Drive the train. Get threatened by robbers. Shoot. Repeat.
I’m Runce Herring, the first train conductor in Hophreda’an. Would you expect anything less?
It’s the year 6,208 WY, and nothing has changed. You can be a conductor for one hundred years and still deal with the same type of people. Today is no different.
As I sneak into the dining car of my train, I slip behind the counter. The room features small dining booths, a toppled drink cart, and windows that reveal the beautiful western mountain ranges of Hophreda’an. Passengers huddle in the corners of the room, trembling as something struts about with a disgusting level of confidence. I spy a hiding passenger–a young elven woman–as she sees me. I tip my cap to her and draw something from my side–a weapon.
I make my move to see what kind of figure is gracing my train with their spittle and threats. Are they desperate, or is this how they get their high? It’s always interesting to find out.
Before me lies a classic scene–two bandits with faces covered and black cloaks concealing their forms. They both hold short blades, and one slings a crossbow. The one with the crossbow shouts threats at the passengers as the second fellow holds my barmaid hostage.
‘Stay where you are!’ Bandit One shouts. He aims his crossbow at my face, a tremble in his fingertips. Poor fellow. They probably think life didn’t give them a choice but to do this. That sort of thinking is completely corrupt. There are a lot of safer places to rob, such as a local market.
I nod, but am mostly focused on my barmaid. He’s a young dwarf who had done a fabulous job on his makeup before the assailants ruined it. He looks at me with that sinister and sweet smile. Poor Bandit Two.
‘Get off my train,’ I say. I stand, pointing my weapon at bandit one. It’s an empty threat for now. I have to get him to falter. Just let down your guard, idiot.
‘Get back on your knees!’ Bandit One shrieks desperately. He turns his crossbow on a passenger. Blood. The bolt buries itself in the leg of a human teenage boy.
‘I don’t repeat my requests.’ I pull my weapon’s trigger. It’s the finest piece of weaponry I’ve ever had my hands on. A golden revolver with beautiful floral patterns reaching all the way to the barrel like a dryad’s gentle embrace. As the internal functions wind, I release a faint golden energy from within myself. This is the best feeling. A warm pulse resounds from my fingers and joins the launching bullet. The barrel seems to duplicate, disconnecting from the weapon and spiralling in place. Not one, but two bullets fire. A strange golden light shaped like cogs follows them. Nobody can see this except for those with a trained eye–that’s the most exciting part. The fear in Bandit One’s eyes is exhilarating–he can see it just in time for the bullets to split his skin. They burrow into him as a golden light pulses from them. He falls into a heap at Bandit Two’s feet.
Bandit Two is now in a headlock. My barmaid strangles him into unconsciousness.
‘Nicely handled, Ginger,’ I say. I reach down to feel the pulse of Bandit One–he’s alive. ‘We need to hire a security guard to keep watch on this room. Stuff always happens here.’
‘Stay still!’ a new voice cries. Armed with two daggers, a third bandit leaps from behind the counter, threatening me with clenched teeth and fear in his eyes. How could I forget? There’s always another. As he winds an arm back to throw one of his blades, a flash of golden hair and several quick strikes have him on the floor spitting gruel.
‘Wow.’ That’s all I can muster, apparently.
The elven woman from earlier presses a heel to the back of the man’s head. My face flushes warm. She winks at me with a smile. ‘Security, you say? Where can I submit my resume?’