Mockingbirds

Chapter One - Roy

This is a tale about a man who made hell for himself.

The region of Infersia was a particularly boring area. Grassy woodlands and the occasional lake made for an area straight out of a painting. The bugs, beasts, and everything in between lived in a cycle of peaceful quiet, and for the longest time, the only major natural event were the occasional rumblings of the defining mountain, Dilus.

That was until Eim, the god of the Stars, spiraled from the sky and crashed into the mountain.

Lava, smog, and a blinding heat was one thing. But that was simply the beginning. The star child seemed to be made of more than the sum of his parts, and those parts stirred within something. Something great and terrible. Something that sparked a change in the world that would never be the same: the birth of magic. And though magic can be beautiful, raw magic can be horrific. This pure, unfiltered magic divided the world in two: the desert plains of Sunhof and the icy tundra of Icehof, divided down the middle by the river Innah.

The people quickly gained an affinity for this terrible power. And, as all things go, once man had a taste for power, the hunger only grew. A great empire grew, a powerful realm of fantasy and medieval wonders: the Infersian Empire. And no city in this great empire was greater than its capital, the city of Rakkus. But like all empires, this one met Death in the face, asked for a pardon, and still crumbled at his feet. And it's there, in the ruins of that capital city, where this tale begins.

What used to be a land of splendor has shifted into a city of sin. Large, artificial buildings line the streets, and the great towers and small homes have been replaced with dingy tenement housing, all made from the remnants of this one great city.

The city is nothing more than a tourist trap now. Roads that used to hold kings now hold silly mascots walking the way, greeting the drunks and the scumbags dealing in the shadows. The largest city used to be a mighty castle; now that honor belongs to a large casino in the shape of a sharp, steep pyramid. Allustrious taverns are replaced with dingy bars, bars with rats that scurry and gamblers dealing.

And no bar is dingier, grosser, and more of a health hazard than Lonzo's.

Lonzo's is a small joint, just the room, the bar, and the kitchen, but what it lacks in size it definitely makes up for in texture. And that is quite literal; running a hand on the bar leads to splinters, stickiness, and soft fur, the latter being too concerning to really be able to think about too hard. A few balls of light light up lanterns on each corner of the joint, but not very well, and in the center of the dusty saloon is a gambling table with a couple of men. One, a man with far too much chewing gum in his mouth, another with a large gut and a larger cigarette addiction, and a third much more striking than the rest.

He wears a long jacket buttoned up, and his hair is a tattered mess. On his head is a black, silvered rim cowboy hat, and to his side a revolver. The revolver is the nicest thing he owns, a thing of beauty with carved linings that looks to be vines connecting to a flower at the hilt. His tattered jeans connect to dusty cowboy boots, both apparent that they are on their absolute last legs. He's got a pair of cards in his hand and an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"Call," the chewer spits out.

The dealer nods.

"Mr. Grimm, what would you like to do?."

"Raise," He puts two chips in. "And call me Roy." The dealer nods and the game goes on.

Now, there are a great number of things that are interesting about this Roy Grimm. Could be that mighty fine revolver to his hip. Or maybe the fact that that hip is barely real, and the leg attached to it is a prosthetic, a cool black metal covered with his blue, tattered jeans.