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Message: <blockquote data-quote="EP" data-source="post: 3637441" data-attributes="member: 41744">Gunfight on the Plains of the AbyssBy Todd CrapperThe sound of creaking metal overcame the wind as MaryAnn rounded the corner, passing the wreckage of an immense, wheeled vehicle.  Her heels stepped over pebble and bone, her hair blown wildly in the gust of dust and ash consuming the world around her.  Her dress, once bright red and aglow with energy, was now covered over in the brown sand of the wasteland she found herself in, but she never cursed her luck until her heel broke.    “Dagnabbit, Richard!” she hollered, trying to be heard over the wind.  “Why in the name of all Hells did you have to bring us here?!”    The throbbing glow of Richard’s walking stick came into view before the gentleman spellcaster did.  Adorned in the full suit of a man known to wealth, complete with a pocketwatch in his breast pocket, the man stood out amongst the decay on this desolate plain.  Projecting an aura of protection around the finely dressed Englishman, the walking stick was carved in the form of a jackal’s head grasping a diamond in its mouth.  While the spell shielded Richard from the elements, he still kept his free hand atop his bowled hat.    “We arrive where the spell takes us, my dear,” the gentleman retorted.  “Particularly when traversing into the Abyss…”    “Shut it,” Duke called out, his tone evident in his words.  The dark figure passed Richard, his black duster flapping behind his sleek form.  Unlike the spellcaster, the gunslinger’s hat remained firmly on his heat without any additional support, for he used both hands to hold onto the double-barreled shotgun.  “Been listenin’ to yer bitchin’ and whinin’ fer six miles now.”    “Si, and it feels like sixty.”  The final voice of the party trailed only a few steps behind Duke; indicative of the many years the priest had traveled with the gunslinger.  Held firmly in his hand was a cross, while a censure of white smoke swung from the other.  Father Ramirez’s white clerical collar was the only piece of clothing left intact from the dirt and debris blowing around him, a beacon of white hope in this vast and hopeless desert.  “Are we there yet?”  The priest coughed out the last words.    Duke squinted through the sandstorm before them and saw the yellow beam of the fallen girder in the distance, just barely cutting through the swath of dust slicing through the air.  He nodded his head – as always, barely taking the time to speak when he could just nod – and lead his fellows towards the rubble.  MaryAnn tossed her heels away and stumbled forward barefoot, giving up on holding her wide-bottomed gown off the ground either.  She did wish that she had her fan, at least to block the wind from her face and protect the mascara she was certain was ruined now.    The gunslinger arrived first, his shotgun at the ready, and quickly surveyed the scene. Suspended from the fallen i-beam was the skull of a bull-like creature, swaying heavily and teetering to one side.  The tiny particles of sand bounced against the metal of this fallen structure and added to the cacophony of noise already encompassing this realm.  While these structures were no longer intact, they did not seem to be of the time he knew of.  Metal bars jutted out of broken stone in huge piles too massive to have been erected by man, and the scattered remains of the horseless carriages in the far lot told him that this realm was meant to have been from a far-off time. While he could barely make it out, Duke was certain the remains of a city were off in the distance.    Waving the party forward, Duke raised the shotgun up to his shoulder level and proceeded ahead of the others.  Father Ramirez stepped around Richard and MaryAnn to fall behind the gunslinger, a consistent prayer whispered in Spanish.  The priest heard the sound just before Duke suddenly crouched down, and held the cross forward above his head.  MaryAnn also ducked to the ground, while Richard remained standing as he was, well aware of the unannounced noise that came from so dangerous a place.  It was like the flapping of gigantic wings, loud and reverberating, coming from behind a pile of concrete up ahead.  When the noise continued on without any motion from behind the pile, Duke turned to MaryAnn and tilted his head towards the direction of the sound.  The young woman sighed, rolled her eyes, and backtracked from where they came to move around the yellow girders and work her way around the pile of concrete rubble to see what was on the other side.    “I am not dressed for this,” she mumbled to herself as she hurried.  There was no activity to meet her as she worked through the wreckage, but knew that the shifting sand at her feet would simply blow over and mask any previous tracks if there were “hosts” waiting for them.  All the same, she knew better and drew the derringer from the holster around her thigh.    Finding a drop in the massive pile of debris, MaryAnn peered through and saw what had caused the noise.  A large sign, jarred loose from the wind that seemed eternal in this place, flapped back and forth.  Its centre was still attached to the frame, but the sides were loose and created the sound of wings.  Breathing a sigh of relief, MaryAnn lowered her pistol and turned back towards the others… when a new sound caught her keen ears.  Hissing laughter.    For a moment, her body did not move.  Her lungs did not take in air.  She was already leaned against the concrete and the sandy gust offered her plenty of concealment from the figures winding around the corner towards her.  Their silhouettes were small, but with elongated limbs and pointed extremities.  They had tiny wings, but they didn’t look strong enough to support their own weight to fly them away.  They were demons of some kind and they coming straight towards her.    In the split second of time she had, MaryAnn knew the derringer was risky.  There was likely more of these creatures and the sound of gunfire would only draw them out.  While she held it in her hand, she slowly reached up with the other and withdrew the needle slung through the bun of her hair, grasping it firmly as the demon pair walked right past her, thinking her as nothing more than the rubble she knelt next to.    Spinning around, she dug the needle through the small of the first demon’s back and clubbed the back of its head with the derringer.  While it fell to the ground face first, the second demon turned to face her, too surprised to be prepared for her next attack.  Snapping the pistol into its nose, she heard cartilage break and crack into the demon’s brain, killing it instantly.  She didn’t wait, however, and high kicked it onto its back, striking the same place as her first blow.  In a fighting stance, the blood-soaked needle and splattered derringer in hand, she looked at her victims and relaxed when none of them made a sound again.    Duke spat on the ground, having seen the whole thing.  At the front of the party, and with the blowing sand around them, no one could see the grin slip over his face.  Graceful as always, he thought, there was something more to her than just being a whore when they first met.  Hell, he’d be dead if it wasn’t for her.  Tied up in a lasso of holding, he had no way to defend himself from the four rustlers who had come to collect the bounty on him, but none of them had thought anything of the prostitute in the far corner of the room.  Not only was she impressive to watch, killing four armed professionals with her bare hands, but she was naked when she did it too.  Duke grinned again, adjusted his hat, and waved the party forward.    “Nice work,” he said, meeting up with MaryAnn.  “What cha got?”    “Just a sign,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders.  “Seems empty.”    “Oh, yes,” a new, yet familiar, voice replied.  “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”    As the party stepped back and formed a defensive circle, their backs turned to each other, they watched as the wind suddenly dissipated and the sand melted into the ground.  The wreckage was gone and in its place stood the original structures, intact and clean.  The barrage of wind was now replaced with children laughing, whistles chiming, and balloons popping.  The pile of concrete was now a two-storey building with a large sign suspended above it: Funington’s.    “It’s an amusement park,” Father Ramirez narrated.  His disbelief was the same as the others, but it was Richard’s that quickly turned to focused attention.    “Dick?” the gunslinger hissed at the spellcaster.    “An illusion, not to worry.”  No sooner had he spoken did two young girls race past him in a slide that wound down the hill behind Richard, screaming with glee, but causing such a fright in the spellcaster that he shrieked out himself.  Turning back to his comrades, he tried to hide the blushed look on his face by holding the walking stick upright to push up the rim on his bowler.    “Aren’t they a delight?” the voice spoke again, now to their left.  Sliding on their heels, the party formed a line to face the creature and dreaded to see what they already suspected.    Seated atop a huge ball of multi-colored yarn, a single Cheshire cat asleep at its base, was an elderly woman.  Her long nose and beady eyes glanced up from her knitting, her elbows raised high to shoulder length, they could see the four arms busy at work on the long green scarf forming a trail far into the background.  The commotion of the park continued on around her, none of the families seemingly aware of the adventurers or the old woman who created this world for them.    “Azraeil,” Duke said, breaking the silence after a long pause.      “Hello, dearie,” the old woman waved with one of her hands.  “Oh my, you’re all dirty from the trip.  Shall I make you a cup of tea?”    “We shall take nothing from you, you demon bitch!” Father Ramirez cursed.  “Except for the girl.  Return her to us or else.”    The old woman shook her head slowly and tisked aloud.  “Oh, my, my, my.  You’re quite upset about this, aren’t you?  Seems like you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to come all the way here to my home and now you’ve got to use all those nasty weapons you brought with you.”    Before the old woman could barely finish her sentence, a thunderous blast rocked the park and the old woman was thrown back from her seat of yarn.  The cat awoke and hissed, running off into the bushes nearby.  When the echo of the blast faded away, Duke stood with the shotgun at his side, thin wisps of smoke rising from the twin barrels.    “Yup,” he replied.    A hand grabbed hold of a thread of pink yarn at the top of the ball and the old woman slowly pulled herself back up, hooting and grunting like the image she portrayed herself to be.  As she propped herself back to her original position, the double burst of the shotgun was spread across, and through, her chest.  Blood and flesh dripped and hung from the orifice, and her pastel blue sweater was completely ruined.  Looking down at the mess caused by the dreadful weapon, she shook her head once more and chuckled.    “Oh, dear, and my favorite sweater too.”  When she looked back up the party, her eyes had changed.  Gone were the pleasant beads of dark brown.  Globes of hot red anger stared back at them from the darkness of her soul.  “Now you’ve made me angry.”    The giant ball of yarn she sat upon was torn away to unleash a horde of mixed demons – large, small, fanged, winged, horned, clawed, bipedal, serpentine, and more combinations than could be captured in the brief second the adventurers had to gaze the scene and defend themselves as the demons poured over them.    Dropping the shotgun to the ground, Duke reached to his hips and unleashed the twin six shooters, complete with blessed bullets.  Pulling back the hammer and squeezing the trigger with such ease that could only come with years of experience, the gunslinger downed six demons himself before having to pull back behind Richard to reload, already with the cylinder of new bullets in hand.    Richard raised his walking stick to the air and summoned the runes of protection around him and his troupe.  As the demon horde rushed forward, their limbs burned as they passed over the Latin words etched into the soil.  Pulling back, the demons hissed and scratched in the air, searching for a way past the invisible barrier.    Holding the cross in the air, Father Ramirez called out in a bellowing voice: “The power of Christ compels you!!”  Repeating this over and over, the padre extradited the holy power of God across the park, pushing the demons back even further.  The white light radiating from the priest burned their eyes, and they were further made helpless as the additional horde that continued to pour from the ball of yarn began to push them forward.    Seeing the mob of demons pushing those at the front of the formation closer to the ruins and the incantations of the priest, MaryAnn reached into the pockets concealed under her dress and tossed out three glass balls of holy water, given to her by Father Ramirez before they left.  Smashing on their forearms and heads, the acidic touch of the water to the spawn of Evil burned deep and splashed over enough demons to expose them to further harm.    Now reloaded, Duke continued to fire a volley of sanctified bullets into the demon horde, who were unable to drive themselves any further against the double blockade of magic and prayer before them. Taking quick aim, the gunslinger blew holes in their heads and dropped them quickly.  With the magic endowed into the pistols themselves, many of the gunslinger’s shots passed into another demon after exploding through the first. To complete the attack, Richard fired a volley of searing white-hot missiles at the demons, the skill of his spell striking each demon he took aim at.    Lashing out from an unexpected corner, a green scarf whipped over the circle of protection and grabbed Richard by the throat.  Wrapping itself tight, the tail yanked Richard away from the circle and dragged him across the green grass of the park, his screams fading out of earshot.  The markings etched in the grass poofed out of the sight.  Professional to the second, Duke continued firing at the demons and stood himself in front of Father Ramirez, ready to guard the priest should the scarf return.  The priest continued his prayers, holding the demons at bay, when the scarf came back.    Another shot rang out and the single shell of the derringer’s bullet pierced the threading.  Pulling back, the scarf slithered back to its master and molted back to the giant ball of yarn made by the elderly woman, her face scorned with anger.    “ENOUGH!!” she screeched, waving her four arms in the air, and the demons halted their pathetic assault.  Cowering behind the ball of yarn, they allowed their master to be visible before the remaining party.  Duke had finished reloading his right pistol, cocked the hammer back, and took aim at the woman herself.    “Give us what we came fer and we’re gone,” he commanded.  “Nice and slow.”    “And Richard too,” MaryAnn corrected.    “Yeah.  What the hell.”  Duke spat.    She seemed to ponder her options at the moment until the elderly woman finally smiled and shrugged her shoulders.  “Oh well then.  Win some, lose some, I guess.”  With that, two of her arms parted to the side and the ball of yarn opened vertically like a gaping maw.    Meanwhile, tucked behind Duke’s body, Father Ramirez reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the stick of dynamite and a matchbook.  This was the time, he knew, for them to make their escape plan.    The yarn lay open for an eternity before Duke called out the girl’s name.  When there was no answer, he opted for another tactic instead.  Pulling the trigger, he grazed the elderly woman’s shoulder and pulled back the hammer before she could retaliate with one of her many abilities.    ‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” he snarled and made a clear motion of pointing the barrel of the pistol at her head.    “Papa…” a meek voice called out from inside the yarn and a pair of thin, pale arms grabbed the edges of the gaping maw.  Without taking his aim away from the target, Duke watched as his daughter crawled out, weak and tired.    “Isabelle?” the gunslinger called out.  “C’mere, girl.  Quick.”    Running into her father, the young girl embraced Duke with enough force to choke him, but he retained his aim on the old woman.  MaryAnn took hold of Isabelle and wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her away from her father.    “And now that you have her,” the old woman began, her voice suddenly taking on a whole new meaning of menace, “how do you plan to leave?”  As if by mental direction, the remaining demons began to advance once more, drooling at the prospects of the free meal.    “Padre,” was all Duke said and Father Ramirez tossed the lit stick of dynamite over the gunslinger’s shoulder and straight into the open pit of the ball of yarn.  Leaping away from the old woman, the adventurers just hit the ground when the dynamite exploded and the screams of the old woman tore through the air.    As the powder inside the stick ignited, the form of the old woman suddenly changed and the bits of colored yarn became singed pieces of demon flesh.  The ball of yarn became a bulbous torso attached to the clawed, four-armed form of the true master of this Abyssal plain, Azraeil.  What was once the impossibly long green scarf was now the impossibly long scaled tail, drooping lifelessly to the ground with a choking Richard yanking it off his neck.  Collapsing to the ground, her demon minions scattered and thrown across the park by the force of the explosion, Azraeil was motionless.  Only her top half remained when the smoke cleared and the pleasant illusion of the park faded back into the windy debris of the future world they had arrived to.    Picking themselves off the ground, once again covered in red sand, Duke spat on the ground and flicked a chunk of Azraeil’s guts off his shoulder.    “Now that’s what I call ugly…”</blockquote>

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