Post by VoxApocrypha on Jun 3, 2022 3:27:33 GMT -5
Yedeneva, Areman Roskana, Rosark (Areman Peaking Mountains) Territories
Chace's eyes were set on nothing, staring straight ahead into a hazy fog that'd settled around him in the aftermath of a shootout.
He stood, tail resting in the blood soaked grass behind him, hand holding a pistol that stilled smoked at the barrel, the semi-auto handgun spent of its ammo. The sheathe for his knife lay empty, hanging partially torn from his one expensive, now ruined jacket. The Festria's eyes remained fixated straight ahead, even as the blood from the corpse of a Eflusian, a member of the Areman smuggling ring 'Serpentine', would pool around him. All of the bodies around him were Serpentine members, an entire gaggle now laying ventilated.
In the distance, a couple of shadows slowly stood up from behind makeshift cover, bags of wheat emptied and filled with pebbles and dirt to act as a protective barrier between them and bullets. At the feet of the Festria would be a submachine gun, grip still clutched in the hand of a mangled corpse, the others holding a assortment of handguns, clubs, and a few bolt-action rifles of various ages.
"..Get over here. Grab these guns. They'll make a good addition to our little armory.." The Festria would say, as he would slowly slide his gun back into the holster beneath his bloodstained jacket. He stepped forwards, over the corpse with the SMG, and would come to a stop by another a fair distance away as a small group of about five other men and a lone woman would come out of their hiding spots, and start to stripe the bodies of weapons, ammo, even their clothes if they were pristine and valuable, throwing them into a cart drawn by a horse.
"Boss." One of them would say, as they came up behind Chace, the human man holding a bolt-action rifle. "One of them is Davidson."
"Roll him into the ditch with the rest." The Festria replies, getting down next to a corpse with a old tri-edged knife lodged through its chest, the blade poking out of the back of the gryphon. He would roll them onto their back, and then pull the blade out of the corpse, watching the blood start to spill from the hole beneath their back, and flood the ground around the corpse.
"..Stupid bastards should have learned after the first time." A feminine voice would say.
The Festria would wipe the blade off using the cloth of the corpse's arm, and then he would place it into the sheathe, the fabric dangling a little from the tear he'd made when he had had to draw it quickly. He grabbed the handgun the gryphon had tried to draw, and he lifted it up, examining it as he did, bloodshot eyes taking in the details like it were a trophy - which it were. He placed it into his belt, and would flick the safety on, before he turned and would look back at his group.
"We're leaving. Going back to town. Hurry up and get moving. Ditch any clothing that's got stains you can't hide." He'd say. "We're going to stop a bit out of the town and do some hunting to cover our tracks with some game."
He'd step towards the wagon, and throw his jacket into the ditch that the bodies were being rolled into, sighing. "And when we get there Jackie I need you to tailor me a new suit." He'd say, pointing at the woman among the group, the Kithium nodding her head and adjusting her tie a bit, before she would toss her bolt-action into the wagon as well and hop inside. The others do the same, with one of them having their own horse as to not put too much weight on the cart bearing ones.
Before too long they were riding along the dirt path, soon reaching a cobblestone one that was more recently paved, leaving the foggy dirt road and deeper patches of forest before too long.
An hour of travel later they would be at a intersection, marked with a sign, and recently traveled. They stopped further down the path back to town, and would pull off, making their way into the woods. Chace was at the head of the group, moving towards the town though they were still an hour or so of riding away. They kept watch for any of the Areman wildlife they'd come to rely on as game animals - unlike the mainland where the group hailed the game animals were more plentiful and not nearly as regulated. In fact, out here, they were plentiful.. and that lack of scarcity made it easy to use them as an excuse for why they'd be covered in blood when they got home.
They stopped as Chace raised a hand with a closed fist, raising their weapons slowly and checking their surroundings as Chace raised up his own bolt action. He did not wear his jacket, only his white button up. He drew back the bolt back slowly, until he heard the soft click as the round slide into place, and then he would push it forward and lock it into position. He waited a moment, his eyes focusing in until he saw the head of a large deer.. and then he settled the sights on the head, as it would take bites from the grass.
He squeezed the trigger..
Thrack!
The report of the rifle echoed through the forest, the body of the large deer falling to the ground, legs spasming as the last of its neurons fired wildly for a few moments - the deer's soul departed for the afterlife the moment the bullet left the muzzle and struck its skull. He sprinted forwards, the others following behind him, all of them in a low crouch. They were quickly upon the corpse, and they began to examine their catch.
"..Bullseye." One of the men would say, a Karrashi named Jeckle.
"And Jackpot." Jackie, the Kithium would say.
"Let's dress it." Chace would say, taking out his other knife, the one he used exclusively for hunting. The others did the same and began to dress the body of the game animal, especially so Jackie and Jeckle focusing on the antlers and head so that they'd be able to keep them as a trophy - as was tradition in Arema. Something everyone had embraced if only because it meant they were competent hunters. They strung the body up, removed the guts and intestines, and then would dress the body, taking everything they could use - fur, meat, antlers, bones, and all and then making an exit. Something else in the woods would take the guts and whatever they left behind.
They took the spent cartridge for the rifle when they left - able to reuse it as bullets were an expensive commodity in the Areman countryside, away from the few big cities nearer to the coast, where most of their business was done by day and sometines night. They themselves lived in a fairly large if spread out township nearby to the capital of the island chain, and of the Areman holdings beyond Eflus - Callisto.
Come nightfall, they'd returned, and begun selling the meat and making their stories, taking some of their prize to their individual homes, not that they were very far from each other. They all shared the smae general 'hamlet', and had built individual shacks on it, though Jackie had a shop at the edge of the lot that served as her tailoring service. She got the fur. The antlers, were given to Chace. As night began to settle, the antlers were settled on the floor near the door, the Festria pondering what to do with them before..
Light snoring left his muzzle, the Festria's head hitting his pillow before the tired man would even be aware he was falling over.
Once again taken by sleep, Chace began to dream, and dream of things that still haunted the man - so used to death and violence as he was. Tomorrow, he'd be seeing more of it.
Chace's eyes were set on nothing, staring straight ahead into a hazy fog that'd settled around him in the aftermath of a shootout.
He stood, tail resting in the blood soaked grass behind him, hand holding a pistol that stilled smoked at the barrel, the semi-auto handgun spent of its ammo. The sheathe for his knife lay empty, hanging partially torn from his one expensive, now ruined jacket. The Festria's eyes remained fixated straight ahead, even as the blood from the corpse of a Eflusian, a member of the Areman smuggling ring 'Serpentine', would pool around him. All of the bodies around him were Serpentine members, an entire gaggle now laying ventilated.
In the distance, a couple of shadows slowly stood up from behind makeshift cover, bags of wheat emptied and filled with pebbles and dirt to act as a protective barrier between them and bullets. At the feet of the Festria would be a submachine gun, grip still clutched in the hand of a mangled corpse, the others holding a assortment of handguns, clubs, and a few bolt-action rifles of various ages.
"..Get over here. Grab these guns. They'll make a good addition to our little armory.." The Festria would say, as he would slowly slide his gun back into the holster beneath his bloodstained jacket. He stepped forwards, over the corpse with the SMG, and would come to a stop by another a fair distance away as a small group of about five other men and a lone woman would come out of their hiding spots, and start to stripe the bodies of weapons, ammo, even their clothes if they were pristine and valuable, throwing them into a cart drawn by a horse.
"Boss." One of them would say, as they came up behind Chace, the human man holding a bolt-action rifle. "One of them is Davidson."
"Roll him into the ditch with the rest." The Festria replies, getting down next to a corpse with a old tri-edged knife lodged through its chest, the blade poking out of the back of the gryphon. He would roll them onto their back, and then pull the blade out of the corpse, watching the blood start to spill from the hole beneath their back, and flood the ground around the corpse.
"..Stupid bastards should have learned after the first time." A feminine voice would say.
The Festria would wipe the blade off using the cloth of the corpse's arm, and then he would place it into the sheathe, the fabric dangling a little from the tear he'd made when he had had to draw it quickly. He grabbed the handgun the gryphon had tried to draw, and he lifted it up, examining it as he did, bloodshot eyes taking in the details like it were a trophy - which it were. He placed it into his belt, and would flick the safety on, before he turned and would look back at his group.
"We're leaving. Going back to town. Hurry up and get moving. Ditch any clothing that's got stains you can't hide." He'd say. "We're going to stop a bit out of the town and do some hunting to cover our tracks with some game."
He'd step towards the wagon, and throw his jacket into the ditch that the bodies were being rolled into, sighing. "And when we get there Jackie I need you to tailor me a new suit." He'd say, pointing at the woman among the group, the Kithium nodding her head and adjusting her tie a bit, before she would toss her bolt-action into the wagon as well and hop inside. The others do the same, with one of them having their own horse as to not put too much weight on the cart bearing ones.
Before too long they were riding along the dirt path, soon reaching a cobblestone one that was more recently paved, leaving the foggy dirt road and deeper patches of forest before too long.
An hour of travel later they would be at a intersection, marked with a sign, and recently traveled. They stopped further down the path back to town, and would pull off, making their way into the woods. Chace was at the head of the group, moving towards the town though they were still an hour or so of riding away. They kept watch for any of the Areman wildlife they'd come to rely on as game animals - unlike the mainland where the group hailed the game animals were more plentiful and not nearly as regulated. In fact, out here, they were plentiful.. and that lack of scarcity made it easy to use them as an excuse for why they'd be covered in blood when they got home.
They stopped as Chace raised a hand with a closed fist, raising their weapons slowly and checking their surroundings as Chace raised up his own bolt action. He did not wear his jacket, only his white button up. He drew back the bolt back slowly, until he heard the soft click as the round slide into place, and then he would push it forward and lock it into position. He waited a moment, his eyes focusing in until he saw the head of a large deer.. and then he settled the sights on the head, as it would take bites from the grass.
He squeezed the trigger..
Thrack!
The report of the rifle echoed through the forest, the body of the large deer falling to the ground, legs spasming as the last of its neurons fired wildly for a few moments - the deer's soul departed for the afterlife the moment the bullet left the muzzle and struck its skull. He sprinted forwards, the others following behind him, all of them in a low crouch. They were quickly upon the corpse, and they began to examine their catch.
"..Bullseye." One of the men would say, a Karrashi named Jeckle.
"And Jackpot." Jackie, the Kithium would say.
"Let's dress it." Chace would say, taking out his other knife, the one he used exclusively for hunting. The others did the same and began to dress the body of the game animal, especially so Jackie and Jeckle focusing on the antlers and head so that they'd be able to keep them as a trophy - as was tradition in Arema. Something everyone had embraced if only because it meant they were competent hunters. They strung the body up, removed the guts and intestines, and then would dress the body, taking everything they could use - fur, meat, antlers, bones, and all and then making an exit. Something else in the woods would take the guts and whatever they left behind.
They took the spent cartridge for the rifle when they left - able to reuse it as bullets were an expensive commodity in the Areman countryside, away from the few big cities nearer to the coast, where most of their business was done by day and sometines night. They themselves lived in a fairly large if spread out township nearby to the capital of the island chain, and of the Areman holdings beyond Eflus - Callisto.
Come nightfall, they'd returned, and begun selling the meat and making their stories, taking some of their prize to their individual homes, not that they were very far from each other. They all shared the smae general 'hamlet', and had built individual shacks on it, though Jackie had a shop at the edge of the lot that served as her tailoring service. She got the fur. The antlers, were given to Chace. As night began to settle, the antlers were settled on the floor near the door, the Festria pondering what to do with them before..
Light snoring left his muzzle, the Festria's head hitting his pillow before the tired man would even be aware he was falling over.
Once again taken by sleep, Chace began to dream, and dream of things that still haunted the man - so used to death and violence as he was. Tomorrow, he'd be seeing more of it.