41. Space Cowboy

Turbulent shadows of ancients bloomed over Gottenfall carrying the dangers of forests long rotten by time. Winds of change were destined to claim the lands...but let us disregard that tension in the irradiated lands and take a trip south. Far south to the lands of segmentation and frozen love.

Himmelboren the peninsula was close but far in the same breath. Five islands in an arc that resembled a bowl when looked upon by a map. Each isle held a particular role that supported the next, be it the oilfields of Blackwork Valley to the simple town where everyone greeted in the form of Sleeping Willow. Each island made a bond so strong between their peaks and beaches where no other country was needed for their support. Their ties strict even with Gottenfall and Seigen; a reflection of their lords and each will. In the middle of all the islands was Glace Carnaval.

Some considered it a sixth member and others thought of it more as a joining of the bodies. In a heated climate it was an oddity. A giant chunk of ice arose from the seas, eternally cold was the everlasting winter wonderland. Parades and annual celebrations went across it during the months. Domes of ice and gaslamps, palaces of snow, and festivals of frost were the namesake of said location. But for now, few ever visited but tourists to grasp a sight of the largest fortress. They couldn't get too close, however, for the guards of Blaublare defended his home. A giant ice wall textured to resemble bricks defended the outer layer while the rest of the structure stood tall comprising of many roofs and towers.

Upon the peak was an odd thing placed by the frozen king himself. A shape which none have seen for it exuded an air of ice acting as a waterfall down the castle to the rest of Glace Carnaval.

But other than the heavenly frost where the parades ended, where did they start? As most did, that was in Sleeping Willow. The island was residence to almost everyone who called Himmelboren home, not to mention the island every tourist entered first due to travel laws. The cities were divided by geographics and were generally a way to ease many into Himmelboren's customs and standards. Buildings weren't as gigantic as Giganto's skylines and capsule homes, but two to three floors at a max similar to Igniain. Brass was all the range here.

Every structure, big and small clung to each other for dear life, conjoined by brass and copper pipes both gigantic and tiny. Old artistry was appreciated in these holds, just as how architects loved these landscapes. Behind the steam pipes which powered and kept many warm. They highlighted brick and stone buildings with fantastical gold and silver accessories. Stairs and stores of neon yellow signs as far as the eye could see. Inn owners promising places for people to warm up, store owners selling puffy clothing for the snow-stained streets, and slick new looks for machines alike. Gears were all the range. Steam and coal were a must. Especially in a small in on the far side of the town's main port.

The tourism port was small in comparison to the trade port located on the other end of Himmelboren. The ports were sectors in stone cut out in rectangular shapes to allow ships both large and little entry; though the latter was far more accepting. When entering through these ports other than the steampunk city and the snowfall what most met was a small bar. Caper's Cave, the exterior held an old-aged neon sign of a green mermaid waving in. Not to mention copious amounts of barnacles attached to the pipes parallel to the ground moving up the walls of the stone and laced about the awning. Contact information for the inn tavern combination was scribed on the wall upon a holographic screen.

Capers was a simple place for people to get warm. A total of fifteen rooms were available across three floors of the building with a rustic feel. Immediately to the left when you entered a bar jotted behind the reception desk. Just a brown marble countertop defending bottles of alcohol from ravenous drunks from the eight seats positioned in front of it. Turquoise walls and ceiling resembled the ocean in tone, taking attention away from the pipes constricted to the walls delivering heated air. The bar itself was run by Decadroid. It had four faces with large green eyes and unmoving lips sitting on a rough mushroom appearing head. Their neck was thin like their brass body and twelve arms; four on three sectors with clamping ends. Each 'log' spun individually pouring and sanitizing for patrons who came up for the counter for a drink of booze or oil.

If one were to reach across the counter then Decadroid would toss them back to the tables and cushioned sofas that surrounded both. Though tonight there were few patrons far and in between; three robots and two men at the counter. The machines drank from the oil deposited by Decadroid's claws and kept to themselves, but the men were louder in that regard. Sharing stories yet keeping it to themselves as well. All was well and good for hours before. But he was still in the corner.

He stood out like an oddball to locals but the perfect fit of a strange foreigner; people heard of a similar-looking figure appearing and disappearing with the tides. They sat in the corner with a tube in their throat siphoning sweet black tar into their chambers. A stark figure; standard for a war machine or stealth unit. Built like a human with a wider torso and thin waist constructed from an assortment of metals blacker than coal. Their legs were broken into three main components; thighs, lower legs, and then ankles to feet. The upper half fused with iron plates just for added flair.

That wasn't why people gawked at them, it was their attire. Brown leather draped over their shoulders like a jacket covered in stitches. A green bandana was tucked under their oil-stained chin. Right under that bandana was a thick collarbone soldered right above a white glow. In their body of black a piece of brass stuck in the center as a cage with black kosmik bolts littered throughout. Those bars imprisoned a villainous white glow shared in his eyes; you would be able to see it in his arms if not concealed by long sleeves and red gloves. With the last drop of oil, the stranger sauntered to the counter for a refill.

When moving the plates fused to his legs resembled pants, supported by the belt strapped around their waist; a gold buckle marked with S sat dead center. On the sides of his belt were holsters. Twin big irons the texture of their strange holder sat in wait with golden triggers at the wait. Decadroid could tell that he had more than enough weapons on him from the way that leather rubbed against his back. With oil in hand, the stranger sat down, eyes hidden by that brown ranger hat over their head. An artificial smile was their resting face.

The doorbell rang. Something entered to warm up again, or so they thought. Another man walked into the bar sector of Capers. Body cloaked in black fur stripped from the hides of bears; evident by the ivory nails wrapped around the giant's wrists. Nothing out of the norm; he sat between the men and machine. You couldn't tell what he looked like due to that mask along his face; typical for someone traveling in this blundering weather. He pointed to a bottle of liquor, Blue Collared Paradise. "Gotche is quite cruel in these hours."

A voice of nails against a chalkboard. His arm rested all their weight on the counter with a knee upon one of Decadroid's stools. The bartender tossed poured out a shot, downed by the hardened old man, "Say, Deca was it?" the bear-coated stranger spun the glass about their drink reading the robot's nametag. The clinks made him smile just a bit, "You seen anyone come around these parts? Someone who doesn't really fit?"

Decadroid gave a series of beeps and bops. They were never made with communication in mind, only serving up rum and grub. One of their many fingers aimed back to the receptionists. The bear-covered stranger nodded at the note, "Alright then, thanks for that," he got up too quickly. The end of his ankle struck the robot beside him on accident; that would've hurt anyone else. "Oh, sorry about that."

Both him and the other machine shook it off. But he felt eyes against his back. The bear-cloaked man knew they were to the right of him. The gleam of golden gun triggers. They were there that night. If Bass forgot everything else those triggers belonging to the white-hot machina were burnt into the back of his head….in a literal sense. The cowboy noted him, "Well didn't expect a Blackwater boy to follow me all the way out here, Bass," the stranger harassed with the worst of laughs. A furnace's reflected against his tone. Fire leaked from his lips with hand slapping thighs from laughing.

"Haborym…." Bass didn't have time to reach for his trusted tools before a six-shooter was pressed against his forehead.

"Ah- before we have any name calling, skinwalker, why don't we take this outside so we don't affect these poor gentlemen's business?" there was a perfectly good beach right outside. Night was getting old and nobody would disturb them in the snow, "Perfect weather for a meeting under the moonlight, wouldn't you say?"

Bass couldn't argue with that. The gun against his forehead was lowered, but his guard was up. So were the patrons now sobered up at the sight of twin pistols. Bass never turned his back, walking backwards out the bar instead. Eyes traced every exaggeration motion Harborym made. Swaggered hands and gun flips. Arm sliding on the table while walking. His finger rose. "Now tell me barman, ain't it funny that a criminal is hunting down another? One from Blackwater Edge no less"

It hit. Bass reached around his neck. The cowboy aimed his gun and pulled the trigger. An old fashioned lead bullet escaped from Harborym's left pistol. Bass struck the switch before the bullet did. He tumbled all the way out of the door with hand over his neck; where the bullet landed. Yet not a drop of blood fell, "Tch, you worked out the kinks in that fancy suit of yours?" Lying in the snow with bear pelt pushed to the side, Lichlord's features were shown. Across his skin was a dark suit.

It clung to his skin and muscles for dear life after absorbing the bullet's impact and any other damage; from his neck all the way down his body was shielded by this suit that highlighted his tough build. Behind that white mask his eyes reflected only malice like the glassy eyes of the bear over his head, "Don't disregard human intelligence, droid," Bass wore his pride across his sleeves. Hands raced to his back to receive a device to match his mindset. Harborym copied his motions with their right hand. "After all, remember what made you in the first-"

Two more bullets met Bass' knee. His leg dragged back, but they redirected to the snow, "Woops, couldn't hear you over that sound," Harborym chuckled. He knocked his pistol to the right opening the barrel; another knock emptied the last three bullets to the snow, "The sound of your blood boiling you alive," when he rolled up his sleeve a contraption expanded out of his wrist. A speed reloader built into his arms that fit his pistol perfectly, reloading his gun in the fraction of a second with red tipped projectiles. "Look, I'll be real with you for a moment."

Snow fell thin, the waves dissolved any snow that fall and decorated the beaches with thick coats. In the distance ships and small boats of fishermen hauling their catches at unholy hours, washing their skin clean in the largest natural pool, "Turn and run, Blackwater boy," the cowboy advised, "Stay out of my business and I'll leave you and your skin loving friends with something to call yours at the end of the day," he inspected his weapon, casually aiming it while walking down the port. "Cause a lot more people are going to feel the effects of you being stupid."

"Back down?" Bass aimed his own gun at the unit; bullets the same, "Back down when you disrespect my people? Break into my home and insult me?" he spat near the unit's shoe. "Eat shit you walking furnace- I'll use that hollow head of yours as an ashtray."

One gun against two. Two criminals rejected by the world. A world would be sacrificed if the Blackwater Edge let this droid walk away. This droid of corrupt acts that went beyond their code of morals. Morality of their actions were out of the question, but even they weren't pure evil. Unlike this contractor.