How to set a mood · 6:38am Jun 6th, 2018
The bed of the wagon was strewn with the cold, remorseless instruments of death. While guns were a major power, a force to be reckoned with, a greater power existed, and that was brass. Industry birthed brass, and brass empowered guns. While there was something both effective and even charming with black powder firearms, brass made rapid reloads possible. Neatly prepackaged perfection, everything a shootist needed was housed in brass.
Blackbird brokered in brass; she was a banker, a merchant, as such she plied her trade with the exchange of brass and lead. Like a banker’s pen, each of her guns were polished to perfection and they gleamed with fresh oil, which she wore like some exotic perfume. Each brass shell represented a transaction waiting to be finalised, with the ideal exchange medium being one bullet spent for one soul acquired—one shot, one kill. Her face had the calm austerity of an accountant sitting down to balance the books, only these ledgers belonged to Death herself, and Blackbird was her bank agent. What terrible industry existed in the world; what dreadful alchemy turned brass into souls.
The companions, killers all, prepared to ply their trade. Motte and Bailey also dealt in brass, though in different ways. Both were combat engineers, though with different skill sets. Motte turned brass into fiery blooms of absolute destruction through the magic of mathematics, and it might be argued that no finer artillerist existed, save for Bailey, his counterpart. They were the same pony, afterall, twin souls mirrored in different bodies. The mortar shell had been modified and was now ready to be dropped.
In the bed of the wagon, there was enough firepower to start a revolution, and that might just be the outcome of tonight’s raid. Dim, smoking his pipe, had a relaxed coolness about him, and he watched with casual interest as others worked with brass. Though a wizard, he did not dismiss his companions’ means to deal and distribute death. While he might have done so at one time, he had since grown to respect Blackbird—and the others. Though tight-lipped about the subject, he saw them as equals, at least when it came down to the dirty business of killing.
I've been playing with electrons again. I didn't actually plan this, it just sort of came out because I wanted to dabble in mood.
