Another fren has gone home. And more will follow. Man, they are dropping like flies. Going out is getting harder and harder, and I'm wasting more and more time. Not that I didn't already heh.

Btw: HAVE A GREAT TRIP AMS!!!! BE SAFE AND HAVE FUN!!! WILL CONTACT U IN SG!!!! :) *HUGS*

Spent my day Gunbounding. If that isnt a waste of time, i dunno wat is. Also bloody hot today. Was parched, half dead, walking in the city in the confounded heat. HOT!!!!

Finally, got meself a new book. James Barclay's Elf's Sorrow. wonder how this one goes. Hopefully nice. AND THE NEW DARK TOWER BOOK IS OUT!!! But am waiting for everything to come out b4 collecting it. Really kicks ass. so here's something for fun:

Gunslinger

Prologue

It was the dawn of another day. A beautiful sunrise, all fiery-red, its warm rays branched out across the lush green valleys that surrounded Dunman Manor. It was the start of a fine day and all was quiet. Days like this should be joyous and celebrated, especially with some vintage wine and feasts of food! That should be the case in the Manor, quiet as it was, it was also getting ready for the big, bright day ahead. However, on closer inspection, the sound of silence within the small gray-walled fortress was not that of peace and tranquility. Rather, the air within was tense and residents were restless. There were few cooks and servants, hardly any women and children around. These had been led out of the Manor towards the capital city of Granseal, where they would be safe, at least for the time being.
The walls of the keep were lined with soldiers, some with muskets, others with bows. All were grim and scanned the horizon frequently. They were searching for any sign of the attackers that would soon arrive. These new threats had already destroyed two minor keeps and a huge fortress, crushing their defenses in a single attack, two at most. Dunman Manor was well-built, with walls rising to a hundred feet in height. But it was not designed to fight off an army as big as the one approaching it, slowly, but surely. The defenders were garbed in the uniforms of blue and red and carried standard Esturian weapons. There were other warriors within the walls too. These did not wear the Esturian colors. Nor did they have normal weapons or any guns at all. They were Highlanders, tribesmen from the Outer Territories, sworn enemies of the Esturians. The Highlanders were also tense, muttering among themselves and sharpening their weapons for the upcoming battle. They did not like the Esturians, hated them in fact. This would make the fighting hard, very hard. But as long as their leader supported this cause, they were there with him. They were those kind of people.
In another part of the keep, inside a large mess hall where soldiers gathered to eat, many troops lie sleeping, be it the floor on the tables themselves. A tall, muscular man in an unbuttoned brown tunic sat in a corner of the hall, his weapons placed on the table next to him. The man had long jet-black hair, which was tied up in a ponytail. His features were hard and finely chiseled, and many scars lined his face. Here was the leader of the Highlanders, the man those hardy, ferocious fighters would follow into the depths of Hell with. Kinto Jahera, son of Hamerui Jahera, had just seen twenty winters before becoming the eighty-second Chief of the Carok tribe. His courage and valor inspired his men’s loyalty and his skill with his Harykul blades was unsurpassed. He was also fiercely intelligent and wise for someone so young. Kinto snorted at that thought. If he was so wise, he decided, he would not be stuck in a castle with a little more than eight hundred Esturians about to face almost five thousand enemy troops. He laughed at that, rousing a nearby helmeted Esturian trooper from his slumber. The man looked around groggily until his gaze met the twinkling blue eyes of the young Highlander.
“Go back to sleep my friend, you’re going to need it later. Though I doubt the fight will last long, we’ll probably scare them so much they’ll just run back home with their tails between their legs!” Kinto laughed once more, his booming voice waking more dozing men. The drowsy soldier gave a weak grin and went back to his slumber. Kinto’s expression became serious once more. No, the fight would not last long. Not today.

Standing on the walls, surveying the pass that the invaders would take, was another one of Esturia’s soldiers. Unlike the others though, he did not wear the colors of blue and red but white, nor did he wear a helmet. And the large silver revolver holstered at his hip was certainly not something ordinary soldiers could have. The man ran a gloved hand across his short crop of dark brown hair as he strained his brown eyes for the faintest sign of the Jeyermas, the Horde, an apt name for something so unstoppable. But it was up to him and his men to hold the fort and keep the Horde from crossing the borders. Worst comes to worst, he would have to destroy his Manor and the Dunman Valleys along with it. Most of the non-fighting people had already left for Granseal, his wife and daughter included, though it broke his heart to part with them. Many of his men felt that too. But they must hold the fort! Lose their lives if need be but they must hold! The early dawn bathed the man in sunlight, sending tingles of warmth onto his face. He thoughtfully scratched his unshaven chin and wondered how long it would take for the enemy to come. He was growing mildly impatient. His wish was promptly granted as a loud voice shrilled through the air from one of the scout towers, “Soldiers at the foot of Dunman Valley! They are just turning the bend! About eighty miles away! At least a hundred strong so far! Sound the alarm! Sound the alarm!”
The man looked up at the tower, then at the pass in front of him again, squinting his eyes for an enemy. He couldn’t see anything…wait, there. There were several black specks at the end of the road. About eighty miles away, meaning they had less than five hours to prepare. Not a lot of time. He quickly turned to an officer standing near him.
“Hendrick! Rouse the lads! Feed them and get them to their posts! And send the officers to the meeting hall to discuss the plans for defense. Quickly now! We have no time to waste!” The officer saluted and ran to wake the resting men.
The owner of Dunman Manor stared at the approaching army and his lip tightened to a grim smile. He closed his eyes and enjoyed once more the comforting warmth of the morning sun. He would seize the day as the old proverb went. The fort would hold and the people in Granseal would be safe, this he swore upon his guns. He was the Master of Dunman Manor. He was a Knight of the Sapphire Court and Protector of Queen Talinah of Esturia. His name- Gerald Vauhser, a gunslinger.


Chapter One

Kinto Jahera scratched his chin as he watched the gaudy uniformed Esturians form up in front of his own army. A glance over his shoulder showed many of his warriors doing the same thing. He grinned and breathed in the fresh highland air. It was a good day for a fight. His bones had been aching for one for quite a while. He was sure the other lads had the same feeling. Skirmishes on the borders happened all the time. Ever since the ‘civilized’ Esturian whoresons took over Highland lands centuries ago, the tribes usually got into small battles with them to claim back their land. Not much use though, people on both sides died and no land was gained. “But we all need the exercise,” he mused and hefted his Harykul blades. Two massive ebony-black cleavers, each weighing at least forty pounds, these swords were a gift from his martial instructor to him when he came to Manhood. He hefted them, testing their weight and balance on his arms. The movement felt good. He gave one final look at his hundred fighters; they were waiting for his signal. They were ready then. He took a deep breath, and cried out in his loudest voice, “Kazerha! Charge!!”

A black mass of tribesmen swarmed across the grassy plains, a roar for battle sounding their charge. The Esturian riflemen in the frontline were taking aim with their muskets, awaiting their officer to give the order to fire. The Esturian army numbered no more than sixty soldiers, weaponry and discipline making up for the lack in numbers. Tactics used were also very basic. The frontline would fire into the advancing army, slowing down the charge. The second line would then shoot, giving the first shooters time to reload and the cycle starts again. The attacking army would be slowed down by a great degree and then charged by the seasoned Esturian spearmen.
Let’s change their tactics, thought Kinto. The Esturians were about four hundred yards away already.
Almost time to shoot, Kinto thought. While still running, he raised his swords up high and cried out, “Shields at ready!” The Caroks in front immediately placed huge wooden square-like shields in front of them, blocking the view of their bodies and those behind them. The charge slowed a bit, but kept the momentum and continued forward.
The Esturian officer could only see a long brown line from his position. He wasn’t sure what to do at this point. But he had been trained to adapt and react to new situations. So he did what most army men would do. “Riflemen! Open fire!”

The sound of the guns firing thundered throughout the plains. However, that was all they did. The bullets rammed harmlessly into the strong shields the attackers carried and charge continued on. The two sides were barely a hundred yards from each other now. The second line of Esturians desperately opened fire at that range and a few highlanders went down. But they kept on coming. Some of the soldiers in the front had just finished reloading and were just bringing their weapons to bear but it was too late. The Highlanders dropped their shields and with a great cry, crashed into the riflemen. Swords and axes met sabers and bayonets. The Esturian riflemen did not stand much of a chance against the raging tribesmen and their numbers began to fall. The spearmen rushed to their aid but it was too late, the lines crumbled and the Highlanders poured through to meet the running soldiers.

The battle was going well for the Highlanders. With the Esturian firing squads all but wiped out, the spearmen were outnumbered badly. They faced certain defeat. Kinto smiled as he parried a lunge from a soldier in front of him. A quick upward slash from his huge sword cleaved the trooper into two. The Chieftain looked around the battlefield. All over, he saw Esturian soldiers battling for their lives; the Highlanders were overpowering them easily. “Not much left to do then,” he muttered.
It was then he spied he noticed a lone figure a little further from the main fighting area. The blue-clothed man was standing next to a downed horse, four dead Caroks at his feet. He wielded a silver revolver, not a rifle or a small pistol like the other soldiers carried. Probably an officer. The Chieftain watched as another Highlander ran towards the Esturian, only to be shot down more than ten feet away. Kinto grinned. Perhaps it would be interesting after all.

It would be an ultimate clash of skills in the entire skirmish. The Esturian officer noticed Kinto’s charge and promptly fired at him. Kinto dodged away at the last moment, the bullet only just flying past his cheek. Eight feet away now. The Esturian fired off two more shots in succession but Kinto evaded them quickly, as if he could actually see the projectiles coming. Five feet. The Highlander gave a heavy overhead strike at the man. Metal struck metal as the officer blocked the blade with his revolver, his hands holding the gun as if a saber. With a grunt, the Esturian pushed the blade away and immediately fired three rounds. These bullets were deflected off the Harykul swords which Kinto brought up to shield himself with. The officer pulled the trigger of his gun again. An audible click sounded. The Esturian looked at his revolver, then shrugged before holstering it by his side. He grinned at the Highlander, who did the same back to him. Then came the sound of sliding steel as the officer drew his own saber and took up a ready posture, blade tip pointed towards the enemy.
Kinto crossed his own swords in readiness. With a yell, he lunged at the enemy, right blade aimed for the neck. That was calmly blocked by the saber and a fluid counter-attack was launched, a quick thrust to the throat. Kinto dodged it and rolled to the side. He ran towards the officer once again, his right blade poised for a downward slash. The Esturian backed away from it but Kinto shot out his left sword towards the mid-section. The officer had only just managed to jump away in time, almost losing his balance in the process. The two fighters circled each other for a while, before throwing themselves into another flurry of seamless striking and blocking, each trying to get through the other’s defense. They broke off once again. They were both panting now, eyes studying each other for the slightest mistake. Then it came. The Esturian’s foot caught a rock and he stumbled. Kinto wasted no time and jumped towards him. The large ebony blade knocked the saber away and the soldier was pushed onto the ground. Breathing heavily, the Highlander walked towards the fallen swordsman, his blade ready to end this fight. Within two feet of the man though, the officer’s hand snaked towards his back and before Kinto could react, a shiny object flashed before him and a gunshot was heard. Blood streamed from the Highlander’s shoulder, where the bullet had lodged into. Kinto gritted his teeth against the pain and leaned onto his blades for support. The Esturian stood up and pointed the revolver at him. He was beaming so brightly that if not for the panting and the sweat on his face, he could have been having a lot of fun beforehand, not the life and death situation he had just experienced.
“Remember…this,” he said, in short gasps, “We gunslingers always carry two guns.”
“Aye,” Kinto replied, “I’ll remember that. But a word of advice to you Esturian-” Before finishing his words though, his uninjured hand quickly snatched out a dagger from his belt and flung it into the gunslinger’s leg. With a cry of hurt and surprise, the man immediately dropped to his knees to ease the pain. Blood was already forming an ugly dark circle on his pants. “Remember this Esturian,” the young warrior continued, “We Highlanders are never short on blades either.”