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Jason Davis

I am a Marshal of the Lawmen. Justice is my Mandate, the Law is my Creed. And I will strike down, with great vengence and furious anger, all those who would oppose me. For I am a Lawman, and I am the Law.

0 · 315 views · located in Aldoria

a character in “Lock, Stock & Barrel - Guns of Aldoria”, as played by Screwface Romeo

Groups

The Real One

Description

Full Name: Marshal Jason "Jas" Hannibal Davis
Alignment: Lawful Good
Faction: The Lawmen



Physical Description
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Jason is compact and stocky, possessing a wrestler's build with a long torso and broad shoulders, but slightly shorter legs. Still, as a short Gunslinger he is roughly of average height for a normal human. He has fair skin and sandy hair, with thin, scraggly stubble along his jaw and a close-cropped, unruly mess on his head. He has the silver-grey eyes of a Gunslinger, as well as the beginnings of what will become a web of silver lines as his power increases, extending along his dominant left arm from his gun hand. Aside from that, he is relatively ordinary looking, with decidedly average features, a smallish nose and a narrow jaw. The most noticeable trait, however, is his bearing; Jason walks and stands with conviction and determination, and bears the stamp of honesty and pride as clearly as any scar or tattoo.

Personality
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Jason Davis is young, idealistic and slightly naive. He is a bit shy, and unused to dealing with people outside of a professional setting. Nevertheless, he is very determined and strong-willed, even if his goals are a bit unrealistic, and cares deeply about the people of Aldoria. He is courageous to the point of foolishness, and unwilling to back down from a fight, or refuse a challenge. Obsessed with Justice, fairness, and honor, he refuses to take advantage of an opponent, and would consider a victory achieved through trickery or deceit no victory at all. This puts him at something of a disadvantage against more pragmatic opponents, who are willing to take full advantage of his fairness, with no intention of repaying it.

History
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Born in Chreston, a small desert village under the protection of the Lawmen, Jason was the son of famous Master Gunsmith and retired Judge Hannibal Davis. Hannibal was a tough man, and not particularly experienced in the ways of parenting, or expressing his emotions. Having lost his mother to a bandit raid before he could walk, Jason was left to be raised by Hannibal alone. As a result, his childhood was a valuable experience, but not a particularly enjoyable one. Groomed by his father to be a Lawman from a young age, Jason didn't have many friends, and spent more time in the desert, learning to survive and fight, or buried in a book. When he turned 18, Hannibal payed a lot of money (and called in a lot of favors) to send him to the Republic for university. Though Jason valued the unparalleled education he received, he was less than pleased with the social life. Looked down on by the other students for coming from the wastes, and considered an ignorant barbarian by most Republicans, he left Kryssia with a distinct distaste for the upper classes, and a renewed determination to join the Lawmen and fight for the poor and the voiceless.

When he returned home, he discovered that his father had provided him with just the tool for the job. Hannibal had sacrificed himself to create a chance for his son that he himself had never had: a Legendary Gun, the Paladin. Immaculately crafted, with all of the love and concern Hannibal had born for his son, but never quite managed to show, the Paladin recognized and Chose Jason the moment he put his hand on it. Newly bonded, Jason applied to join the Lawmen, and after four years of training, he was given the badge of a Sheriff.

Armed with his father's masterpiece and the best education and training in the wastes, Jason set out, determined to bring Justice to Aldoria. What he found, was somewhat different than he had expected. Far from the all-powerful saviors he'd read about in stories and comic books, the Lawmen were stretched thin, poorly equipped, barely funded and largely ineffective. For every killer they hung, for every thief they clapped in irons, ten more sprung up that they didn't have the resources to deal with. Jason had never considered the involvement of money or supplies in saving the wasteland, but once actually out in it, he found the lack of these things stymieing him at every turn. Frustrated, he applied to be transferred to the Marshals, who were less restricted by supply chains, and more free to enforce Justice by tracking down fugitives. Though normally reserved for much more experienced Gunslingers, the Marshals accepted Jason in light of his enhanced healing factor, and his father's reputation.

As one of the youngest Marshals in history, Jason is now about to set out on his first mission.

Signature Weapon(s) & Equipment
_________________________________________________________


Signature Gun: Paladin 226 Longslide Custom
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Creator: Master Gunsmith Hannibal R. Davis
Attributes & Powers: Enhances Gunslinger healing abilities, allows wielder to generate a unidirectional force shield that can deflect attacks based on the user's power level.
Base Weapon: SIG-Sauer P226 X-Five Tactical
Caliber & Ammunition: .40 Super Auto (10x25mm), explosive-tipped armor-piercing rounds.
Action: Mechanically Locked, Recoil Operated. Single/Double Action.
Magazine: 20 round Extended Double-Stack Detachable Box
History: Crafted by Jason's father, Hannibal, the Paladin Longslide Custom was designed specifically for Jason. Hannibal Davis was a Lawman before taking up gunsmithing, known for his compassion and willingness to sacrifice anything if it meant saving one innocent life. His spirit inhabits the Paladin, giving it the ability to generate a protective shield that can defend others as well as the wielder from otherwise devastating attacks, shielding people in death as he did in life, though it rapidly depletes the wielder's mental focus and energy. As a result of Hannibal's love for and desire to protect his son, the Paladin also enhances Jason's healing abilities, putting him on par with much more powerful Gunslingers in his capacity for punishment.

So far, Jason is the only person to possess the Paladin.


Additional Equipment

-Standard Lawman Marshal uniform, plus ceramic plate vest, armored gloves, leather hat and glacier glasses.
-Left-hand crossdraw holster for Paladin Longslide Custom, handcrafted leather.
-Ammunition carrying rig for 12 magazines (240 rounds), handcrafted leather.
-Bowie knife with handcrafted leather belt sheath, 12 inches.
-Handcrafted leather belt with 7 assorted pouches for miscellaneous gear.
-Mark XIV Rancher Carbine, 7x46mm, with 4x scope.
-Canteen.
-Lawman issue backpack for food, ammunition and assorted salvage.
-Windproof lighter.
-"Leatherman" multitool.
-Yuko-Kenson QTP-2066 utility tablet & comlink.

Powers and Abilities
_________________________________________________________

Jason, as a very young, and relatively weak Gunslinger, doesn't have much in the way of powers. Beyond the standard Gunslinger toolset, he can;

- Heal much more rapidly than someone of his power level normally would
- Generate a powerful, unidirectional forcefield that can deflect attacks from both himself and anyone behind the shield

So begins...

Jason Davis's Story

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Memphis, 15:00 Hours, July 20th - 887

The sun beat down over the desert, the heat descending in great waves of suffocating force as a single motorcycle roared across the flats, trailing a great cloud of dust behind it. The bike sputtered and coughed, spitting out gouts of black smoke which drifted and commingled with the dust as it crested a rise and speed down towards the town below.

The bike slowed as it entered the town, purring and sputtering as it traversed the dirt roads, weaving in-between houses on its way toward the broad street that constituted the center of town. Coming to rest by a hitching post, the little engine coughed and died as the rider swung stiffly off, wiping the thickly caked dust from his sunglasses and shaking like a wet dog to dislodge the sand from his clothes. He unzipped the top of his jacket, and pulled down the bandana that covered his mouth and nose, spitting into the dirt as he worked the gloves off his hands and tucked them into his pocket. Reaching into his saddlebags, he pulled out a heavy chain and lashed the bike to the hitching post, then, shifting the battered rifle slung over his back, he pulled the water and gas cans off the bike and headed for the general store.

The store was almost deserted. There were one or two people milling about in the aisles, and three sitting at one of the tables in the corner, eating something that looked like chicken but probably wasn't. The store manager, looking extremely bored, was wiping down a lever action rifle behind the counter. The man from the desert walked up to the counter and set his cans down with a clank.

"Can I help you?" The manager said, setting the rifle down on a buckskin cloth and turning to face him.

"Jason Davis, Marshal. I need clean water and unleaded fuel. Also, three boxes of .280 Borchart and a trigger job on my carbine, if you do that sort of thing"

"Fuel and water I can do. .280 Borchart too. Lemme see the gun"

Jason unslung the rifle and handed it over the counter.

"Trigger's been getting creepy. Doesn't break cleanly, like it used to" he explained. The manager removed the magazine and cleared the rifle, then pulled back the bolt and inspected the bore.

"You'll need a new trigger. The tangs get worn down on these sometimes, it's a common problem on wasteland-made guns. That's gunna cost you. And it'll take time"

"Money is not a problem. Lawmen will cover it. I assume you have an outpost here? Give me a receipt and I'll stop by and tell them to pay you. Time is an issue, though. I'm in pursuit of a dangerous fugitive. How long will it take?"

"Don't bother, I'll give the Sheriff the bill myself. We get our share of Lawmen out here. As for your trigger... eh, shouldn't be more than a day. I've got a gunsmith who makes these carbines, he should be able to turn one out for ya, if he ain't drunk or asleep. The inn down the way boards Lawmen for free. You can get a room there, and I'll send my boy to get you when the gun's ready. You can pick up your other supplies then too"

"Alright. I guess it'll have to do... Thank you, sir"

Jason straightened up, and turned to leave.

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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"Have a nice..." The manager started, only to be interrupted by a gunshot. Jason pricked up instantly, and ran for the door, thumbing the strap on his holster and drawing the Paladin as he went. Skidding to a halt outside the store, he scanned the street. There, a saloon across from him, the source of the gunshot. And, according to his ESP, two medium-level auras that could only belong to Gunslingers.

He trotted across the street, and stopped alongside the door to the saloon. There was a Deputy there, holding a levergun grimly.

"Sheriff's in there. Some asshole got shot, from the sound of it... Sir" The deputy drawled, nodding his head through the door at the back room.

"Thank you. I'm going to assist" Jason said, and strode through the main hall, propping himself alongside the door to the back room. Steeling himself, he snapped off the Paladin's safety, and stepped around the splintered remains of the door.

There were two people in the room, three if you counted the corpse that was currently repainting the floor a nice shade of red. One, a woman who was obviously the Sheriff, was leveling a shotgun at the other. Judging by it's aura, this was clearly her signature. The other... man? was talking very fast and still holding his gun, a very large revolver. Jason narrowed his eyes, and raised the Paladin.

"Marshal Davis, Lawmen. Allow me to clarify; set the cannon on the floor, kick it over to me, and put your hands behind your head. In that order, nice and slow" he barked, placing his finger inside the trigger guard. "Now, joker, or I'll vent your head" Jason pulled the trigger gently, letting the hammer click into half-cock.

Above Memphis, 15:07 Hours July 20 - 887

Dust particles floated softly through the cabin, glowing briefly as they drifted through the shafts of light emerging from the gaps between the slats of the vent. The soldier swallowed, shifting his gunbelt and wiping his brow as he stepped through the door. Across the small metal room, directly beneath the vent, was the Black Rider. He sat cross legged, long hands dangling between his knees, hat pulled low over his face. He was perfectly still, not even his clothes moving. A fly landed on one of his fingers, crawling along the glove, then took off and buzzed out the vent. The Black Rider seemed to suck the life out of the room, his tattered black leather duster so dark that it practically absorbed the light. The only light about him was the faint silver glow that peeked out between the cracks and tears in his gloves and sleeves, and the gleam of the delicate silver patterns inlaid in the black ivory grips of his revolvers, barely visible amidst the blackness of his shirt and vest.

Suddenly, the soldier felt terrified, as though his life was being sucked straight out of him, into that terrible blackness. He considered turning around, fleeing, throwing himself from the side of the airship. Anything, even death, was better than remaining in that eerie, silent, empty room with the Black Rider. Then the Rider raised his head.

His face was dead, blueish white, with silver and black tracings, like veins, creeping up from beneath his collar and twining up his neck to stop along the edges of his vistage. His beard and eyebrows were jet black, and his eyes were sunken beneath a heavy, craggy brow. His lips parted slowly, as a single, pristine white cigarette emerged from the depths of his duster, and settled itself onto his lower lip, bursting to life as he closed his mouth around it. He sucked deeply, the ember glowing brightly, and allowed a whiff of smoke to exit his nose as he opened his eyes. They were entirely silver, without a trace of white or black in them, and shone like tiny moons, gazing directly through the soldier’s soul.

All thought of running, or hiding, or suicide suddenly disappeared from the man’s mind. In that instant, all the soldier wanted was to do exactly what the Black Rider wanted.

“You have something to tell me” The Rider rumbled. It was not a question, but a statement.

“We have arrived. Sir. The airshi..” The soldier said, abruptly, without thinking.

“Is within sight of the town. I know” The Rider stood up, slowly rising to his full height until he towered over the soldier “you can go now”

The soldier turned on his heels and left. As he exited the Rider’s gaze, all of the terror he had felt before came flooding back, and he ran headlong down the hall, boots clicking on the floor like a frenzied typewriter, until he reached the bridge. He stood there, outside the door, shaking, and swearing that he’d get off this hell-ship at the next damn port. He didn’t even want his pay anymore.

...


The black airship emerged from the depths of the duststorm, bearing down on the unsuspecting town like a great stormcloud. Her funnels belched fumes and smoke which drifting along her sides, obscuring the cabin from view, but a keen observer would notice the lines of firing ports, and the long, black barrels of bombardment cannon that lined the ship’s flanks. She flew no flag, but the skeleton lashed to the bow, sandblasted clean by the storm and dressed in the tattered clothes of a Lawman Sheriff, was all the flag she needed.

Deep in the ship’s belly, the deck swarmed with activity as men slid down ladders, pulled open lockers and removed weapons from them. They strapped on bulletproof vests, crammed helmets and wide brimmed hats over their heads, draped themselves in dusters and jackets and cloaks, tattered and torn by the desert. They wore sunglasses, goggles, even simple glare masks made by cutting slits in a piece of plastic, anything to protect their eyes from the sand and sun. Their weapons were of every make, model and year conceivable. Men jammed shells into the tubes of lever action rifles, while others beside them rocked magazines into battered Kalashnikovs. They carried pistols, rifles, shotguns and mare’s legs.

As the ship drifted over the town, they surged towards the edges of the bay like a great flood of black and brown, seizing the ropes that fell from the ceiling and dropping down through the deck, towards the town below, yelling and crowing like madmen released from the asylum.

The setting changes from Memphis to Aldoria

Setting

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Drust Arthfael Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Falron
((Sorry for my inactivity. Website didn't want to work.))

Image





Cena's eyes narrowed, jaw set as the man started to talking, she was tempted to shoot him just to shut him up. She opened her mouth to reply, to tell him to stop being such as smart ass and just do as he was told. But before she could reply to him she felt rather than heard another person enter the room. Her eyes flicked momentarily in the direction of the person, instantly taking in the Marshall uniform.

She tensed just a fraction more, was she really going to be shown up in her own town? Her gaze locked on the weapon in the man's hands. Breathing deeply through her nose she turned her attention back at the man opposite them. Jason spoke, his voice demanding to be listened to. It was something that Cena was still getting the hang of if she was honest. Though you would never catch her admitting that.

She watched the man, finger tensed on the trigger. Would he do as he was told? Surely he wouldn't dare to fire his weapon, not with two gunslingers opposite him. Even with his own signature weapon by his side, he wouldn't last long should he decide to fire. She could feel the beginnings of a smirk tug at her lips. It would be over quickly.

Her ears seemed to twitch, sounding erupting from above them, muffled slightly by the building. People were yelling, like demons let loose out of hell. The sound became louder and if her ears weren't deceiving her the sound of people sliding down ropes. Her eyes widened with shock, what was going on? Her eyes flicked once more to the Marshall as she said, "You make the arrest, I'll look at what's going on outside."

Without another word she lowered Prometheus and raced out of the room and into the street, noting a man running down the street towards her office. She looked up at the vessel and noticed the skeleton almost instantly. This wasn't good. She ran after the man, yelling "Hey! You! Do you know what's going on?"

She looked back up at the airship, feeling her stomach churn slightly, why were they here? What did they want? She could sense an incredibly powerful aura emanating from the vessel. They'd have to be careful.

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Daichi Nagasaki

"Seriously? Are you really going to arrest me? What happened he- ..Is that an Airship?" Daich stopped mid sentence, hearing the roaring of the airships engine as the female lawman sprinted out of the Saloon. Without a second thought Daichi quickly turned around and began slowly walking towards Tyler's body, bending down and pulling the revolver out of his cold, dead hands. ((Assuming Jason doesn't immediately gun him down by this point that is.))

Daichi then holstered trigger and began to slowly spin the cylinder of the revolver he had just picked up, checking the rounds and mumbling various things to himself. "Airship.. Airship.. Airship.. Why is it flying so low? Is it crashing? No.. No it can't be crashing.. It's hovering.. Staying in one place.. One place... One pla-"

Daich's eyes widened and he slowly turned his head around to look back at the young Lawmen who was most likely yelling various things at him at this point. "Right. Okay. I don't mean to alarm you, but this nice little town is under attack. I don't know about you, but I don't know many regular bandit's that own airships and i'm willing to bet there will an army of guys dropping in any second now, if they haven't already. So, if it's okay with you, I would like to get in a good position before the bullets start flying. You can even follow me around with that gun pointed at my back as I get into a good position." Daichi stated, talking extremely quickly as usual and pausing briefly to inhale a large breath of air before talking once again.

"Or, you can can continue to try and arrest me and we can have a nice little gunfight in here, while there's a huge gunfight outside. It would be like a gunfight within a gunfight. So yeah, awaiting your orders."


((Short post once again. I'm really sorry. There's just really not much I can do besides talk, even walking over to pick up that gun was really, really pushing it. Hopefully Jason realizes Daichi wasn't trying to do him any harm when he turned around and picked up the gun, or he can not realize at all and shoot Daichi in the back. That works too I guess. Oh and uh, sorry about this taking so long. I haven't had much time to RP recently.))

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Drust Arthfael Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Jason's brow twitched. This criminal talked too much. And he was annoying, too. He had a sudden urge to shoot the man in the back, but swallowed it.

"The Law permits... temporary lenience in extraordinary circumstances" He placed his thumb on the hammer and lowered it back into safe. "Come. This town is too small to warrant an airship route. I smell bandits"

He turned, keeping half an eye on the other man to ensure he wouldn't try anything. He broke into a light run as they entered the main room of the saloon, beckoning the deputy to follow. They could hear sounds of gunfire from outside, the crackles of Kalashnikovs interspersed with the occasional boom of a shotgun or the sharp crack of a battle rifle.

It was chaos outside, the bandits had wasted no time in turning the town upside-down. Bodies littered the streets, and what bandits where not occupied with dragging people and things out of houses were busy stripping the dead and dying of anything valuable. One bandit was yanking the boots off of a man while another pulled at the headset around his brow, and two more were busy kicking a boy who had pulled a gun on them. Jason snarled in disgust. These men were little better than animals, rotten through with whiskey and every manner of narcotic known to humanity, and fueled only by lust and greed. To kill them was a mercy.

He raised his pistol, bringing his off hand up to cup the bottom of the grip, and started firing in short, controlled bursts of two or three shots. The two kickers went down first, the explosive .40 caliber slugs blasting fist-sized holes in their torsos. Turning, he gunned down two more who had noticed him and were raising weapons. One bandit brought a lever action rifle to bear and fired, the ball taking Jason through the shoulder. Grunting with pain, his gun arm limp, he reached around, seized his shoulder and yanked it back into place with a crunch. The skin and muscle knitted back together in seconds, the bullet toppling to the dirt. The bandit chambered a fresh round, but before he could shoot, Jason put a round through his neck. Failing to encounter enough resistance to detonate, the bullet passed clean through and struck another bandit, killing him instantly.

A hail of bullets erupted in their direction from a group of AM-toting bandits who had rounded a corner, splintering and ricocheting off Jason's armor and killing the deputy. Jason dropped to the ground, rolling up behind a stack of crates, and unloaded on the bandits. Rifles clattered to the dirt, followed by their owners as the Paladin spoke. Jason fired at another bandit who had managed to get to cover, but missed, the bullet striking a house as his pistol locked open on an empty magazine. Cursing, he ejected the spent mag and snapped a fresh one in, thumbing the slide release as he scooped up the old magazine and thrust it into his pocket.

"There's too many of them! We need a better position!" He yelled, firing a few quick suppressing shots. "My kingdom for some covering fire!"

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Ein Glassville Character Portrait: Drust Arthfael Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Shiki29
Ein was not tired. His hat was in a case on his motorcycle, and the wind blowing in his face made him feel free. It offset the heat of the day. Ein's manner of dress didn't particularly bother him. All the black clothing would likely make ordinary people sweat a lot, but Ein didn't have a problem with them. Throughout this current mission, he was to deliver a pack of weapons to a buyer. This was simple, the weapons were standard, and they were not even modified. The buyer was trusted, and the entire job was going well. The only thing he had a slight problem with was the distance. Luckily, Memphis was on the way, as a rest-stop. Ein was looking forward to it. Memphis was relatively nice town, and things should be good. That was what he thought until only a short bit later.

Ein drove into the city to find chaos. There was an airship over the city, and Ein could see hooligans entering the city from ropes on the airship. Ein, amid all this chaos, could feel the presence of other gunslingers. 4, to be exact. Another in the airship. Ein was glad he didn't miss the party, except that he had a job to do.However, he wanted a rest-stop after traveling for so long, and 5 gunslingers existing in the same town at once was a good opportunity to see if any of them could help him with his goal. Well, whatever. Ein passed through the streets until he got closer to the center of town, near the sheriff's office, before he decided that there was too much fire there. It was like a warzone. Ein was used to warzones, but he did not like them. Too noisy. Ein slowed down significantly, and turned around, about to curtail it out of there, before deciding against that. Ein wanted to help these people, since un-armed civilians were being attacked. Ein turned again, and his handgun. Ein charged forward, his motorcycle aimed at somewhere there would not likely be civilians, and he leaped off of it, using the momentum to carry him and his foot into the face of one of the bandits. His motorcycle's onboard computer made the conclusion that Ein was no longer riding it, and so it slowed down and stopped after adjusting itself for balance.

Ein slid on his feet until he stopped moving. The bandit was out cold. Ein moved his body to one side, avoiding the path of a bullet before it could hit him. The bullet nearly knocked the glasses off of Ein's face, to which Ein fired at the assailant's hands that held the weapon, crippling him. Ein had no idea what was going on, but he thought it was better to not kill these bandits. Not yet, anyway. Ein dodged a knife aimed at his throat from the side, feeling the footsteps of the bandit behind him, as he delivered an uppercut with his free hand to the bandit's jaw, knocking him off of his feet. The knife flew into the air, but Ein caught it before it was out of reach, and he stabbed downward with the knife, aiming it right so as to pin both of the hands of the bandit to the ground with one knife. No more danger from this one. That was when Ein heard the rallying call from the direction of a gunslinger, through the sounds of the battle. A demand for covering fire was made, and Ein couldn't help but follow a diplomatic effort. Teamwork makes good partners. Or even friends. Whatever the case, Ein decided to reciprocate. He had just the thing.

Ein holstered his weapon, boarded his motorcycle again, and brought from one of the containers on it's side a device the size and shape of an assault rifle. With one hand for steering, Ein sped towards the area of the Gunslinger calling for covering fire. The man was hiding behind cover, hiding from a couple of goods with bigs guns. Looking closer, Ein saw the detail on the gun the man was carrying. Ein could tell that this was a gunslinger's gun. A hoard of the group of bandit's was approaching. Ein aimed the assault rifle-like device with one hand, and it unfolded. It's tip was like a crossbow, but with a horizontal and vertical limb that seemed to join at the middle, with enough room for the projectile to go down the barrel. Ein smiled, pushed his glasses up, and fired at the ground in front of the approaching hoard. He hoped there would not be too many casualties. He was trying to avoid them. Maybe the smoke from the explosive would disorient them. The noise was loud too. Well, whatever.

"Cover your ears!" Ein shouted, as he fired the weapon. The round arced, as the weapon was like an over-sized grenade launcher. It had good range, though. It was more like hand-held artillery. And the blast radius was wide. The round hit the ground, and the resulting boom shook the street. Behind the smoke, Ein could barely see the disoriented bandits. Hopefully that one gunslinger was ok. The explosion should have alerted everyone in the area, too.

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Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Ein Glassville Character Portrait: Drust Arthfael Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Bandits had begun to hit ground. In a quick motion, Drust unsheathed his blade, preparing for the battle. He could see the Sherriff's office. He was only about thirty meters away when two bandits rounded a corner wielding shotguns. They opened fire immediately, but they were too slow. Al they hit was a wisp of shadows as Drust teleported behind them. In one swift motion, he decapitated them both. As they slumped to the ground, Drust continued towards the office.

As he approached, a woman came running from the saloon asking if he knew what was going on. Upon inspection she appeared to be the sheriff. "No idea, honey, but we need to do somethin' about it." In those few short moments bandits had swarmed the area attacking anyone and everyone. Three bullets tore through Drust's chest and he dropped to a knee for a moment. As his wounds started to heal, he teleported next to the sheriff and pinpointed his attackers. They weren't too far away. Before they could make there next shots, Drust's left hand went under his cloak and he hurled two knives, sticking them in the throat.

Drust could hear one of the other Slingers behind him taking out other bandits and a few more rounded a corner carrying AMs. As they began to unload, Drust grabbed the sheriff and teleported them inside her office. Drust heard a call for covering fire from outside. A few moments later there was a loud sound and smoke filled the streets. Adjusting the pack on his back, he turned to the sheriff, asking, "What's the plan boss lady?"

The setting changes from Aldoria to Memphis

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Ein Glassville Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Daichi Nagasaki

Daichi followed behind the lawman as he walked out of the back room and headed out of the front door. The Lawman immediately began opening fire and downed a few bandits. Daichi then immediately turned and casually strolled back into the saloon, walking up to one of the tables situated around the bar area and sitting down on top of it, he then placed the small revolver he held in his left hand on the table and began digging through the pockets of his duster.

Bullets immediately began to tear holes through the walls of the Saloon as the gunfight erupted from outside. "Now.. where did I put that.. Ah!" Daichi thought, finally pulling out a small paper bag out of one of his pockets and dumping a muffin out of the bag as bullets whizzed by his head.

Daichi quickly pulled his facemask down, picked the muffin up off of the table, opened his mouth and began raising the muffin towards it, just as he was about to take a bite out of the muffin a bullet ripped through it, entered his jaw, completely shattered his jaw bone and then came out the other side, turning the muffin into dust and his jaw into mush.

"Eghh!" Was all Daichi could get out as blood gushed all over the table he was sitting on and his jaw crunched as the bone began to reform and his skin regrew.

He then spit out a large mouthful of blood, raised his hand up to his jaw and slowly popped it back into place, pulling his facemask back up, picking the small revolver up off the table, and then began sprinting towards the front door of the saloon

Coincidentally, the man on the motorbike came by just before Daichi burst through the front door and fired the erm.. Stun.. rocket.. thing at a large group of bandits and Daichi was greeted with a large cloud of dust and a bunch of disoriented bandits.

((I'm going to assume that there's a medium sized squad of bandits that are standing somewhere out in front of the Saloon, raining down bullets like mobsters with tommy guns and are now stunned with the rocket.. thing.. blast. Since I don't the geography of this town and where bandit's are actually spread out.))

It appeared as if things weren't as bad as Daichi initially thought since there was just a lot of dust in the air and a bunch of bandits standing around like they had just been hit with a sting grenade. Nevertheless Daichi fired two quick shots from the small pistol he held in his left hand at the nearest bandit, hitting him in his left leg and one of his hands, causing him to drop the bolt action rifle he was holding. Daichi then holstered trigger which he had held in his right hand and drew a Karambit with that same hand.

Daichi then sprinted towards the screaming bandit that he just shot and quickly slid the blade of the Karambit under the bandits armpit, slicing the bandits tendons in his armpit and using the Karambit's claw like blade to pull the bandit upwards and then towards himself, attempting to use the bandit as a human shield.

The effects of the stun rocket began to quickly wear off as the rest of the squad of bandits took aim and opened fire towards Daichi, hitting the bandit that Daichi was using as a human shield in several places as spraying blood all over the sand.

((By this point i'm pretty sure Jason would be firing at the bandits too if he hadn't started already.. So i'm just going to assume there's like six or seven bandits really close to us.. so i'll just take out three or four and assume you take out the rest in your next post. Then there's also Ein.. who might be shooting them as well. ))

Daichi then returned fire with the small revolver, hitting one bandit directly in the head and then firing three more shots at another bandit, missing that bandit with one shot and then hitting him in the shoulder and the chest with the other two. Daichi attempted to fire one more time but was met with a click so he threw the empty revolver to the ground and ripped the Karambit out of the lifeless bandits body and pushed him to the ground. Somehow the bandit which he had shot twice was still standing and taking aim to fire, so Daichi simply drew trigger and fired one shot into the Bandit's forehead, causing the bandit's head to practically explode, sending bits of brain and bone in every direction.

Before Daichi could take in the beautiful site that was pink mist a Bandit towards his left fired four shots from a pistol at Daichi with every single one of the bullets hitting him in the chest.

Daichi dived to the right as blood gushed out the various holes along his chest, he hit the ground face first and then rolled on onto his back, aiming at the bandit who was continuing to fire in his direction.

Daichi then rapidly fired four shots at the bandits chest, tearing a huge gaping hole into the bandits chest and causing him to be blasted backwards a few feet. With the Bandit now gone Daichi slowly looked down at his chest that was continuing to gush blood. "My.. my... MY DUSTER! HE RUINED MY GOD DAMN DUSTER!" Daichi screamed, quickly standing up off the ground and pulling up his shirt, letting the bullets that where just pushed out of his body fall to the ground.

((Eh, I don't have much time to grammar check.. so i'm just going to post this now. I have to go do some school work.))

The setting changes from Memphis to Aldoria

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Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Ein Glassville Character Portrait: Drust Arthfael Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Shiki29
Ein didn't even bother to close his eyes for explosive. All Ein could really see was how the center of the street was cracked from the round. The smoke and dust in the air provided a cover. It wasn't exactly suppressing fire, but it might have been better. Whatever the case, the gunslingers were on the move. Ein squinted, and used his powers to shorten space in front of his eye, and to curve some photons, too. Effectively, it was an immaterial, flexible, telescopic magnifying monocle. He looked around to where the other gunslingers were. The one who requested covering fire was there. He looked fairly plain, but not like a stock person at all. Two were in the Sheriff's office, which Ein could see through a shattered window. Just barely, but they were visible. One was a woman with fiery hair. The other looked like nothing more than a bandit, but Ein was not one to judge on appearances only. There was another one, as well. He looked like a girl, and it seemed he was having a freakout in the street, before pulling up his shirt and letting some bullets fall down from the holes they made in his body. A real party, but Ein wanted to see the one who brought all these intoxicated nitwits to the party. The one in the airship. If he could destroy Black Wind, then Ein would be grateful enough to leave now. Or even fight the other slingers. Well, whatever. Maybe he wouldn't have to. He didn't like people who attacked towns for seemingly-no reason, and would hate to bargain with them.

Ein pushed a button on the launcher he carried in his right hand, allowing it to fold. It had some more rounds in it, and didn't need to reload, yet. After a moment, he placed it hastily into it's case, and shit the lid, locking it as well. Ein reached behind his back, and drew Black Wind from it's holster, which was located vertically on his back, and over his coat. The shotgun's weight felt correct in Ein's hand, the familiarity of one of the things he hated most readying Ein for the brawl. Ein put the gun back in it's place, on his back. He'd rather get to safety and make a plan, preferably with the other slingers. The dust and smoke was clearing up, already, and the bandits that recovered from the disorientation of the blast, the ones that were simply trying to see through the dust, were more able to. It would not be long before the seconds of time they had left would run out. The gunslinger who was having a freakout had done so because the bandits near him were lucid enough to fight him.

Ein decided that the sheriff's office was the place to go, for cover. Ein's bike revved to life, gently humming as it sped to where the gunslinger who requested covering fire was. Ein braked hard, and stopped nearby, before speaking.

"Come with me to the Sheriff's Office. We can make a plan there, if all the Gunslingers cooperate," Ein said. After pushing up his glasses again, he sped off towards the sheriff's office, performing the same maneuver of leaping off the bike as it slowed and stopped itself as he did before. Ein angled himself, and entered through a shattered window, landing inside before looking at the other two slingers.

"Let's make a plan. The other slingers in this town should be arriving soon," Ein said, assuming the one he told to meet him at the Sheriff's Office would tell the one who had the freakout.

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Engines roared, lines whirred and gears rumbled as the massive bulk of the airship began to turn, bringing its portside in line with the fast-growing gunbattle outside the sheriff's office. The bandits on the bridge worked quickly and quietly, hunched over the banks of cobbled-together controls. The captain reclined in her chair, scowling. She did not want the Black Rider onboard her ship. But she wasn't suicidal. She would not challenge his authority to his face. Her ship had been chosen to carry him, and she would serve with pride. Even if her new boss, and this business of masquerading as bandits did not sit well with her.

As the ship completed its turn, she felt a cold presence behind her. A long, black gloved hand came to rest on the shoulder of her chair. Her heart jumped, but she forced herself to remain calm.

"You have another request, my lord?" she said, digging her fingers into the underside of the chair's arm to keep herself from turning to face him.

"Yes" the Black Rider rumbled. "You will target the vehicles and buildings surrounding the Lawman building only. Use your autocannon and machine-guns for close in work, heavy bombard cannon for surrounding buildings exclusively"

"You wish to avoid killing the Lawmen?" She fought to keep the tone of incredulousness out of her voice.

"No. I wish to avoid killing them with aerial bombardment. Rest assured, Captain, they will die. But they will die as men, facing their better"

"Would it not be more efficient to keep such dangerous individuals at bay?"

"Do you doubt the ability of your men, Captain?" the Black Rider asked, letting a cloud of smoke escape from the corner of his mouth "Do you doubt my ability? Perhaps, you do not want me onboard this vessel?"

"No, my lord, I merely..."

"You should know that you cannot lie to me, Captain. Your mind is an open book, as is your face. You dislike me. You consider me a usurper in your dominion. What you fail to recognize is that this is not your ship. This is not your dominion. You are merely the steward of it. Now shut your mouth, wipe that pout off your face, and do your job quietly and agreeably, or I will throw you into an engine" the Black Rider spoke quietly and calmly. As he finished, he drew the cigarette from his lips and snubbed it out on the arm of the Captain's chair.

"Yes, Sir" the Captain choked, straightening up and swallowing "Gunnery deck! Target vehicles and cover around the Lawman building. Light weapons only!"

The Black Rider smiled.

"Thank you" he said, and left the room as suddenly and quietly as he had come.

The ship's firing ports opened, the men inside the gunnery deck scurrying about like rats inside a maze as their weapons were brought to bear. Two men manhandled a magazine of 30mm rounds into the breach of an autocannon, as another pair cranked furiously at a windlass at the base of the gun, swinging it about. Teams hauled belts of ammunition to machine-guns, pouring fresh water into the jackets of their guns, and readying them for combat.

"FIRE!" the gunnery chief bellowed over the speaking tubes, and the weapons roared in response. Fire came off the side of the ship in waves, the chatter of machine-guns punctuated by the slower sputtering of the autocannon. Brass flew and clattered across the deck, rolling to rest in heaps of shining cartridges and oily belt links. On the ground, it was as though some cosmic landscaper had taken his lawn trimmer to Memphis's mainstreet. Bullets ripped through storefronts, cannon rounds smashed through walls, and glass and plaster flew in great clouds of glimmer and dust. Two 30mm rounds struck Jason's motorcycle, which exploded, one wheel and part of the engine block coming to rest in the dust not five feet from him.

"SHIT!" he bellowed, toppling backwards and letting the magazine he had just pulled clatter out of reach. As he scrambled for the magazine, another salvo of cannon fire erupted from the ship, shredding two of the crates he had been using as cover.

"shit shit SHIT" Jason hunched over, letting the burst of wood splinters deflect off his back. This once-tranquil town had turned to complete chaos in under half an hour. And he'd left his rifle in the general store. As he was cursing himself for this bit of stupidity, he was greeted by the sight of a lone man riding through the fire on a 'cycle, skidding to a stop in front of him. Ears still ringing from the blasts, he saw the man's lips move, but heard nothing. Giving up the magazine for lost, he drew another and slid it into the Paladin, his index finger guiding it smoothly in until it clicked. Not bothering to see if Jason had heard him, the man dived through the splintered window of the Sheriff's office. And not a moment too soon, because the gunners on the airship had reloaded their autocannon.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK-THUNK-THUNK!

The cannon spat, emptying its magazine into the front of the Sheriff's office. Three shells smashed into the false front, sending showers of wood fragments down on Jason and Daichi. The fourth struck the newcomer's bike, ripping it in half. The fifth hit Jason.

The impact was like being hit by a train. Jason, who had just stood up to grab Daichi and yank him into the relative safety of the Sheriff's Office, was spun violently around as the massive shell slammed into his side, ripping a fist-sized hole in his lower abdomen. Fortunately, Jason's flesh hadn't provided enough resistance for it to explode, and the projectile had passed clean through him. He didn't have time to scream. Everything felt numb as he lay, face up, in the dirt, the world whirling about his head. He couldn't feel the pain, but he knew it was there. His mouth moved, but no words came out, only a rasping cough that choked itself on blood halfway up.

_________________________________________

The ship's guns fell silent, great clouds of gunsmoke drifting across her flank. Everything had suddenly become eerily silent. Even the bandits (those who hadn't been killed by their own ship's vicious bombardment) had stopped shooting. The airship hung there, ominously, in the air as small fires crackled in the streets, and the dying gasped and moaned. The silence seemed to last an eternity, as a hatch on the bottom of the airship opened, and a black shape emerged, hurtling towards the earth in a billowing cloud of black duster and ragged cloak. The Black Rider struck the ground like a mortar shell, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

As the dust drifted away, the Black Rider stepped forward, heavy black boots sinking into the dirt road. He stood there, motionless, in the middle of the burning street. The Black Rider raised his head, and cracked his jaw. The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness.

"Turn, heathen!" a voice rang out. The Black Rider stiffened, but did not turn around. A figure in an off-white duster emerged behind him, the sun gleaming on the slide of the nickle-plated AMT Hardballer in his hand.

"I said turn! Turn in the name of God!" the man bellowed again, raising his gun. The Black Rider took a step forward.

CRACK!

The Hardballer roared, spitting a .45 caliber slug at 830 feet per second. The Black Rider didn't even flinch as the bullet struck him in the back.

"I'm bored now" he said, matter-of-factly. He raised a gloved hand, and rotated two fingers and a thumb sharply to the left. There was a sickening crunch, and the Templar's head suddenly spun around 180 degrees, snapping his neck like a twig. The Black Rider lowered his hand, and kept walking towards the Sheriff's Office, as though nothing had happened.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Daichi Nagasaki ((Resubmit)) Character Portrait: Jason Davis Character Portrait: Ein Glassville Character Portrait: Drust Arthfael Character Portrait: Cena Johnson Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Falron
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Gritting her teeth the Sheriff continued to fire through the broken window through which the man claiming the others would arriving soon had crashed through. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what was going on, Memphis had no fortune that would warrant an attack of this scale. The only thing being the amount of Gunslingers that seemed to have found themselves in the town today, but there was no way for the bandits to predict this, was there? Shaking her head to rid herself of useless thoughts Cena focused on taking out the bandits closest to her office. She agreed with the other man, a plan had to be formed, something, anything that might reduce further civilian casualties and to drive these bandits out of her town.

Her eyes widened with shock as the airship started firing, the flashing of cannons and guns accompanied by the deafening roar. Buildings were shattered, glass, bricks and wood flying as deadly debris as structures caved in on themselves. She ducked, covering her head as a shower of bullets came crashing through the walls of her office, shards of glass falling to the ground. What did they want?!

She raised herself back up, resting Prometheus on what remained on the window sill only to be greeted by silence. The canon's sudden stop stunned her motionless, even the bandits seemed frozen. The eerie silence pressed down on her ears as her eyes scanned the ruined main street, trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, finding nothing on the ground, Cena looked up at the airship in time to see a black shape drop from it. The man landed easily, the earth shattering beneath the force of his landing. The cloud of dust kicked up by the man slowly wafted away, leaving the man standing there in the middle of the street. Completely at ease.

Cena stared in wonder, the massive aura that came off this man making her knees shake slightly. This wasn't good. Cursing under her breath Cena watched as someone was stupid enough to confront the man in the black duster. A gun shot rang out, the sound almost hollow in the otherwise silent surroundings. The man didn't so much as flinch as he was struck by the bullet, Cena half expected him to yawn as he raised his hand. In an instant the man was dead, the sound of his spine cracking making Cena's stomach turn. The body dropped with a heavy thump as the man in black strode forth, undeterred towards them.

Cena watched with horror as he came closer, there was no way she could ever hope to beat this man, it just wasn't possible. Her eyes fell momentarily on the Marshall and the man they were arresting before all this started. The Marshall lay motionless, whether he was dead or not, she couldn't tell. Shakily getting to her feet she raised Prometheus. She probably would make about as much difference as the man now dead with his head facing the wrong way. But as the Sheriff of Memphis, she had to do something.

"Stop right there!" Her jaw clamped shut the moment the words left her mouth, hoping that somehow he hadn't heard the fear in her voice.

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