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5/19/2025, 8:22:18 PM
[1/]
Adrenaline starts to seep in as you prepare to dramatically shift the jubilant mood of the marauders. You notice everything. The wind rustling through the leaves around you, the crackling of the campfire around which the raiders have gathered, and their every vocalization. The long barrel of Machogo's Musket sways steadily, then comes to a complete standstill as you exhale, composing a lethal departure point whose intended terminus is the chest of the raider with the blood-red turban. He squats perpendicularly to you, jibbering excitedly while rifling through a large hiking backpack, his own musket sitting at his side.
You slowly squeeze the trigger.
Clic-FFFFFTHHH Your stomach drops. "Fu-" CRACK! A goddamned hangfire!
The Red Turban raider was in the middle of standing up as your slightly-delayed shot screamed through the foliage. The thumb-sized lead ball found purchase in his right leg, barely above the knee, the force of the impact kicking his legs out from under him and sending him, only just risen, crashing back into the dirt. He howls in surprise, and then profound pain, his knee completely shattered and immobilized.
You take off into the bushes, thankful that the hangfire wasn't a complete misfire. You hear yelling behind you, the wounded raider bellowing in agony, and his companions shouting in surprise and hasty instruction. There's no way they didn't see the cloud of smoke you left after a glance around. Footsteps, branches breaking, a shadow darts, delayed, into the darkness after you. The spearman.
Making a hard 90-degree turn, you start fumbling with your gun. Powder into pan... close the pan... You leap over a rock after covering some distance and duck back beside it. Powder and ball into the barrel... You listen. Your pursuer stomps through the undergrowth in the falling darkness, some distance away. Take the ramrod out... Ram it all home... He halts, and shouts bitterly back towards the camp. The crossbowman responds in kind. Their stricken leader shouts at them both through his anguish. Return the rammer... Cock the gun... click. You tense. Did they hear that?
CRACK! thwunk!
They absolutely did. A crossbow bolt whistles above your head and a musket ball smacks angrily into a tree trunk off to your right, sending chunks of bark scattering into the grass. You dash further into the lightless woods. You hear the spearman again, whooping and hollering as he charges through the forest towards the rock you just left behind. You slide into a crouch, turn, and raise your weapon to the darkness. An animated form hops above fallen logs and stones with a wide wicker shield in one hand, and a long spear in the other. He raises a loud, screaming war cry as he closes the remaining distance. You squeeze the trigger once again, with a brief prayer flashing through your mind.
Adrenaline starts to seep in as you prepare to dramatically shift the jubilant mood of the marauders. You notice everything. The wind rustling through the leaves around you, the crackling of the campfire around which the raiders have gathered, and their every vocalization. The long barrel of Machogo's Musket sways steadily, then comes to a complete standstill as you exhale, composing a lethal departure point whose intended terminus is the chest of the raider with the blood-red turban. He squats perpendicularly to you, jibbering excitedly while rifling through a large hiking backpack, his own musket sitting at his side.
You slowly squeeze the trigger.
Clic-FFFFFTHHH Your stomach drops. "Fu-" CRACK! A goddamned hangfire!
The Red Turban raider was in the middle of standing up as your slightly-delayed shot screamed through the foliage. The thumb-sized lead ball found purchase in his right leg, barely above the knee, the force of the impact kicking his legs out from under him and sending him, only just risen, crashing back into the dirt. He howls in surprise, and then profound pain, his knee completely shattered and immobilized.
You take off into the bushes, thankful that the hangfire wasn't a complete misfire. You hear yelling behind you, the wounded raider bellowing in agony, and his companions shouting in surprise and hasty instruction. There's no way they didn't see the cloud of smoke you left after a glance around. Footsteps, branches breaking, a shadow darts, delayed, into the darkness after you. The spearman.
Making a hard 90-degree turn, you start fumbling with your gun. Powder into pan... close the pan... You leap over a rock after covering some distance and duck back beside it. Powder and ball into the barrel... You listen. Your pursuer stomps through the undergrowth in the falling darkness, some distance away. Take the ramrod out... Ram it all home... He halts, and shouts bitterly back towards the camp. The crossbowman responds in kind. Their stricken leader shouts at them both through his anguish. Return the rammer... Cock the gun... click. You tense. Did they hear that?
CRACK! thwunk!
They absolutely did. A crossbow bolt whistles above your head and a musket ball smacks angrily into a tree trunk off to your right, sending chunks of bark scattering into the grass. You dash further into the lightless woods. You hear the spearman again, whooping and hollering as he charges through the forest towards the rock you just left behind. You slide into a crouch, turn, and raise your weapon to the darkness. An animated form hops above fallen logs and stones with a wide wicker shield in one hand, and a long spear in the other. He raises a loud, screaming war cry as he closes the remaining distance. You squeeze the trigger once again, with a brief prayer flashing through your mind.
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