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Anzo Tinzdale

Heroic Slinger

0 · 206 views · located in Terra

a character in “Tapestry of the Ages”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Description

Puscifer wrote:Nature, Nurture, Heaven and home.
The sum of all and by them driven.
To conquer country, crown and throne.
But I've never been over the river.

Image

Personality

Who was it that said that a man is measured not by weight of his things, but by the weight of his soul? Anzo doesn't know, that's for sure. He was born into the legendary order of the Chaotic Gunslingers, an order that have the ornate and powerful ability to harness magic and modern weaponry as one. The order has only a single rule.

Don't break the code.

If a slinger misuses the power that has been given to them, the contract of a gunslinger is often passed to another gunslinger. In essence, they police their own. Anzo is one of five surviving high class slingers; he is, in essence, one of the most deadly men in the world with a firearm.

He lives his life searching out the most famed and deadliest artefacts and legends of time, from the Red Witch to the fountain of youth. In his travels, he's collected many artefacts of varying powers that aid him both in combat and in social situations, objects of abstract power that fund his continued explorations. He's seen all kinds of action, from facing down armies with only his voice to infiltrating skycastles. You name an adventure, and Anzo's been on one.

Equipment

Weaponry:
Phoenix and Dragon:
Each Slinger has their set of pistols, and the two that were given to Anzo to hold onto are named Phoenix and Dragon; one light, one dark. Each has different capabilities, but when used in conjunction, they are powerful assets.

Phoenix controls the attacks meant for precision; whereas Dragon controls the ones meant for power.

List of artefacts:

  • Mirror of Mirage: Allows the user to create the illusion of himself, projecting it wherever he feels. The form is not solid, and is slightly see-through.
  • The Hands of Time: A small clock that can be used to slow time for the user, and the user only. It rests around Anzo's neck.
  • Bubble Cloak: A piece of black cloth that can expand outwards into any shape the user desires, and it cloaks all underneath it from sight.
  • More to Come

So begins...

Anzo Tinzdale's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Anzo Tinzdale Character Portrait: Taima
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In times past, a Gunslinger making his way through the country was an image of icon, an event to be celebrated. Gunslingers held up a moral code, kept the law in check, and hunted dangerous criminals down, for mere pieces of information on valuable artifacts. It used to be that the Gunslingers were given free room and board, merely for advertising their presence in a town. It kept the evils away.

Legends often lit the Gunslingers in wonderful lights; held them on pedestals of the purest marble. The men and women with their powerful guns that spouted magic and fire, the impossible reflexes that had them able to shoot any projectile out of mid air, the indomitable spirit and mystery behind the trench coat and hat they wore.

These days, the legend of the Gunslingers was as dusty as the man who walked the trail.

Anzo Tinzdale’s boots kicked up small tufts of dirt as he walked along the road, twin gleaming revolvers sitting at his hips in dark leather holsters. Widely regarded to be the most dangerous slinger alive – and one of the youngest, as it happened – he often had to rely on his own presence, rather than that of the legend, to see him through each township.

It was a method he disliked, immensely.

Glancing down at a scrap of paper, retrieved from a trench coat pocket, Anzo read the address quietly, his mouth moving slowly, carefully, as he sounded out the words upon it. Once the yellowed page had served it’s purpose, he crumpled it and put it in his trouser pocket, letting out a deep sigh.

Smithy. Aecris = family heirloom. Two generations.

Taima


"You sure you got the right adress?" From behind him, another similarily dressed man walked, his hands resting on his own deep red revolvers. A piece of straw was sticking out of his teeth, and it bobbed with his footsteps. Anzo's gloved fingers stilled around the piece of paper, his eyes closing slightly. For a man so used to travelling alone, the company wasn't exactly welcomed, but tolerated. Dusk was a younger Gunslinger, brought in in the wake of the Civil war, and largely untested. But he had a good heart, and for that reason alone, Anzo walked with him.

"Reckon we'll find out right quick if I don't," Anzo's reply came. Dusk's piece of straw moved from one side to the other, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck to pool at his throat. He absently scratched at his elbow, squinting into the sun.

"I don't like the draconian, much. Their eyes are creepy. Could we wrap this up, quickly?"

"It'll take as long as it needs to. Show respect, bow as you're taught, and you'll do fine."

"Yeah, but a head for time wouldn't go amiss-"

"As long as it takes." Anzo gave a patient gaze to his pupil, a look as stern as the older man was likely to give. The look said stop talking, now. Wisely, Dusk heeded the silent advice.

Side by side, the Slingers moved towards their destination. Their path led them true; into the waiting doorway of the smithy his contact had identified. Bidding the younger man to wait outside while he conducted the necessary gestures, Anzo stepped into the dim light. Before he could say a word to announce his presence, however, a voice greeted him.

As the woman spoke, the gunslinger hesitated, a gloved hand resting gently on the brim of his wide hat, his brown and grey hair curling wildly away from his face. The two dark blue revolvers gleamed in the low light, the gunmetal barely visible through the thick leather of the twin holsters.

"Beg Pardon, ma'am." He said, in his hoarse, too-loud voice. "Came across this 'stablishment's name in my travels. Heard you could tell me about what I'm lookin' for. Won't take five minutes."

Hesitating, the human looked around the shop, taking in its occupants. "If this ain' a great time, I can always come back."

Taima gave the man an appraising glance before nodding. “Well come on, get inside then. How can I help you?”

"Thank you, ma'am." The man said, bowing. "Folks call me Anzo. Anzo Tinzdale. I'm a Gunslinger, ma'am, lookin' for a sword of some value."

He paused, then, giving a deep inhale through his nostrils once he was over the threshold. "Always loved the smell of metalwork. Business good?"

“I can't complain. I'm Taima, but if it's a sword you're looking for, it's Rhogar, my father, that you want to see," the draconian woman explained. "He won't be back in for a week, but he is indisputably the best weapon smith that you will find this side of Terra.”

Taima nodded towards a weapons rack on the opposite wall. “Those are some of his works." The rack held a wide assortments of weapons ranging from small daggers and swords to bulkier assortments of polearms and axes. Each one had been carefully laid out on display for potential customers.

Letting out a low, impressed whistle, the man walked towards the rack, examining each work with the eye of one experienced with such weapons. Carefuly, his gaze traveled up and down the rack, taking in the reflections of the weapons as the light danced off of them.

"Fine craft. I believe that claim." He said, smiling at the draconian. "But, unfortunately, this ain' the kind o' sword ya craft. It's the kind o' sword ya find."

He withdrew a small scrap of paper from his pocket, laying it carefully out on a nearby table. "Legends tell 'bout this sword, with a conscience, that binds to its weilder. Last person to weild this sword was a draconian named Balasar, something of a legend himself."

He pointed a finger at the paper, detailing the design of the sword and some background information about the female who once was the weilder. "I hear tell that his descendants live in this village, and came searchin' for 'em."

He gave her a slight smile. "You wouldn't know where to find them, ma'am?"

Taima reached out and slid the paper over to get a look at it. The drawing of the sword it contained was exquisitely done with each intricate detail painstakingly etched into it. There was no mistaking what sword it was that Anzo was looking for.

“If it's his ancestors that you're looking for, you're speaking to one, but you won't find any answers here. The sword has been lost for generations.” Taima slid the paper back towards Anzo.

Anzo collected the scrap, putting it back into the pocket from which it initially emerged. Giving her a slight smile, he hooked his thumbs in his belt, rocking backwards on his boot heels.

"Ah, y'see ma'am, I ain' lookin' fer th' sword's location. Got the trail on that, or somethin' mighty close to it. What I'm looking for is permission or accompanyment to retrieve it. In cases like these, my organization and I like to get the permission of the true owners of artifacts before retrieving them. But since the artifact in question is a bit higher value than my standard findings, reckoned I'd make sure first."

He swept the hat off of his shoulders, revealing chestnut brown hair that fell to nearly his shoulders in a mangy, tangled mess. "By your leave or accompanyment, I'd seek the sword, ma'am."

Even Taima's draconic visage couldn't mask her surprise. “But how? There hasn't been more than rumors into its whereabouts for generations.”

The gunslinger smiled slightly at the tone of voice, bringing the hat down to rest near his waist, gripping it with both gloved hands. "Ma'am, the gunslingers thrive on rumour. S'our business ta know where any artifacts o' that type are. In this case, we got lucky."

He tapped the pocket that the scrap was in. "Someone tol' us, a while back, tha' they knew where ta find th' trail fer th' sword, but the contact got shuffled aroun' some when th' war came about. I managed ta track him down, bu' he's proving a might bit difficult to talk to."

His smile widened more. "Figured you might be interested in tryin', though. Folks say that he knew your great-great grandfather. If nothin' else, journey might be worth it for a bit of a reunion."

“He knew Balasar?" The thought that someone was still alive that knew her great-great grandfather was amazing all in its own right. Anzo had her curiosity piqued but youthful idealism and adventurous dreams quickly gave way to reality and responsibility. She sighed heavily. “I would come, but my father won't be back for another week and someone has to watch the shop until then.”

Anzo nodded, placing the hat back atop his mangled head holding a hand up. "Say no more. I ain't expectin' you to uproot your life to come along."

Gloved fingers adjusted the hat further, until it settled in a manner that hid the messy hair from view. "Me and my partner have to go; it's a trek back to where we need go. I'll be stayin' in town tonight, down in the old barn, if things change."

He tapped the brim of the hat, bowing slightly. "Thanks for showin' me the shop, ma'am. Mighty fine weapons y'all are craftin' here." With that, the gunslinger turned on his heel, walking out of the smithy.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Anzo Tinzdale Character Portrait: Taima
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#, as written by Tiko
ImageIt was the following morning and the sun had only begun to creep over the horizon to fill the morning skies with its red glow. Taima as usual had risen at the crack of dawn and made her way to the smithy to begin the days preparations, but today she found herself distracted from the morning's chores, her mind wandering to the man she had met the night before. The gunslinger had come out of nowhere, weaving words of fantastical legends and tales from an age past. She had spoken practically when she declined to accompany him, but the draconian fervor burned hot within her breast and she couldn't help but entertain the thoughts of adventure and renown. The thought of recovering the ancient relic of the draconian people, to fight in wars and battles like her ancestors, to bring honor to her family, it was the passion of every young draconian. With dreams of grandeur to fill her head, Taima meandered through the morning hours cleaning up the front shop before the days customers began to arrive.
ImageMeanwhile a figure approached the small structure on silent feet, the early morning providing the cover of an empty area in which to work. Quietly, he pointed a hand to the front of the door, tugging off one of his gloves as he did so. Letting himself breathe outwards, relaxing his spirit, the figure manipulated the metal in his opposite hand, forming six long bars that fastened themselves along the door, keeping it from opening outward.
ImageHis work done, the figure moved around to the side of the shop, reaching back into the sack that held the metal, he placed three bottles at the side of the house, leaning against the wood. He took four cautious steps backwards, examining his handiwork. Then, he grinned.
ImageWith a whirl, he drew a single long-nosed revolver, a small rubber cap enclosed around the tip. When he pulled the trigger, the revolver made nothing more than a short whiffing sound, the bullet smashing into the three bottles, one at a time. The bullet scraping against the scrap of flint inside each ignited the liquid inside, and the flames hungrily latched onto the wooden shop, quickly beginning to eat away at it. Strolling around to the back, the figure drew his second pistol, and waited for his prey.
Image As the first wafts of smoke began to fill the room, Taima set her broom down. She hadn't noticed it at first, but the temperature of the room was on the rise. Her instincts had her on edge as she made for the front door. Giving it a push, the wooden frame didn't budge. Frowning she threw her shoulder into it to try and unjam it, but still it didn't budge. She could hear the crackling of flames now, and though she couldn't see them, the room was growing stiflingly hot.
ImageSuddenly, a loud boom came from the forgery area, flying over her head and to her left. Another shot sunk into the wood, closer to her skull. A third shot rang out, slamming into the emergency lantern that was kept near the door, sending flaming drops of oil over the draconian's head. She threw her arm up to shielding her face from the burning oil, but she was swiftly driven back from the door by the rain of fire. Taking shelter behind the edge of counter she patted out the flames upon her clothes. The smell of oil was thick upon her and her hide had been scorched. Meanwhile the spilled oil was rapidly beginning to burn, sending trails of fire licking across the floor as it followed the rivets of flammable liquid.
ImageGrabbing a cleaning rag from atop the counter, Taima swung it for the flames upon the floor to try and put them out before they could spread further, but another shot rang out missing her hand by a hairsbreadth. Swiftly jerking back behind her rudimentary cover, Taima abandoned her attempts to stem the flames. The earlier fire was spreading rapidly now having reached the thatched roof outside, and smoke was beginning to choke out the room as the burning oil lit up the dried wood paneling of the floor boards. Covering her snout with her arm, Taima stifled a cough.
Image"Come on out, now." A voice growled in the distance.
ImageThe draconian was trapped. If she stayed she would be burned alive, but if she made for the back, her assailant lay in wait. Her eyes burned and watered from the sting of smoke and another cough wracked her form. Overhead she could see the red glow of embers through the burning thatch.
Image"Ain't no use hidin'. You either die in there, or die out here, friend. May as well be here; quicker, and I'll make it painless." Another shot was fired into the smoke. "Don't be shy!"
ImageAs the smoke grew thicker, visibility grew poorer and Taima was wracked with wheezing coughs. Squinting through the haze of smoke, she made out the shadowy shape of the weapons rack across the shop. There wasn't any cover save for the smoke, but it would have to be enough. Abandoning the counter, Taima quickly made for the weapons rack, grabbing up a hefty axe. She could barely make out the red embers through the smoke, but she had known this shop since she could crawl. With a grunt, Taima sent the axe hurtling end over end where it struck the support beam near the back entrance. With an audible crack, the blade bit deep. At first, nothing further seemed to happen before a loud creek filled the air and the support beam gave under a rain of fiery embers and burning thatch to block the doorway.
ImageWith her assailant's line of sight marred, Taima turned her attention to the front door. In a reckless and brazen disregard for the flames, Taima hurtled herself forward, slamming the full brunt of her draconian form into the door shoulder first. In a splinter of wood, she landed outside, her clothes smoldering. Villagers were already beginning to take note of the fire as shouts rang up through town, and several townspeople rushed forward to help her to her feet.
Image“I'm fine,” she growled gruffly between the rasping coughs.
ImageA gloved hand raised to tug down a wide brimmed cap. Two hands twirled a pair of guns, slipping them into leather holsters. A small smile was visible on the figure's face as the man turned, slinking into the shadows of early morning, making his way away from the scene of the crime.



ImageAnzo came walking up the path, his gait hurried, eyes wide, to see the charred-out remains of Taima's shop, being fought and tempered down by the villagers. Among them he spotted Taima, fighting the fire with the others. Quickly, he closed on the Draconian, his holsters popped of their safeties, hands at strategic positions along his belt.
Image"Taima!" He called. "What in the River happened here?"
Image“Here, take over for me,” Taima told a townsman as a bucket was passed into her hands. Hurling the water at the dying flames, she quickly passed it back. The townspeople had mobilized quickly and for all the urgency and chaos of the situation, there was an organized efficiency to things. The flames had died down to a dim glow of embers, though the damage to the structure was extensive and the building was little more than a charred husk.
Image“Someone attacked me and burned the shop down,” Taima growled lowly as she approached Anzo. That the incident had happened the morning after Anzo had arrived in town was grounds for suspicion. “You wouldn't know anything about that?” she asked.
ImageAnzo raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't, no. Reckon I could help, though. How did the attack happen?"
Image“He used magecraft, I didn't see much,” Taima admitted.
ImageNodding, the gunslinger's eyes roved the charred skeleton of the shop, resting on two broken bottles that were tossed off to the side, blackened by smoke.
ImageHe pointed a gloved finger. "What're those?"
ImageTaima turned her own gaze to the indicated bottles and made her way over. Squatting down next to them, she picked up a piece of broken glass, running her finger along the inner surface. There was a thick oily sheen on it that she rubbed between her fingers. Giving it a sniff she frowned. “It smells like oil, but there's something else that I can't place.”
ImageThe gunslinger followed her, crouching on the other side of the broken glass. Shifting one of the bottles to reveal a small insignia in the shape of a shattered heart, Anzo tapped his chin.
Image"Apothecary oil, used as a firestarter on the road. Popular with guerilla warfare." He raised his eyes to Taima, a worried expression in his gaze. "Way I figure, someone overheard our conversation yesterday, figured you were better off charred meat than with the sword."
ImageHe wiped his glove off on his pants and surveyed the crowd, silently. "Made any enemies of late, ma'am?"
Image“Of course not, this is a peaceful village. There have been a few rumors that the Strakken are encroaching into cedar reach, but that's about it.” Taima scowled as she stood up, wiping the oil off her fingers.
ImageAnzo shook his head slowly. "This weren't Strakken, that's for sure."
ImageHe turned towards her, his expression grave. "To be blunt, ma'am, I believe you're in danger if you stay here. Whoever burned the shop down came a long way to do it, and I reckon they ain't done yet. I think it's now in both our best interests for you to come with me."
Image“And leave just like that? Someone could have been hurt, or killed. And what of my father? If there's danger here and I leave, he could be walking right into it. Whoever it was needs to be found,” Taima replied.
ImageAnzo nodded. "I agree with ya, a hundred percent. But think abou' it. They didn't burn down any of the surrounding businesses, which to me meant that this was a specific attack. The faster you leave, the faster everyone here is safe. Though, if I'm truthful, I don' know 'bout your father's safety. All I reckon is that this is personal."
ImageThe gunslinger rubbed at his lower lip in thought. "I'll send a message to your father, let him know what happened here, so at th' least he'll be prepared for a possible encounter."
Image“But how? Even I don't know where to find him,” Taima replied with a touch of apprehension.
ImageThe young draconian was torn. The part of her that was driven by duty and responsibility urged her to remain here in Darsia, but the fervent fire that drove the draconian people to greatness urged her to leave. It whispered softly to her that her father would understand, that the path offered to her was greater and more important than anything she would be leaving behind.
ImageAnzo smiled, before putting two gloved fingers to his lips and emitting nothing but a short blast of breath. Suddenly, a shape swooped down towards them, getting larger and larger as it closed the distance. A small bird, its beak hooked and sinister and its eyes black, shot towards the two, before pulling up at the last moment, landing smoothly on Anzo's outstretched forearm.
Image"This," he said, with affection, "is Moriarty. He's a messenger hawk; the Gunslinger's best friend. All he needs is a trinket o' yer father's, and the intent to find him by you, and he'll deliver the message straight and true. He hasn't failed yet; have you boy?"
ImageThe hawk spread its wings and screeched its assent at Taima, before beginning a complex looking preening ritual.
ImageIt all seemed so simple to Taima, Anzo had an answer for everything. Youthful inexperience, or just reckless disregard left her overlooking the seeming convenience of everything at hand. Even the coincidental timing of Anzo's arrival the night before a mysterious man attacked her was pushed to the back of her mind. With a glance towards the smoldering wreckage of her father's smithy, Taima made her decision.

The setting changes from Darsia to Terra

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Anzo Tinzdale Character Portrait: Taima
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#, as written by Tiko
ImageThe three companions’ journey ended at the end of a winding, dusty path, overgrown with vegetation and tramped down by a wide variety of animals. Ahead of the abrupt end in the last marks of civilization stood a cabin, rising above them on thick, old pillars that were slowly swallowed by vines and foliage that utilized them as aids in their growth.
ImageThe browns and greens of the structure were an oddity in the darker, velvety green and grey of the surrounding swamp, the only thing connecting the odd house with the path below a single, rickety looking staircase, the wood rotten and frayed in spots.
ImageAnzo, having had been pleasant enough during the journey, suddenly grew still with reverence and quiet with the mood of the place, removing his hat slowly from his long, dark hair. A few strands clung to the material stubbornly as he pressed his hat flat to his chest, eyes roving the woodwork, analyzing and considering.
ImageAfter a long pause, Dusk, who had been surly and unfriendly during the walk, spat out the side of his mouth. “This it, or no?”
ImageA curt nod answered the younger man. “Didn’ lead us into th’swamp t’build character, Dusk,”
ImageTaima drew up next to Anzo as she surveyed the building with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue as she rubbed at the back of her scaly neck.
Image"You really think that this person will talk to me instead of you?" she asked.
ImageAnzo smiled, tilting his head sideways as he gave her his full attention. “I really do,” he intoned, placing his battered hat back atop his head. “Go on, now. We’ll wait here.”
ImageTaima approached the steps with a hint of apprehension at their rotted state. Even the smallest of Draconians were tall of stature and heavy of girth, and Taima was no different.
ImageCreeeak...
ImageThe boards groaned under her foot as she moved to climb the steps. Grunting she adjusted her longbow that hung from her shoulder so she could take hold of the weather worn railing. Truth be told it didn't much look like it would hold her weight either as she skirted the weak spots in the boards.
ImageFortune it would seem had the small deck in slightly more stable shape, though she didn't much trust it as the boards creaked and bowed beneath her weight when she crossed it to reach the door. Only the faint glow of light that peaked beneath the crack of the door and lit up the gaps in the shuttered window betrayed the fact that someone might actually reside in this shanty of a shack.
ImageShe glanced back to Anzo briefly before knocking on the door. In answer, the door was suddenly kicked outwards, and a spindly old man wielding a metal pan lurched out, swinging it towards Taima’s head.
ImageTaima stepped back with a start as she threw an arm up. The pan struck her forearm with force enough to bruise the hide that lay beneath her scales just as the floorboards of the deck let out an alarming crack. Her eyes went wide as her leg plunged down through the wood, leaving her with her arm raised to ward against the old man's wild pan flailing while she struggled to dislodge her leg from hole in the deck.
ImageThe stick-thin old man nodded with satisfaction at the damage he caused, folded his wiry arms over his chest, and nodded again. His head was shaved completely bald, his face bare but for a scraggle of whiskers outlining the ridges of his mouth, which was currently fixed into a smug smile as he stared at Taima with nearly white eyes.
Image“Never liked ‘em with scales,” he muttered to himself, beginning to circle Taima, “though this one’s a little sleeker than most. Not quite ugly, but not quite unattractive. Hmm, reminds me of the good old days. Ah, but she’s with gunslingers! Don’t like the look of the darker one, and the other one’s all scarred up. Don’t like travelling with gunslingers, so she couldn’t be good. Unless we’re bad?”
ImageHe paused, once again in front of Taima, scratching at his bald dome. “Never could figure that out. You gonna stand there with your foot in my front porch, lady, or are you coming in?”
ImageTaima stared up at the man in dismay, but it would seem for the moment anyways he didn't intend to continue assaulting her with his frying pan.
ImageIt took her a minute to dislodge herself from the hole and she dusted the rotted splinters of wood from herself as she regained her footing. At his invitation to enter she threw one more apprehensive glance back to Anzo before she headed inside.
Image"I'm a blacksmith by trade, but I'm not half bad with a hammer and nails if you need that hole fixed," she offered.
Image“Well, you did break it,” he responded, his voice muffled as he moved into a tiny kitchen, stacked high with nothing but ceramic bowls, “so it would be awfully rude to leave it there, wouldn’t it?”
ImageHe lifted the lid on a small box in the corner of the kitchenette, pulling out a soft bag of beans. Reaching a hand into the already open bag, the man snatched a few and tossed them into his mouth, offering the next handful to his guest.
Image“Wha-hoo wan’?” he mumbled, through red lentils.
Image"Uh.. no thanks," Taima replied with a raised hand at the offer. She glanced around for some lace in the shack to sit but didn't find anything apart from some dusty boxes and crates. "May I?" she asked with a gesture towards one of the sturdier looking crates.
ImageThe man’s gaze slid to the crate, then back towards his fistful of lentils.
Image“You can’t eat my storage,” he responded.
ImageTaima rubbed at the back of her neck awkwardly. "Never mind," she replied. "I'm here because I was told you knew Balasar, my great grandfather."
ImageWith a sudden clatter, the beans spilled forth from the bag, rolling across the floor in a torrent of red clattering. The old man let the bag drop from lax fingers, his hands curling and uncurling, eyes narrowing.
Image“Dear girl,” he said, his voice suddenly full, clear, as he lifted himself to his full height and straightened his spine. In front of Taima’s very eyes, he seemed to grow from an ancient bag of bones to a human being, with vigilance and wariness filling his eyes.
Image“I haven’t heard that name in a long, long time.”
ImageSilence reigned between the two for a moment, before the man gestured for Taima to take a seat on the crate.
Image“How much do you know of your grandfather?” he said, watching her closely, studying for resemblance.
ImageTaima eased herself down onto one of the crates.
Image"Not a lot," Taima admitted. "He was killed when my grandfather was just a boy, so my father never knew him. It's just a few stories passed down really. My name's Taima."
ImageThough Taima took more after her mother’s looks than her father’s, the name was one that the old man would know well. It was a name shared with Balasar's mother - a legend in her own right before her passing.
ImageThe man nodded, cocking his head as the sudden clarity bled out with alarming rapidity. Reaching forwards, he held his two gnarled hands on either side of Taima’s head, curious.
ImageWith a quick motion, he clapped them together, slapping her on both ears. He leapt back after he did so, peering at her, looking for emotions.
Image"Ow," Taima answered with a wave of her arm as she swatted the old man's hands away. "What the heck was that for?!" she asked as she rubbed at her ringing ears. "You know, never mind. I was hoping you could help me find something. It was a family relic of sorts until it was lost." She patted down her clothes a moment before she found what she was looking for. "Here, this," she explained as she produced a rumpled scrap of paper. She smoothed it out as best she could before offering it to the old man. It was the very same one that Anzo had shown to her back in Darsia.
ImageHe held the paper up to his nose, then promptly turned it over so that the blank side was the side he was scrutinizing. Sniffing, he nodded seriously.
Image“Eight pound stock, probably from… Darsia? Or further east. It smells of sulphur. You got this piece of paper from a gunslinger?”
Image"Yes, a man named Anzo Tinzdale," Taima answered. "He said you might know something about it."
Image“About paper? Not much more than anyone else,” he said, wadding it up and tossing it back at her, “but I used to know a great deal about parchment. Travelled with a man who used it a lot. You should go now.”
ImageHe waved at her, waiting for her to move along. With a sigh as she got up.
Image"Sorry for the trouble then," she told him as she headed out.
Image“Oh yes, you should be,” he nodded, and followed this with a holler. “Come back tomorrow! I’ll remember more about whatever it is we spoke about. And fix that hole!”