02-29-2016, 10:11 PM
Hello darkness, my old friend.
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping,
left its seeds while I was sleeping.
Soft croons emanated from the confines of the rectangular box, filling the kitchen with peaceful if slightly staticky music. The gunsmith had never heard of music like it before. It seemed to be a mixture of a quiet stringed instrument combined with a duet. The voices continued to sing, unaware of Ballad's predicament.
The small man across the room from the green man stood threateningly near the entryway, his silver blunderbuss aimed directly towards him. His leather overalls creaked as he adjusted his arms, sliding his left hand along the barrel of his rifle. He held one eye closed, squinting down the barrel of his gun and frowning. After a few moments, he began to speak through clenched teeth, his voice gnarled and grumpy as it arose from the matted, shaggy black beard around his mouth.
"Gimme one reason why I shouldn't blast yer head off yer shoulders, troll." The dwarf spoke, his index finger pushing the trigger of his gun slightly. He maintained his gaze on the intruder, glaring at him.
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light.
That split the night
and touched the sound of silence.
Superb lyrics thought Ballad. His focus was not on the immediate threat, but rather on the far more captivating melody enrapturing his eardrums. The instruments had increased in volume; the singers no longer melancholic, but instead, blithe, with a sense of heroism to their utterances. He wanted to stand there, studying this phenomenon and unlocking the hidden meaning behind their words. It was an opportunity for knowledge that any self-respecting spectre would wish to seize.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silen-
Sadly, that would never come to be. A disgruntled whisper reminded him of his goal, and with a heavy heart, he applied pressure to the button, shutting off the music and filling the room with silence.
"Well?" The rifleman said, obviously impatient.
"You said you wanted to develop your arts, how about you fucking do it?" He whispered to himself, closing his eyes just as they switched to a pale white color. He pacified the beetle in his mind, easing his worries and doing all he could to keep him from obtaining control.
"I'm deeply sorry for the intrusion, o..." SPB paused, glancing towards the stained couch, "homely individual. Please forgive us, for we are in need of rest and direction to a destination of ours-"
"Like hell, I'm gonna be givin' directions to a filthy green-skinner troll." The dwarf spat, his tone venomous.
The gunner frowned, remaining polite but otherwise emotionless, "I'm disinclined to correct you, sir dwarf, but I am no troll. I am simply a man of many talents, and it would be much preferable if my head is not removed from my body."
"Not a troll, huh?" The rifleman muttered, glancing away from him, apparently thinking. The gunsmith slowly set the radio down next to the sink, only to pause as soon as he heard the creaking of leather.
"Prove to me you ain't a rotten green-skin," He said maliciously.
The gunsmith remained still, contemplating how to handle the situation. He was in danger, but he did not want to unleash his other half just yet. It would be a horrible idea to get on the dwarves' bad side, especially at that moment when they were unprepared. He quickly ran through all he knew about the trolls. They were ferocious, had tusks, mostly used melee weapons.
His eyes widened in surprise. He swiftly brought his hand towards his waist, only stopping once he heard more creaking of leather. He lessened his speed, unholstering his revolver. He lifted it up for the small person to see, barrel pointed away from him.
The dwarf blinked once, lowering his blunderbuss slightly as he stared at the pistol, his mouth agape. "Where'd ya get that thin'?" He asked.
"I invented it," The gunman answered, allowing a smirk and a chuckle to escape his otherwise inexpressive appearance, "It's a revolver. It can fire six bullets, one every two seconds, and a flammable wick is utilized as both primer and powder."
"And I will add," He said, pausing to stare at his adversary, "it is far more accurate than your blunderbuss at any range, and I guarantee you it will be twice as powerful."
"Yer threatenin' me, aren't ya greenie?" The dwarf replied, going silent for a few moments before saying "if so, then you ain't no troll. No troll has the gall to go up against a singular dwarf, let alone use that pretty little pistol of yers."
The gunsmith let out a sigh, sliding his revolver into his holster. "Yes, good. Now, about those directions."
"What about 'em?" The tiny man said, walking towards a nearby stand to place the blunderbuss on.
"I'm searching for a village called Nierhin. Have you happened across it in your travels?"
The dwarf turned away from the weapon stand, frowning, "Happened across it? This is the guard station for it, ya idiot green-skin. I'm its sentry." He said, sighing as he shook his head.
Raising his eyebrows, the green gunman took a quick look around the room, seeing the dirty dishes, the stained couch, and a part of the dirty metal bin. He decided not to comment on it, and instead diverted his attention towards the act of getting to Nierhin.
"Is it possible for you to escort me there, o sentry?"
"I figured you were gonna say that..." The sentry replied, letting out an exasperated sigh as it moved towards the entryway, "just let me get dressed, then we'll get goin'."
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping,
left its seeds while I was sleeping.
Soft croons emanated from the confines of the rectangular box, filling the kitchen with peaceful if slightly staticky music. The gunsmith had never heard of music like it before. It seemed to be a mixture of a quiet stringed instrument combined with a duet. The voices continued to sing, unaware of Ballad's predicament.
The small man across the room from the green man stood threateningly near the entryway, his silver blunderbuss aimed directly towards him. His leather overalls creaked as he adjusted his arms, sliding his left hand along the barrel of his rifle. He held one eye closed, squinting down the barrel of his gun and frowning. After a few moments, he began to speak through clenched teeth, his voice gnarled and grumpy as it arose from the matted, shaggy black beard around his mouth.
"Gimme one reason why I shouldn't blast yer head off yer shoulders, troll." The dwarf spoke, his index finger pushing the trigger of his gun slightly. He maintained his gaze on the intruder, glaring at him.
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light.
That split the night
and touched the sound of silence.
Superb lyrics thought Ballad. His focus was not on the immediate threat, but rather on the far more captivating melody enrapturing his eardrums. The instruments had increased in volume; the singers no longer melancholic, but instead, blithe, with a sense of heroism to their utterances. He wanted to stand there, studying this phenomenon and unlocking the hidden meaning behind their words. It was an opportunity for knowledge that any self-respecting spectre would wish to seize.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silen-
Sadly, that would never come to be. A disgruntled whisper reminded him of his goal, and with a heavy heart, he applied pressure to the button, shutting off the music and filling the room with silence.
"Well?" The rifleman said, obviously impatient.
"You said you wanted to develop your arts, how about you fucking do it?" He whispered to himself, closing his eyes just as they switched to a pale white color. He pacified the beetle in his mind, easing his worries and doing all he could to keep him from obtaining control.
"I'm deeply sorry for the intrusion, o..." SPB paused, glancing towards the stained couch, "homely individual. Please forgive us, for we are in need of rest and direction to a destination of ours-"
"Like hell, I'm gonna be givin' directions to a filthy green-skinner troll." The dwarf spat, his tone venomous.
The gunner frowned, remaining polite but otherwise emotionless, "I'm disinclined to correct you, sir dwarf, but I am no troll. I am simply a man of many talents, and it would be much preferable if my head is not removed from my body."
"Not a troll, huh?" The rifleman muttered, glancing away from him, apparently thinking. The gunsmith slowly set the radio down next to the sink, only to pause as soon as he heard the creaking of leather.
"Prove to me you ain't a rotten green-skin," He said maliciously.
The gunsmith remained still, contemplating how to handle the situation. He was in danger, but he did not want to unleash his other half just yet. It would be a horrible idea to get on the dwarves' bad side, especially at that moment when they were unprepared. He quickly ran through all he knew about the trolls. They were ferocious, had tusks, mostly used melee weapons.
His eyes widened in surprise. He swiftly brought his hand towards his waist, only stopping once he heard more creaking of leather. He lessened his speed, unholstering his revolver. He lifted it up for the small person to see, barrel pointed away from him.
The dwarf blinked once, lowering his blunderbuss slightly as he stared at the pistol, his mouth agape. "Where'd ya get that thin'?" He asked.
"I invented it," The gunman answered, allowing a smirk and a chuckle to escape his otherwise inexpressive appearance, "It's a revolver. It can fire six bullets, one every two seconds, and a flammable wick is utilized as both primer and powder."
"And I will add," He said, pausing to stare at his adversary, "it is far more accurate than your blunderbuss at any range, and I guarantee you it will be twice as powerful."
"Yer threatenin' me, aren't ya greenie?" The dwarf replied, going silent for a few moments before saying "if so, then you ain't no troll. No troll has the gall to go up against a singular dwarf, let alone use that pretty little pistol of yers."
The gunsmith let out a sigh, sliding his revolver into his holster. "Yes, good. Now, about those directions."
"What about 'em?" The tiny man said, walking towards a nearby stand to place the blunderbuss on.
"I'm searching for a village called Nierhin. Have you happened across it in your travels?"
The dwarf turned away from the weapon stand, frowning, "Happened across it? This is the guard station for it, ya idiot green-skin. I'm its sentry." He said, sighing as he shook his head.
Raising his eyebrows, the green gunman took a quick look around the room, seeing the dirty dishes, the stained couch, and a part of the dirty metal bin. He decided not to comment on it, and instead diverted his attention towards the act of getting to Nierhin.
"Is it possible for you to escort me there, o sentry?"
"I figured you were gonna say that..." The sentry replied, letting out an exasperated sigh as it moved towards the entryway, "just let me get dressed, then we'll get goin'."
Quote:Quest: Into The Halls
Word Count: 986
Amount Left: 7,210
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New to OV? Need a question answered? Want a C&C of your work? Send a PM to me!
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