MOOD MUSIC - [video=youtube;J4x7RchYCMc]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4x7RchYCMc&feature=fvwrel[/video] [video=youtube;U9_h8XwP4Wg]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9_h8XwP4Wg[/video] [video=youtube;JaNogNtT0zA]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaNogNtT0zA[/video] [video=youtube;1mkIrvuU_zE]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mkIrvuU_zE[/video] Gather 'round, children, and I'll tell you a tale of long ago. This was, y'see, back when the Old West was in pieces. Lots of 'em, of all sorts. The land was jagged and untamed, growling at the borders of our good old Spamzonia. 'Twas red and harsh, martian, with but little more than a few struggling joshua trees and cacti out amongst them ancient ruddy valleys and titanic lone-standin' mesas. Cracked and rugged, like the skin of a man who has seen too much, this was an ancient land, lawless and untamed. But we still carved out little flowers o' growth and survival in this new, raucous frontier. 'Steads were built far apart usually, 'least in the greener areas, and in places that were the worst we huddled together close, as if for warmth and support in this wasteland, and thrived. Somewhat. We'd get across places on our horses, traversin' them vast landscapes with nary but the wind upon our backs, and them peoples from far away would come trade with us, alike. The railways at the time were still in their infantile stages, 'course, and so we got all sorts 'a threats. Like pioneers, so far away from our old homes, we lived a rather dusty an' dangerous existence, I'd say. Called the land divided and in pieces, yeah? Well, that ain't just the geography, or as it were. Bully, was it a damned dangerous place. Lawless, yeah, and untamed anarchy ain't never a good thing when ya got crazed men roaming the blood red sunset fields all over the damn place. I lived in a town they once called Espada. Codevaultian for "blade", and boy, won't you bet your momma's socks how that name fit the violence it held. The town was literally divided in half by two notorious gunslinging, quick-shooting upstarts from farther in the hinterlands. 'Course, our town was a border town anyway, so who'd have complained. Damn, they brought hell and murder upon our town. Shame too, 'cause they seemed like great men corrupted by that environment around them. To different extents, 'course. Bah. I'll go ahead and start with the first one. What a young upstart - idealist, shame what happened to him really. Fastest horse rider in the Old West, I'd say. Quick drawer, too. He had got with 'im a band of rowdy cow-boys that done went patrollin' the entire goddamn west with their own brand of bullyin'. Vigilantes, at least most of 'em were. But that man, by god. You'd know him anywhere from that get-up of his. He had a dusty old poncho that went down to his knees, about, worn and tired in so many places, and riddled with holes here and there. Strange black and red colour too. 'Course, 'gave him some kind of strange, unearthly and dastardly appearance, and served to hide well his guns. Hognosed boots left behind him tracks that seemed to always stay embedded in the red dust, and his victims would never forget three things 'bout him. That long, flowing hair of his, always ridin' the wind and crowned with a great black hat; his amazin' sing-songy voice that always cried out in sympathy, even in them murderin'; and the great necklace of sharp, ambiguous bones that, coupled with his ruthless attitude, gave the man the name of Cut-throat Clawtooth. Called him an idealist, I did, an' for good reason. Man did ol' Cut-throat Clawtooth look sinister, and god damn wouldn't I be hating a guy for not trusting the man, but he had some sort of moral code to him. Robin Hood, a bit like the story is. Always stealin' from the richer ones in the west and givin' to them poorer folk. I found this out myself by accident, one day, as that man, with tagging gang, robbed a train on the way to town and stole its contents. I ain't never gonna forget the scene of his long hair flowing behind him in the early sunrise. 'Course, I followed them with suspicion, and there he went, giving away the stuff to some sort of orphanage in a forgotten pocket town! He's ruthless and his killed some guys, yeah, but he's got morals. Can't say that for the other man. Boy, if you gone and compared the two in aesthetic, you'd call the one I'm now speaking of almost angelic. He always held some sorta grace to him - on his horse, fast almost as Cut-throat Clawtooth, but his turns and movements were half as rough-edged. He always did them things - Colt-drawing, movement, even speech with a solemn, soft-spoken serenity. Seemed like a nice man at first, but by far was he the more corrupt one. I'll always remember the image of him and his white-clad gang, riding along their horses in the sunset, his great cape billowing behind him in the crimson light. He's a justice-deliverer out on the frontier, at least they say. But by god is he a corrupt one. He smuggles, steals, pilfers, and murders - burns down whole towns and slits the throats of innocents in the name of a corrupt, broken cynicism and twisted view on the frontier. And god help you if you ever looked him in the eye - which was hard, mind you, 'cause much of his face 'cept his eyes were covered by a bandana. Those red-orange eyes of him stared into your soul, always, and when he set those embers upon you it was almost a certainty that Fire-eye Forsaken was going to send you to the fires of hell. He was an amoral arbiter, that's what he was, delivering his own brand of twisted justice to the undeserved, or just honkeying around in his crimes and smuggling dealings. 'Course, it was certain they'd one day confront each other in my town. In ol' Espada. I remember that tragic day so well too, and dammit would I like to forget. The observant sun just hit the noon corners of the sky, and the place was bathed in the bright desert like, as if a macabre set of sorts. Dust whirled around in pockets and in great breaths, and the groaning red land complemented the ramshackle wooden buildings of Espada. I was in the Saloon - 'course, I always was, since I worked there in that sweltering bartender uniform. Another dreary day, and I was rather surprised to see the saloon so quiet today. 'Course, there was a reason for that. A man I knew as Old Sforzy looked at his watch in his corner, and suddenly his face turned ghastly pale before his long beard. He struggled to get up, helped by that man who seemed to love tacos and other Mexican treats, and as he walked towards me he said: "Board them doors! Board them doors! Cut-throat Clawtooth and Fire-eye Forsaken are out on the streets eyeing each other in a way that ain't good!" Action, oh that damn action. I boarded them doors, but hell if I didn't keep the windows open. They wouldn't shoot a lowly bartender like me. And then, I saw it. Oh, I saw everything out clear. On the edges of the main street of our town, there those two pariahs stood, facing each other and hands at the ready. Windward and sunward stood the angel of death, Fire-eye Forsaken, his eyes fixated on a target and his great cape, almost three times as long as him and in its torn ruffles, billowing out beyond his lithe, lanky body. It was easy to see the bright black revolvers on the sides of his thin legs. Anybody could see they were just itchin' to get out. Leeward was there, our Robin Hood, Cut-throat clawtooth. That black poncho of his was like a cast shadow over his body, hiding his distinct silver revolvers. His mouth was set and his dark, musty hat obscurin' his eyes. He stood like an untamed beast in comparison to the civilized Fire-eye - jagged and angular as the rocks and cliffs of the Old West. The dust rode upon the blowin' wind and a tumbleweed passed by, acknowledgin' this little confrontation. The street was desolate. 'Twas clear everyone else was boarded up in them buildings, but - like mine - a few windows were open just to see this battle between the tamed and untamed - the appearance and the soul - the old and the new - the good and the bad of the frontier. Then, I saw it, I saw the damned thing. I saw it - the glint in Fire-eye Forsaken's eyes. That god damned glint. That scintillation. A second later he drew both his Colts and shot the hell out of Clawtooth. Or, he tried shooting the livin' hell out of Cut-throat Clawtooth. Obviously the man was too fast for him. He scurried off to the sides of one of the buildings with a menacing growl, firin' off them silver revolvers like it was Wednesday at the Saloon. Fire-eye ran after him as he hid behind a building's column, and damn did Fire-eye Forsaken fill that with holes. Cut-throat rolled over behind the barrels, shooting at Fire-eye, but damned was the man himself fast - more a flash of cape than human, truly. Cut-throat strode with haste over to where my Saloon was, but dammit. Cut-throat Clawtooth was nicked. A bullet had hit him on the way behind the column, a small wound, just by the arm, but that was enough to slow him down. Fire-eye shot him again as he drew nearer, cape blowing in the wind, red-orange sunset eyes glinting with malice. His white garments shone eerily bright. Clawtooth began to slump to the floor, breathing hard, as he drew his revolvers up to the man slowly walking before him. He kept shooting, but that damned Fire-eye dodged easily with Clawtooth's now-unsteady aim. Then I heard it. That noise - that distinct click of an empty barrel. This was it, definitely - The age of Cut-throat Clawtooth was about to end. I couldn't see past this side of the window, but I heard it. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Goddamn it. Goddamn it all. I was sittin' here like a bloody coward while this angel of death is gone here murderin' the sanest criminal this side of the frontier. What the hell was I to do? I did what I had to, god damn it. I rushed outside, grabbing my pistol to save the life of a murderer in this hellish wasteland. And there I saw him. I saw Fire-eye Forsaken's eyes. Those cold, almost inhuman red-orange eyes. And yet, it was as if they were pained. Though, it was mighty obvious what Fire-eye Forsaken was about to do. Me, I was too busy shocked at both them eyes and the lifeless body of Cut-throat Clawtooth near him, drenched in blood. He pointed his guns at me. I closed my eyes. Bang. Bang. What a surprise, and damn was I pretty surprised myself, when I found out what happened. I opened my eyes, not finding myself in hell, but in the other hellish frontier that was the humid town. And there I saw two things that startled me. First was the body of Fire-eye Forsaken slumped on the ground. His hat was shot off and his pristine white cape was drawn as if a blanket over him - tarnished, stained by the blood of his own wound straight through the heart. Second were the two men right by the window of the Saloon. The other opened window, on the other side. Old Sforz stood there with one of Cut-throat's revolvers, grabbed from the slumped man right below the window, his hand held steady by the man who loved tacos. I ran over to the two men at the window and the lifeless body below it. They were my saviors. But that day, I would be a savior in my own right. I almost stumbled over that damn man, but I heard it. I heard his breathin'. Shaky and raspy, as if on the right edge of his life. Cut-throat Clawtooth, just barely livin' looked up at me, and smiled a bloody smile. His left hand was limp on the sill of the Saloon window. Of course I had just realized what the man had done. Always ruthless yet always givin'. Only one of his guns had failed. He threw the other one into the window behind him, knowing he was cornered, and hopin' to be saved since he must've seen us people in the place. What a crafty man. Clawtooth. Cut-throat Clawtooth was alive. I and the other two took 'im in. The man who loved the tacos had some medical supplies on his person. I was able to patch him up good. Some of the town helped too. Fire-eye's body was taken away by his gang, and his protege Plumboot swore to stop the bloody feud that had been goin' on between Cut-throat and Fire-eye's gangs. I learned, in my time with the recovering Cut-throat, that Fire-eye and him were old brothers. 'Twas a long a detailed story, perhaps for another time, but after that tragedy of a day, I'd happen to say the Old West wasn't as dangerous as it used t'be. Cut-throat was never the same though. After that, he could barely walk, let alone draw pistols or ride a horse well. Was a good tragedy indeed. Though he lived on, his lovely spirit - in our hearts, despite him never doing what he loved as frequently he loved to be with us. And me? Oh, he was mighty grateful. I kept goin' on and on insistin' about how I ain't did a thing, but good ol' Cut-throat kept saying these words t'me. "If it weren't for your little Saloon and its folks there And your mighty distraction, I'd be dead here, and so would be The hope that stays at the roots of this frontier. From now on, I better call you a name that mighty fits. From now on, like you were there, in that little ol' bonanza, My guardian soul." And I've stuck with that name, the name a ruthless murderer gave me, in the name of following his ideal of a hopeful future in a hellish frontier land. He was the guardian soul of the forgotten and the poor in this underworld, and he passed the title on to me, ready to defend the ideal of a hopeful future, not to just stay a whisper in the dust, but a yell from the mesas themselves.
This is a great story. I like how you portrayed the characters, light and dark and if they do indeed co-relate to good and evil. I alos really liked how you left it until the end to reveal the narrator. The style and period lent itself well to your narration, which I liked, and the bluff was well done. Weird formatting notwithstanding, this was a great story, a think I always expect from you. And yes, only cool people post in the CC version of the thread.
I half expected my name when you described Forsaken. It was lovely. It reads like something from the era with or without the music. Well done.
Brilliant story What. I love the narration, and western themes are always awesome. Fire-eye Forsaken. I like the sound of that. Also, I will say this again, Claw actually surviving is the biggest plot-twist ever.
