Another week, another Writers Guild Presents!
This week we have @dngn4774 with the debuting of his new series New World, Old West!
New World, Old West Preview
Rated M for Mature
Book One: Manifest Destiny
Now and again, history regales us with the tales of great heroes, such men who are endowed with a greatness bestowed to them from the will of the almighty. This here ain’t one of them…
The day had reached its adolescence, a time where most men would have the decency to reconvene with the decorum of society. A young man who had defied his intended lifespan stood atop his chair and rose his glass to toast the joys of nihilism. To his dismay nearby patrons only stared with confusion. He shrugged and took a sip from his glass as he attempted to rise above the table.
Just then his motion was interrupted by the owner of the establishment. “Get the hell off my chair Knifeears!”
The drunken half-elf belched before drawing his Bowie knife to respond. “This ain’t none of your business half-man. Let me say my peace or I’ll chop ya down even smaller.” A brief hiccup followed the drunkard’s threat, thus replacing any intimidation with ridiculousness. As his foot teetered on the edge of the table the rest of his weight sent him crashing to the floor.
The other patrons cackled as the young man rolled over on his back. The laughing abruptly halted as the saloon doors creaked open. The half-elf grimaced when the sunlight touched his face. He balanced himself on one knee and rubbed his eyes to refocus his vision, in that short span of time he noticed the saloon was completely silent except for the sound of metal clinging against the floor. As he opened his eyes he saw six boots in front of him that were attached to three men with guns.
It was a human accompanied by two orcs. The orcs had matching overalls beneath their tattered vests and jackets. The human had white gator boots and a fine ten-gallon hat to hide his long blonde hair that was kept tied in a ponytail. The man in the ponytail pointed a Winchester to the center of the half-elf’s forehead as the orcs surrounded him. “Bowman Abernathy I presume?”
“You presumed correct,” he affirmed. “Might I ask who you are? You see it’s pretty rare for someone to recognize me. You might not know this but I’m not very popular around these parts.”
“You don’t say?” He said, feigning shock. He pressed the barrel deeper on the half-elf’s flesh and replied “The name’s McClean, Gavin McClean.” He rapidly pulled his Winchester back and struck Bowman with the butt of his rifle. “Take him in boys!” He ordered.
The orcs tied Abernathy’s hands and emptied his pockets. “Hold on now!” The bartender shouted. “That drunk bastard still owes me three hundred dollars. No one’s leaving till I get paid what I’m owed.”
“Save it!” McClean dismissed as he flashed his silver-star badge. “We’re Texas Rangers and this man is a wanted fugitive. Public safety must take top priority, and any interference with this arrest will be treated with hostile force. Unless you want to share a cell with this maught, I’d let us take him into custody.”
The dwarf stepped aside letting the party pass.
The half-elf’s eyes shuddered as he awoke on the back of a wagon. At first he presumed that his encounter with the lawmen was a dream, until a growling orc hinted otherwise. The other orc was busy polishing the blood off of his Ranger’s badge with his jacket before noticing his brother’s content. The indentations on the badge were consistent with teeth markings, indicating that he occasionally gnawed on it; some orcs were like that, savage brutes with a child-like sense of wonder.
“He’s awake,” the orc in the vest confirmed. “Is that going to be a problem?”
The orc in the jacket scowled in annoyance and kicked Bowman in the head. “Not anymore” he replied. The orcs chuckled as the wheels kept trailing through the Texas Road.
A stream of cold water crashed over Bowman. The chilling surge rushed through every nerve, forcing his body to coil.
“Rise and shine Mr. Abernathy!” Exclaimed a foreign voice. The unknown man stood before the half-elf’s cell. He had pale green skin, platinum blonde tapered hair, thin arched eyebrows, and pointed ears. He was dressed in proper business attire, with suspenders and a derby hat.
Bowman stuttered, still gasping in shock, “W-what do you want? W-where am I?”
“Where indeed,” the elf cryptically muttered. He unlocked the cell door and approached the inmate. “Follow me for a moment, then that choice will be up to you.” He extended an arm to help raise Abernathy to his feet, then walked him out of the jailhouse.
As they steadily paced through the streets Bowman could not help feeling a sense of déjà vu. He stared into a sea of new faces but could only focus on the phantoms of his past. These were the same faces he used to drink away but for some reason he could no longer ignore them. It was almost as if a small piece of his mind wanted to address them. His heart started to beat faster as his mind gradually pieced the puzzle back together. After they turned one last corner the half-elf paused, now realizing that he had been brought back to the place he had been evading for so many years.
“You’ve been out for quite some time,” the elf in the derby hat implied. “Welcome home!”