Take One Down, Pass It Around [Open]

The sun had begun to sink low behind the mountain range that overlooked Last Resort as the dark clouds above began to bleed a fresh layer snow on the frontier town below. From the north entrance, a small convoy of traders and travelers came to a stop outside of the massive ski lodge that had been refurbished into a town hall. One of the members of the traveling party, a hired guard dressed in combat gear with a green shemagh concealing his face walked around to the front of the convoy, getting the attention of one of the traders before holding out an upturned palm. There was a pause of awkward silence between the two men before the trader fished out a small bulging pouch, dropping it into the hand of the guard before him.

After a curt nod and a handshake, the two men went their separate ways, with the trader disappearing into the town hall, and the hired guard, now free from his duties to keep the man safe, made a straight beeline through the shin-deep snow for one of the three bars that existed in the town. It was a small little pub with a sign that showed a caricature of a drunk snowman, limply holding a beer stein in one of its feeble twig arms. Below this picture was the bar's name in poorly painted lettering: The Sloshedman. If the guard wasn't confident that they were frozen in place, he would've rolled his eyes.

Iris feels the convoy come to a stop. She calmly steps out of the convoy, attempting to sneak away with some of the nicer goods hidden in her backpack. The white snow doesn't let her blend in extremely well, but the rapid loss of daylight is helping. She puts on her night vision goggles and begins following Murdoch, walking in his footsteps to avoid making noise from crunching down on fresh snow.

She keeps her distance behind him, not wanting to make any moves at him until they are no longer seen by the traders. Once Murdoch stops to examine the snowman, Iris attempts to put her karambit to his neck and drag him behind the snowman, out of sight of the traders and hidden from anyone who might be in the bar at their current position.

Richtor runs through the snow, frantic and panting. Richtor is no stranger to being chased by groups of angry armed locals, but this time is a little different. He's all out of rounds for his rifle. He can't make anymore, if he stops he'll be caught and even if he could stop he can't feel his fingers. He could barely open one of his pockets let alone assemble a new round, and it is getting dark. If I get our of this alive I'll never throw rocks at a greenhouse again. I've learned by lesson.. Just at the base of the hill he can see lights. If I can just make it to that building maybe I can find someone who I haven't pissed off yet.

When he makes it to the building he see's that it is a bar The Sloshedman? Not what I would have called it but... Richtor sees a man standing by the sign, he has a gun, and he's alone, he looks an awful lot like a hired gun. And I don't know him, so he probably won't try and shoot me on sight! He walks right up to the Merc and, in about half the time it would take someone not being chased by angry Cryokinetics, Richtor says

"Hi I'm Richtor and I'm being chased by four angry Cryos. Let me buy you a drink."  

Richtor grabs the armed Mercs shoulder and attempts to drag him into the bar.

Murdoch was taken by surprise when the strange man grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him towards the bar, confused by the stream of words that poured out of his mouth. Richtor? Angry Cryos? Free drinks? The mercenary didn't like being dragged anywhere by surprise by people he didn't know, but the opportunity to get something to warm himself up without anything coming out of his wallet seemed too good to pass up.

So Murdoch let the man known as Richtor drag him into the Sloshedman, questioning if he should trust him or not.

Iris is about to strike when she hears a second voice. She quickly sheathes her knife, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. She continues walking, trying to look as if her business is her own, following behind the two into the bar.

Despite the poor branding and decor the bar was busy. Perfect, lots of people around means they won't start shooting ice shards at me. At least not right away. Richtor pulls the Merc to an open table Not the bar, all the seats face away from the door. Richtor sits down facing the door. He immediately pulls out six small, long, sharp rocks and what looks like a vial of black ink. He starts feverishly drawing markings all over the stones one at a time. Without looking up from his work he says,

"So, big scary mercenary, what brings you to this frozen winter wasteland?"

Murdoch let out a deep breath as he felt the relative warmth of the bar, moving his frost-covered shemagh from his head down to around his neck, rubbing his hands on his face to try and get both warm again. "I got hired by some traders to keep 'em one piece until they got here. Not the greatest clients I've ever had, but their money was good, so no need to complain as far as I'm concerned."

The mercenary turned to look at the man that had pulled him into the bar, watching him fiddle with the rocks and black ink, not sure what he was up to. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why are a bunch of Cryos after you?"

Iris sits in a poorly lit corner of the bar, taking off her balaclava and goggles as she walks to the table, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She watches over the duo as nonchalantly as possible.

Richtor wasn't really sure how to answer that question. He wasn't so sure what happened himself. He remembers breaking the windows to that greenhouse, and then all of the crops inside catching fire At least I assume they were crops people don't usually get that upset when you destroy decorative plants. Then the next thing he can remember he was running through the snow drifts with blood thirsty Cryos on his tail. ...I think I set fire to a stash of Narcotics. That would explain the memory loss, and why they haven't called the police. With his thoughts collected Richtor turns to his new Mercenary friend to bring him up to speed, but stops short. Three of the Cryos just walked into the bar.

"Well Mr. Mercenary, it looks like you'll get to ask them yourself." Richtor says nervously, fumbling to discreetly load the newly inscribed rounds into his Alchemist's Rifle under the table.

"There he is!" shouts one if the Cryos as he starts pushing patrons aside to get to Richtor. Richtor raises his rifle, shouts something unintelligible and fires over the Merc's. He doesn't see if the round connects, the recoil coupled with the wobbly chair topple him backward onto the ground.

The patrons flee from the bar in a panic rushing past Richtor's supine form I really hope that Merc can shoot.

It was cold outside, and Miko did not like the cold. He had been here just over a day and it was already on his list of least favorite places. After milling about outside for an hour, taking in the town, Miko headed for a warmer location. As he neared a bar with an odd name, he saw patrons fleeing. Instantly the Alchemist was on edge, his bull-pup rifle was in his hands in an moment, and he was rushing his way to the bar.

He pressed his back against the outside wall, threw his hood over his head, and activated his armor's camo; leaving parts of his rifle, the butt of his pistol, and the hilt of his knife visible. When the mad rush out of the bar was over, Miko slipped in to find a firefight between five individuals. It became clear as to why everyone cleared out so quickly.

Turning to see the angry group of Cryos heading towards him, Murdoch was jolted slightly by the sound of the Alchemist's rifle firing nearby. The merc struggled to grab ahold of the rifle slung over his chest on such short notice, raising it to face the oncoming mob with his finger on the trigger guard. He knew this wasn't his fight, but he wanted to at least be ready just in case he got dragged into it. So much for a free drink... he thought to himself.

Iris watches as the fight breaks out, and stays in her place, hidden in the corner. Getting involved would mean bringing a knife to a gun fight. And that was not something she was ready to do. Maybe if I just stay here, they won't bother me... she thinks. Nonetheless, she pulls out one of her 6 black throwing knives, holding it by the blade, but keeping her hand at her side. She doesn't really feel the need to draw attention to herself by raising her arm in a throwing position.

Did I hit him? Richtor thought looking around the knocked over chair he is now laying on the ground behind. He didn't hit him but at least the Cryos were distracted by the Merc at the table who now had his weapon drawn. Richtor decides to use this opportunity to shimmy across the floor and behind the bar. He can hear the Cryos shouting at the Merc but he can't make out what they are saying. Okay, just poke your head up and shoot'em they're distracted and ... Oh god damn it ... Richtor looks around the bar again seeing that he has left his rifle where he fell down. He looks around behind the bar, searching for anything he can use. He quickly settles on stuffing a dry rag down the top of an open bottle of the strongest drink he could find on the ground. Richtor stood up from behind the bar, lit the rag on a candle sitting on the bar, and cocked his arm back over his head. As he flung the flaming bottle well over the Cryo's heads and towards the wall behind them, he shouted "FREEZE IN HELL" only after the bottle was out of his hand did he realize the one liner didn't make sense, but he didn't mind too much. At least I got to make a fire bomb, in a bar, and--OH WAIT MY GUN! Richtor with renewed urgency clamors over the bar and toward his rifle. Grabbing it he stands next to the mercenary. Very few people would think running towards a group of people who want to kill you is a good idea. Even fewer would do it after setting a large part of the building they are in on fire. Richtor is not most people, people like Richtor don't usually live very long.

It appeared as if the situation had gotten far more out of hand than Miko would of liked. He held his Assault rifle in one hand and carefully drew his revolver with his left hand. With assault rifle pointed at the larger group, and his revolver pointed at the guy that threw a fire bomb, he fired a quick burst into a wall.

"EVERYBODY! GUNS AND SHUT UP!" He yelled as his camouflage skittered away. "I am NOT shitting around."

Murdoch was trying to calm down and understand the enraged Cryos shouting at him when heard someone shout something before feeling something hot arc past the side of his head, the sound of glass breaking in a corner following shortly thereafter. Turning his head away from the Cryos, whose attention was now directed to the fire that had erupted in the bar, the merc fixed his glare at the strange man who had clambered over next to him. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he asks, trying not to raise his voice. "I'm trying to make these guys calm down, and you decide that throwing a goddamn molotov at them is the next logical step? How do you--" the man was cut off as another person in the bar raised his weapons and fired them into the ceiling, screaming something about defecating. And that's when it occurred to Murdoch that he was surrounded by lunatics.

"Oh my God, are you kidding me," Murdoch murmurs as he looked around at the escalating chaos that surrounded him, his weapon now aiming at the floor. "This is exactly why I never stick around long after doing jobs in frontier towns. All it takes is one person to do stupid shit like this, and suddenly everything goes to hell in a designer handbag."

After taking a few fistfuls of the salted peanuts and pretzels from the dishes on the counter, the mercenary grabbed a stool and flung it at a nearby window, shattering the window to make an escape route for himself. "And another thing. *munch munch*," the man said as he stepped halfway through the busted windowsill, taking a moment to stuff the some of the peanuts into his mouth with one hand while pointing an accusing finger at the alchemist. "You still owe me a drink." he said grudgingly before slipping into the cold weather outside.

Iris watches from the corner as the shouting builds up. She's not really one for confrontation so she just sits back and lets things happen. Freeze in hell? HOLY SHIT! she rears back as she watches the corner of the room catch fire. In front of her, she notices some sort of distortion in the light, but quickly dismisses it as heat waves, not giving two shits about anything other than the fact that this building is going to burn down.

What the fuck is with these people? Those distortions in front of her fade and in its place, a person fades into view Holy shit... I want one of those... No, Iris. Think about the problem at hand. She sheathes her throwing knife, sprinting over to the counter and sliding over it where she scrambles looking for a bucket. In her scramble, she unintentionally kicks Richtor but doesn't give it a second thought. Finding a bucket, she rushes to fill it with water, brushing past Richtor again. Is this gonna be quick enough to put out this fire?

Maybe he has a point...the fire bomb thing may have been a little extreme...Oh shit he's right I do owe him a drink! Richtor drops a fistful of teeth on the counter behind him and grabs a fancy looking bottle of something probably alcoholic and hops out of the window of the now almost totally on fire bar. The Cryos, who are now frantically trying to use their magic to put out the fire, pay him little mind.

Richtor runs up to the Merc, his bandoleers rattling loudly as he does. Richtor starts to call out but doesn't I never caught his name... Instead he says "Think fast Merc!" and lobs the bottle of expensive looking booze in the Merc's direction.

"Sorry about the whole Molotov thing, back there, I panicked...In my defense I think they were drug dealers."

After a pause he says,

"I'm getting tired of calling you Merc, whats your name anyway"

As Richtor waits for a response, the Sloshed Man, now a small inferno in the distance, succumbs to the fire and collapses in on itself, stoking the fire in the distance, haloing the unstable Alchemist in an almost hellish glow.

If it wasn't a burning building it would almost look like a sunset.

Murdoch tenses up as a bottle of alcohol arcs past him and lands in the snow by his feet with a muffled thump causing him to instinctively turn around and raise his rifle at the alchemist, his finger resting on the trigger guard.

"Oh...it's you..." the mercenary says as he lowers his rifle, giving Richtor a look between annoyance and curiosity. "I have no idea if you're trying to get yourself killed, or just everyone around you, but either way, you're doing a good job at making both a possibility."

The man sighs as he stares off at the burning bar, shaking his head sadly. "Well, with any luck, any potential witnesses were too busy running for their lives to point you out as the one responsible for torching their bar. And hopefully, nobody will think I'm affiliated you, either. I already hate going here because of the weather, I don't want to add 'getting shot or sent to jail' to that list."