Hello. I spent my whole life trying to be a great fighter. I lived on a land, a beautiful land. It was once a great land. A happy land before the era of the praetorian. The Atheist and the Racist came for me. The child was sick. The hopelessness in his eyes screamed out for eternity. Denied.
Never again, did the pretty folk, the sure footed, love. They hated every man on earth or Terra or whatever it was once called. A home of dragons. A home that stayed warm in its’ core. A heartland bled now dry for industry. To survive it was hard, it was harder than life itself. For the pretty were always ugly in their hearts and souls.
“Souls for sale.” said the old Redemptionist.
“Penny for your thoughts.” said his sisters in chant.
“Guns of old sinnatia, dome for me, dome for free.” muttered loudly the gang leader and cried out.
“Never.” said their pit slave, so hoarse and said tired, barely a whisper.
“We will have victory.” the sisters said.
“Fly me to the moons.” cried the pit slave and left the gang.
I am here, was the tenant of the Van Saar known as Peet On the Shore. They mocked nature and natural law, they were sick but handsome. Rich but sacrilegious, poisoned was their first and only effort to rule. Desperate to show that technology would overcome all poisoned and venomed illness. They had the cure, but not the solution. That is what the Delaque thought, secretly.
A gang war, a series of gang fights, sponsored by their territory owning peoples, broke suddenly out across the lower section of this dome, sinnatia. It was hollow and childish and very stupid. That is what the Cawdor said. And then fought the Redemption. For they needed more, and more and more. More death, little life. Dead or Alive.
No one could afford a Hired Gun. Rare as Millasaur teeth captured alive. A telepath came down with promises of victory, nice outfit, beautiful staff. No one liked the bald prat, that is what they called the lovely well read man. He saw a field of nightmares, before he even was aware, laying down a beautiful ganger with thoughts running through his hard working head. Only had he not said his feelings and his ideas, he would think… regret would not be his keeper.
“Bloody mary. Soul of God’s children. Drink up, young ones.” said the sister of ascension.
“Ahh.” said the child, only a juve, the Escher sympathising with the crusade. Never wanted a grave early for this virgin. A choice breeder, do not trust the unbelievable they chanted and muttered around their panelled fortress. Bought with blood. Heavy was the air.
I was tired of writing this story, when along came the telepath and said I know you want me for the Bounty, want can you do. I said begone, I know you are wanted but not evil. I have no need for money from you. But I know in the end this conversation is not to be recorded. I took the bribe they said. He was just being my friend.
These are my stats. According the the pretrial. Of another dead Redemptionist and the ire I feel right now, echoes beyond life eternal. Did I make a mistake? No, you will see why.
Bounty Hunter stats. Dodge, Quick Witted, True Grit, Killer Reputation.
A found a bit of luck, and mainly use my shotgun. It’s enough to remember. And a great pistol of course. With my bionic chest. I feel alive. I trained harder than any, and failed. Yet here I am, cashing in the smoke filled room still laughing. Poker is an old game, I wonder if I will ever enjoy playing that. I know that I could have won the lottery, but I like my job. And I do it, not for ripperjack teeth but for the soul that I need back. For all the evil I have seen, prays and prays…
Never again, did the pretty folk, the sure footed, love. They hated every man on earth or Terra or whatever it was once called. A home of dragons. A home that stayed warm in its’ core. A heartland bled now dry for industry. To survive it was hard, it was harder than life itself. For the pretty were always ugly in their hearts and souls.
“Souls for sale.” said the old Redemptionist.
“Penny for your thoughts.” said his sisters in chant.
“Guns of old sinnatia, dome for me, dome for free.” muttered loudly the gang leader and cried out.
“Never.” said their pit slave, so hoarse and said tired, barely a whisper.
“We will have victory.” the sisters said.
“Fly me to the moons.” cried the pit slave and left the gang.
I am here, was the tenant of the Van Saar known as Peet On the Shore. They mocked nature and natural law, they were sick but handsome. Rich but sacrilegious, poisoned was their first and only effort to rule. Desperate to show that technology would overcome all poisoned and venomed illness. They had the cure, but not the solution. That is what the Delaque thought, secretly.
A gang war, a series of gang fights, sponsored by their territory owning peoples, broke suddenly out across the lower section of this dome, sinnatia. It was hollow and childish and very stupid. That is what the Cawdor said. And then fought the Redemption. For they needed more, and more and more. More death, little life. Dead or Alive.
No one could afford a Hired Gun. Rare as Millasaur teeth captured alive. A telepath came down with promises of victory, nice outfit, beautiful staff. No one liked the bald prat, that is what they called the lovely well read man. He saw a field of nightmares, before he even was aware, laying down a beautiful ganger with thoughts running through his hard working head. Only had he not said his feelings and his ideas, he would think… regret would not be his keeper.
“Bloody mary. Soul of God’s children. Drink up, young ones.” said the sister of ascension.
“Ahh.” said the child, only a juve, the Escher sympathising with the crusade. Never wanted a grave early for this virgin. A choice breeder, do not trust the unbelievable they chanted and muttered around their panelled fortress. Bought with blood. Heavy was the air.
I was tired of writing this story, when along came the telepath and said I know you want me for the Bounty, want can you do. I said begone, I know you are wanted but not evil. I have no need for money from you. But I know in the end this conversation is not to be recorded. I took the bribe they said. He was just being my friend.
These are my stats. According the the pretrial. Of another dead Redemptionist and the ire I feel right now, echoes beyond life eternal. Did I make a mistake? No, you will see why.
Bounty Hunter stats. Dodge, Quick Witted, True Grit, Killer Reputation.
A found a bit of luck, and mainly use my shotgun. It’s enough to remember. And a great pistol of course. With my bionic chest. I feel alive. I trained harder than any, and failed. Yet here I am, cashing in the smoke filled room still laughing. Poker is an old game, I wonder if I will ever enjoy playing that. I know that I could have won the lottery, but I like my job. And I do it, not for ripperjack teeth but for the soul that I need back. For all the evil I have seen, prays and prays…