The Warlock and the Swordlauncher
The Castle of Aal, housing the shadow-kept Macross clan of assassins, shone gloomier than usual on this fateful rainy Tuesday. Its halls were long, wide, and echoing. From an observation standpoint the structure seemed emptied, or perhaps occupied by one rich, old lord. This was not true. The Macrossa (plural) were numerous in the region, and fifty in numbers at this very castle. There was a decent magic of a black art that strengthened their effectiveness. Shadow's aid, as it was referred to in their dormitories, and it "aided" them in the annihilation of their clan's deemed evils: demons, undead, necromancers, and other spellcasters who were not like themselves.
The rain was a peaceful thing, if a little eerie, and it was a much welcomed sound on an inactive estate. The rain followed an ingenious filtration and gutter system down subtle slopes and grates that fed into a dungeon-like sewer system; and dungeon-like was appropriate, because the end of the rain's journey poured down into the castle's very empty gallows; very empty, except for one chained man.
Rampant moisture made dampen the shirtless man's head of black hair; a head that was never without the company of a very specific hat. The man was, in truth, never without several effects, all of which were laid out on a wooden torture bed far off from his reach and even gaze. What looked to be a primitive gattling gun was a most unusual device indeed laid out upon that table. It ran what were to be presumed at first as its gun barrels, but strangely, they ran parallel and partnered with long swords that were belted oh-so taut. A device that would not be understood so long as it laid there stationary.
The man looked dead there in his entrapment, receded into some sort of self preservation form at the cost of some of his sanity. It was a fair price. His execution drew near, and there was a very specific place he wanted to be at in his mind, if not for his executioner, then for the success of someone finally managing to end his long career after all these years.
The Castle of Aal, housing the shadow-kept Macross clan of assassins, shone gloomier than usual on this fateful rainy Tuesday. Its halls were long, wide, and echoing. From an observation standpoint the structure seemed emptied, or perhaps occupied by one rich, old lord. This was not true. The Macrossa (plural) were numerous in the region, and fifty in numbers at this very castle. There was a decent magic of a black art that strengthened their effectiveness. Shadow's aid, as it was referred to in their dormitories, and it "aided" them in the annihilation of their clan's deemed evils: demons, undead, necromancers, and other spellcasters who were not like themselves.
The rain was a peaceful thing, if a little eerie, and it was a much welcomed sound on an inactive estate. The rain followed an ingenious filtration and gutter system down subtle slopes and grates that fed into a dungeon-like sewer system; and dungeon-like was appropriate, because the end of the rain's journey poured down into the castle's very empty gallows; very empty, except for one chained man.
Rampant moisture made dampen the shirtless man's head of black hair; a head that was never without the company of a very specific hat. The man was, in truth, never without several effects, all of which were laid out on a wooden torture bed far off from his reach and even gaze. What looked to be a primitive gattling gun was a most unusual device indeed laid out upon that table. It ran what were to be presumed at first as its gun barrels, but strangely, they ran parallel and partnered with long swords that were belted oh-so taut. A device that would not be understood so long as it laid there stationary.
The man looked dead there in his entrapment, receded into some sort of self preservation form at the cost of some of his sanity. It was a fair price. His execution drew near, and there was a very specific place he wanted to be at in his mind, if not for his executioner, then for the success of someone finally managing to end his long career after all these years.