rain. He looked up at the storm-clouded desert sky and smiled softly as the rain came down in sheets suddenly. He mounted his steed and started riding north. His home town was north. He didn't know what his purpose was, but he would start looking there.
His brother would return from war soon, perhaps he would see him there. Memories came to him, of his childhood. His brother had been his best friend, and his only real family. He felt no welcoming love from his parents. It was his brother driving him home. Maybe they could ride together, seeking purpose.
He remembered playing games that only children's imaginations could create, playing in a small forest of large trees with his brother. He smiled to himself at the memory. When his brother was called to fight in the distant war, he left his home to find belonging elsewhere. Now, with his brother at his side, he would find belonging where ever they went.
Nodding in resolution, he set his horse to a gallop. Two days and seven hours brings him home, gazing down at the town he once loved. He was above it, gazing down. He knew he wouldn't belong there. He knew this was no home. He sighed, wondering if there ever would be a home for him.
Night had fallen, blanketing this world in blue darkness, the moon covered with clouds. From the cliff on which he stood, he could smell the cooking fires from dinner, now out, distant but distinct. He saw only light from the local tavern, but he knew his brother wouldn't be there. He glanced at the forest behind him, the playground he and his brother spent so much time in, where they grew up. He decided to set up camp there, against a tree he knew all too well.
Dismounting, he walked his horse into the forest, not able to see, but knowing the path well. Reaching his destination he tied his horse to a small tree, he senced something wrong. Crows and ravens were the only birds that sang, and he smelled fresh blood. The wind picked up a little, driving away the clouds. He glanced around, hoping to find the source of the blood, probably a wounded deer.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, the moon's light hit the body against that familiar tree, knife deep in his chest. Recognising the face immediately, he fell to his knees in tears. The birds scattered as he let out a scream... His brother's name.
Part Three
He knew what he had done. He knew it with all his being. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at his hands, stained dark with dried blood. Why had he gone fight that creature the other night, why? Had he not, he wouldn't have been bitten and wouldn't bare such a horrible curse. Now, because of this, he has killed someone. He didn't know who, but it didn't matter.
He had to leave this place, leave his home, before he killed again. Getting up out of the chair he had slept in, he walked to his desk and pulled out a pen and inkwell. On a blank piece of parchment, he began to scribble a letter to his wife and daughter, telling them that it would be ok, he just had to leave for a while. He would be back to see them, his love wouldn't allow him to venture off for too long. He wrote about the curse now afflecting him and his plans to find a shaman that could break it. There was stories of one in the Desert of Kha, a powerful one, so it is to there that he was bound.
The letter completed, signed with his dearest love and best intentions. He walked from his study to the dining room, and set it on the table, and went to see his daughter one last time before he left. He crept to her room, hoping not to wake her and paused at the door. She was 17 now, his baby girl. He swallowed his tears as he remembered her first steps and first words, not sure when he'd be back to see her again.
Pushing the door open only to find that she wasn't there. He sighed. She's sleeping with her mother. He hadn't wanted to go in there, as his wife was a light sleeper, but he had to see his darling little girl. Slowly and silently, he went to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Opening the door, he felt hungry suddenly, and his stomach growled. He shuged it off.
Stepping in, his eyes adjusted quickly to the light and he stared, in horror at the sight before him. His wife, his love, was torn to pieces. Her entrails and limbs spread across the bed, the flesh around her neck and chest looked as if it had been eaten off by some animal, bite and claw wounds all over her. It was then he realized what had happened. The thought made him sick.
He started towards the lamp on the bedside table when his foot caught on something on the floor. He knelt down and found his beautiful daughter, troat ripped open, she died not an hour ago. He cried out-loud for a long time, holding his baby until resolve set in. Picking up the body, he carried her to his study.
Lying her down, he wrapped a bandage around her once-delicate neck. Then, leaving her where whe was, went to the closet and got two jugs of lamp oil. Drenching his wife and as much of the small house as he could, he then lit a lamp and retrieved his daughter's body. Carrying it to the back door, he opened it and stepped outside. He threw the lamp, still lit inside, breaking it and igniting the oil within. He went to his horse behind the house and placed her on it's back.
He began making his way south, towards the forest, and then it was to the desert. It was not long before he reached the steep climb up the cliff-like hill, but after a great amount of effort, he reached the crest. there was a scent on the wind that he caught then, made his blood churn. He tied his horse, knowing what was taking place with his body.
He gritted his teeth against the pain of transformation, but the smell of fresh meat was foremost on his mind. His mind went a little fuzzy, but he kept concious, unlike the first time, just hours ago. The change complete, he sprung into the trees, searching for the source of the smell.
He came upon a small campfire, in front of which was a dead man, a stab wound in his chest. The knife was not far from him, and it was obvious that it had been used as a digging tool. He smelled life nearby, but the prospect of food cloaded his judgement. At the moment leaped at the corpse, there was a loud crack, like thunder in a desert storm. Pain exploded in his shoulder and everything went black.
Part Four
The gunslinger turned to the unconcious man, now stirring. He cocked his revolver and kneeled down. "You're lucky, werewolf. I did not try to kill you." The man looked confused, but the pain was obviously commin back. "I removed the bullet, and once you return to your kanine form, you will heal pretty quickly. That is assuming I allow you to live."
"...Elesa..." The man stirred again. His eyes burst open and he jumped up, causing the gunslinger to jump back. "My daughter! Where is Elesa? Where is my horse?!" The man, despite obvious pain, grabbed the gunslinger desprately. The gunslinger uncocked his gun and gestured towards the horse he had retrieved and tied to a tree not far away. The man relaxed as he knelt next to the body of the female. The man turned to the gunslinger, who was also not far from a body. The gunslinger noticed the man's eyes go from his brother's body to him, and nodded.
"My brother," he said, indicating the body behind him. "Is that your daughter?" The man nodded, obviously too emotional to speak. The gunslinger put away his gun. "I can help you dig a grave for her, if you wish. Of course, you might want to destroy the body, so that..." the man leaped to his feet.
"Destroy the body?! Never! I am taking her to the Mystic of Kha, in the desert. I will ressurect her at the cost of my life. I..." Tears streamed from his eyes.
"Do you know nothing of werewolves? Not the fictional nonsence you read in stories, but real lore?" The man gazed at him through the tears, indicating his ignorence. "A werewolve's bite breeds infection, spreading the lyconthrope disease, as you now know. Now, when a werewolf kills an untainted body, and does not devour the flesh, the disease mutates, takes over the body, creates an abomination that is neither living or dead." The man gazed down at his beloved. "Now, I know of this mystic. I traveled the Desert of Ka." He paused. "I can take you there, but only you will be helped, not her. The best you can do for her is make sure her soul isn't tormented."
The man cried out loud, on his knees for a long couple of moments. Calming down to mere sobs, he looked up at the gunslinger, who was loading his second revolver. "What is the point of living without my family? I lived for them..."
The gunslinger took a minute to answer while he finished loading his gun. He knelt down next to his brother. "This, my brother Caleb, was my only family. He took his own life yesterday, against that tree. As kids... this was our playground." He sighed. "I will give you a purpose if you come with me."
Resolved the man, tears still in his eyes, he walked over to the gunslinger, who was retrieving a jug from his saddle bag. The man cought the gunslinger's eye, and realized what was in the jug. Sighing, he grabbed the jug from him and walked over to his daughter's corpse and drenched it. The gunslinger walked over and supplied a flint-wick lighter. The man opened it, and lit it. Saying a prayer to whatever god would listen, he burned his little girl.
Closing the lighter, he handed it back to the gunslinger. "Thank you, gunslinger, I will join you. I am Micheal." He held out his hand out. The gunslinger put the lighter in his pocket and accepted the man's hand.
"D. Call me D." The gunslinger studied Micheal as he watched his daughter's pyre. Another day in search of paradise.
Part Five
"Just another day in search of paradise, come and gone," the gunslinger thought out loud with a sigh. Michael looked up with a start.
"Hmm? I'm sorry, D, I was lost in my thoughts. What was that you said about paradise?" It had been four days sence the pyre, and the two had found that they were good company on the road.
"Oh, just something my brother and I used to say." the gunslinger smiled at the memory, but it was a distant, sad smile. "We were always in search of a divine sanctuary to call home, someplace to belong, you know? Even as kids. Everyday turned up nothing, and thus began our fruitless search for home." The gunslinger's smile fadded. "We thought differently about where to find it. When he joined Lord Darlithin's army against Emperor Forlen, I left to find freedom."
"Is that when you became a..." He seached for a better word, but found none. "...gunslinger?"
"No, I first found death, but when he called, I defeated him. An older man took me in, taught me a code to live by." Here he paused, curious if Micheal was making idle conversation or really wanted to know. He seemed interested enough, so D continued. "He taught me the honor of the sword, and the way of the gun. He had been a gunslinger before me, and a swordfighter before that. He is the only man I have ever met with a real concept of honor. I try my best to follow his in his footsteps." He sighed. "Closest thing to a father I have ever known." He said this last remark more to himself than his companion, so Micheal didn't pursue it any further.
They crested the hill and stopped to gaze down upon a small horse ranch, nestled within the valley of three foothills.
His new-found companion gasped at the beauty. The sun was just beginning to set off to the right, between two of the three hills, and the sun hit the house just perfectly. "Wh... who lives here," the man practically whispered in awe. Four beautiful horses lazily played in the back meadow. D reach out to pat Micheal on the shoulder.
"A friend of mine. This is where I keep my horses and come out of the rain." He urged his steed forward, down the hill at a quick pace, his companion following closely.
Reaching the house and dismounting, D began to unstrap the saddle and bridle. Then, opening the gate, gave his mount a pat on the rear, signalling that it could go play or rest at it's desire. Closing the gate, he did the same for Micheal, who was lost in both thought and wonder. As they walked around to the front, Micheal smiled at his new friend, who took note of the change in the teeth. The gunslinger moved a little faster to the door, and invited Micheal in. After a moments hesitation, they were both inside and the door was shut.
Micheal was amazed again at the decor, not what he had expected the ranch to look like. It seemed he had actually stepped into a castle or keep. There were swords or many shapes and designs, as well as many other weapons the man knew little about, excepting the names. There was also a great deal of books of interesting discription and dubious nature everywhere. The gunslinger motioned towards a large, comfortable looking chair in the corner.
"I will find our host, if you would have a seat." Micheal accepted the invitation, and leaned forward in the chair to examine a book. "Do not touch anything. It will do more harm to you than you could imagine. I shall return." With that, D disappeared through a door.
Micheal relaxed and closed his eyes...
It was dark by the time he opened them, and he streached. It was the smell that had awoken him. He wasn't sure where it was comming from. deciding to stay in his seat, he gazed out the window. The sun had set a while ago, and night here was just as beautiful. If only his beloved family was here to see such sights. He held back his tears.
His stomach growled. "Great," he thought, "the perfect thing to keep my mind off of things." He caught the smell again and stood up. Walking around the corner, he came to a door with a soft, yellow light comming from within. He pushed open the door and squinted against the light.
"Ah, Micheal. I am glad you could join us. Our host here just cooked some dinner. Sit and eat with us." The gunslinger motioned towards an empty chair, and his friend sat down without much more than a smile. His eyes adjusting, he gazed around the dinning room. It was furnished simillarly, with weapons and paintings of knights and dragons. He was about to ask about the host when a door opened across the room, producing said host.
"Well met and welcome," said an enchanting, melodic voice. He was surprised to see that it was a beautiful girl, not much older than his daughter had been. She sat a plate in front of him. "You are Micheal then? I am Miranda. Welcome to my home."
He blinked a second, taking a moment to process Miranda, and looked down at the contents of the pate before him. Meat and vegitables. He began eating hungerilly, with no arguments. D and the girl were talking about the events of the last few days somberly, and a realization came over Micheal suddenly, causing him to drop his fork. Standing, he looked around with wide eyes, anticipating. He could almost feel it on the edges of his being, waiting. Miranda looked at him in bewilderment, D went over to him.
"It's ok, you're safe here. You will not transform while in this house. Calm down. Sit..." The gunslinger coaxed him to sit again. "Our host is a sorceress of some talent. There are enough wards and spells on this place to write a book about."
"Sorceress? Spells? What the hell are you talking about?!" Micheal knew he was dreaming. He waited for a dragon to jump out and startle him to wakeness. The gunslinger sighed. "This can't be right. I'm dreaming, right?" The gunslinger shook his head. Miranda looked worried.
"Micheal, a week ago, if I would have told you that you'd be bitten by a werewolf, you would have laughed at me. I'm sure you didn't believe that the Mysic of Kha existed untill I told you I could take you there." He paused. "What makes you think that if werewolves walk this world, which you are living proof of, that sorcery is not real?" Micheal thought about this a moment. This was too much.
Micheal finished his meal without speaking, his mind deeply emersed in thought. Finished, he stood and thanked his young host. Excusing himself to the front room, he fell to the floor, not caring about comfort, and fell into a deep, much needed sleep, leaving all of this non-sence about magic and mystics for his dreams to decipher.
What is paradice, really?
Part Six
"Come on! You can do it!" Smiling confidently down at his brother, he inspired courage. "Just grab that branch and climb! It's almost time!" He was always confident.
"Lance, I can't..." He grabbed the branch and tried again. He strained, and made it. His brother cheered and urged him on.
"Never say can't! I know you can do it! Just one more branch, D!"
D jumped and got a hold of the last branch and put his feet against the tree trunk for leverage. Sucessfully pulling himself up, he accepted his brothers hand and reached the large, platform-like limb where his brother awaited. The twins sat down together to watch the sun sink behind the distant hills. Lance put his arm around D.
"I wish I were as strong as you, brother."
"Naw. You're the smarter one, D. When age takes my strength, you will still be smart. You will always have your mind... like mom." The two watched the shadows lengthen, thinking of their parents, now long gone. It seemed like so long ago that the four of them watched the sunsets. Lance put his arm around his brother and held him close. "Soon, D, we're gonna be heroes. Just you wait." His brother looked at him with his trademark half-smile. "I'm gonna join the King's army in a couple years, when I'm old enough." He paused for a moment. "I'm gonna be a war hero, just like Dad was."
D lowered his head. "I... I don't want to lose you. You're all I have." He fought the tears swelling his eyes. He had more to say, but couldn't.
"Don't worry about that. I will be back." He hugged his brother. "Besides, we have to find paradice together, remember? Listen," he thought about what to say, looking for some way to comfort his brother. "When I leave, I want you to travel, too. Go find out if magic really does exist. Go to the Desert of Kha. Fight werewolves and vampires. Find a girl to fall in-love with. Then, meet me back here, at this tree. I will want to hear all about your adventures." He looked into his brother's eyes. "Bring me a griffon's feather." He smiled, a bright, charismatic smile. D couldn't help but smile. "Promise me?"
"Only if you promise to come back." His brother nodded. "Alright, Lance, I promise."
"I promise D." Darkness over took the light, as if the sun had waited for this to set. They both sighed and sat in silence together.
The gunslinger opend his eyes. He remembered everything about that night. The feel of the rought tree bark, the soft breeze, and the feel of his brother's arm around him. His eyes went to Miranda, sleeping next to him. Slowly, he moved out of the bed and he silently walked over to his duster. Reaching into the inside pocket, he removed a brown envelope. Opening it, he removed the contents: a large, blue-white feather. Running his finger along it, he sighed. "Lance..."
He looked out the window, and resolved an inner conflict as he watched the sun rise. He slid the feather back into the envelope. He knew what he would do. Thier promise would not go unfulfilled. Placing the parcel back into his duster pocket, he closed his eyes, clinging to the memory. He walked back over to the bed and slid beneth the covers. Putting his arms around Miranda, he kissed her gently and laid his head on the pillow to rest.
Paradice will never be lost to him, as long as he had the strength to search...
Later.