Krix'dor Grimmgar foot came down heavy; the scorpian oozed and crunched between his boot. He chuckled, peeling his large, yellowish-blue eyes away from the vast sea of dirt and turned his pointed nose eastwards.
"There she is…" He said, looking upon a silhouette of buildings surrounded by jetting canyon walls off in the horizon. "Sundown City."
They began walking eastward, kicking up the sand that covered the dunes.
"I hate comin to the place…" He mumbled, puffing on a cigar between his lips.
"Why you says that?" Asked a man whose belly mooned from his shirt and big ears wiggled like an elephants warding of flies.
"Too many people all looking to get their pockets filled." He spat and wiped sweat from his forehead. "And I don't much like the competition."
There was a dry heat in the air that took ones breath away while the suns rays beat on the Dhuragians bald scalp, leaving it two shades dark than the rest of his skin. He opened a satchel at his hip and snatched a black bowlers hat, positioning it on his head to ward of the sun.
He took another puff, "the God's have forsaken these lands," he snarled. "As they've forsaken you, Brugar. You're reddening ripe as an apple."
Brugar looked down at his paling skin that was reddening like embers. "I don't feel too juicy…" His lips raised giving a gapped smile.
The much smaller man raised his hand. "I should slap you…" Brugar stood defensively while his face wrinkled in fear. Krix laughed and fixed his dark pancho. "You can be clever at times." Instead he patted him on the back.
Brugar was Krix's oppisite to say the least. He was large and pale while Krix was short and tan. Brugars trousers and shirt were holey and wrinkled whereas Krix wore only the neat and freshly worn cloth.
The large man showed his chainless cuffed wrists.
"When we kill your master, will I go free?"
The mans eye narrowed. "Stop asking..." His lip twisted in disgust. "And how many times do I have to tell you — you owe me a lifes debt — I saved you and so you must save me before going free; all you've done is eaten all the rations and almost got me killed!"
"We can buy more—"
"We're broke!" Krix said. "Or have you forgotten that you let them thieving Yurks sneak up on us a fortnight ago?"
Brugar lips sagged. "I was tired—"
"Nearly lost our lives and my bow," he pointed to the crossbow strapped to his back. "Lucky for you I was able to talk my way out of it."
"Master, you are full of..." Brugar tried to find the right word.
"Wit," the man heckled, "I know..." He pulled on his black leather vest triumphantly. "Luckily for us them Yurks were lost and in need of directions to Ghostbound or you'd be dead for certain."
"And you?"
"Nope...They don't kill handsome men." They laughed.
It took them two hours and nearly all their water to reach the city gates where two guards leaned against the wall, hats across their faces, arms crossed at their chest, standing between the booth that allowed people to pass into the city.
"Papers," the deputy in the booth yelled; his voice harsh as a dying buffalo.
A pair of thick men, with black and white furry hats on their heads, and beards just as thick withdrew parchments and presented to the deputy.
"Huskmen are ya? From Holdfast?"
"Yes…"
"And your business?"
The man yanked out two tickets from his thick, button shirt. "The aron alchemist tournament."
The deputy grabbed the tickets and examined them closely, "you may pass!" He shoved them back into their chest. "Next."
Brugars fat lip trembled. "You certain these will work—
Krix grabbed the large mans collar, dragging him down to eye level. "You keep that trap of yours shut...Do you understand me?" Krix words had bite. The ogre nodded."Good...Cause if not," Krix pointed to a leather belt on his hip, "I'll give you a rat tails whip!"
Krix'dor released Brugar, patting his hands clean, then walked towards the booth, moving slimily to the front of the line without the notice of the two guards or the fret of the people already waiting.
"Next!" The deputy yelled, waving a hand out the window.
"That's us," Krix spat, he titled his hat downward chest out and stiffly towards the booth.
"Reason for the visit?" said the dying buffalos voice. Krix got to the window and peered inside; the man
staring back looked like a withering apple left in the sun for too long. Krix grimaced. The man barked, "I says, reason for the visit?"
"Ma's come down with the hooch ache." Krix lowered his head. "Not much time left."
"Hooch ache?" The deputy frowned and Krix found light in his eyes. "Sad days for certain."
"Mighty," Krix muttered. "Drank all her life and finally going to take her at a hundred and three...Said she might be dead by sundown." He glanced back at the sun in its downward arch. "Hoping me and my brother could see her before she'd gone."
The deputy's eyes shifted towards Brugar who stood grinning, hand waving by his cheek like a wench attracting a man.
Krix rolled his eyes, swearing beneath his breath.
The deputy turned back towards Krix who turned towards his boots, keeping sunken brows.
"Allow me to stamp you parchments so you gentlemen can be on your way."
Krix pulled them from his satchel and handed them to him, "Thank yee."
The deputy unrolled them and glanced at them carefully. "The O'coan brothers?" He scratched his saggy chin. "Your Ma Jane O'coan?" Krix nodded slowly. The man shook his head, "Never knew she was that old — nor that much into drink."
Krix spoke quick, "many didn't...And she kept her youth drinking aging alchemy."
The deputy leaned forward, "You know where I can get some?" he whispered. "My wife is beginning to look sickly herself…"
Krix chuckled, "If I get home to Ma soon enough I'll ask for ya."
The deputy handed him the parchment, "Much obliged."
Krix waved his hand and Brugar lumbard towards him like a tree swaying in the wind. "Thank you kindly," he said waving in the gate.
The two men took strides away from the booth before speaking hushly.
"Suckers…" Krix stuffed the rolled parchment into his satchel. "Gets them everytime."
Brugar chuckled, "You damn near had me convinced."
"That's because your a big dummy." Krix twisted at the hips, flinging his arm, cracking his hand against Brugats wrist. "Smiling and waving like a wench! What's the matter with you?"
The large man massaged the pain away, "my apologies, Master… You have to think—"
"Fake!" Came the bison wined voice. "Both these parchments are fakes!"
Krix and Brugar turned towards the sound; the deputies leaning on the wall leapt to their feet, guns drawn, hats tilted out of their eyes. They grabbed two ladies and slammed them against the dirt, barrels drawn to their heads.
"You see," Krix muttered, shaking his head. "That could've been us."
Brugar swallowed, eyes large. He nodded.
"Let's get outta here…" Krix said, moving eastward where box-shaped building crammeds the streets. There they stopped and he waved a hand, summoning a carriage.
"Where to?" Asked a young coach boy who was much too smiley and much too bright-eyed, for his dusty rounded hat, trousers, and coat.
"You know of any Bounty Clubs?"
"Bounty Clubs?" The boy chuckled, eyeing the crossbow strapped to Krix back. He then turned towards Brugars sawed-off shotgun. "You two bounty hunters?"
Brugar shook his head, "we've come visit Ma...She's dying of hooch ache."
Krix massaged his head, idiot… He snarled, "Do you know of a place or not, boy. We need a ride and a sure head."
"It'll cost ya extra…"
Krix nodded, opening the door and stepping inside the hoodless carriage, "we'll triple the price."
Brugar stepped into the carriage and it dipped while the horses struggled. He sat with a thud; the wagon bounced.
"And we're off!" The boy whipped the reins, "And the horses jerked into motion, taking strides to the north."
"Where we headed?"
"Wildie Rons Place...but I warn ya...Wild doesn't describe it."