<div align="center">Interest Check (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=134004.0)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_u">Chapter 1:</span> Birds of Passage</span></strong><br/>(http://wildarms.webs.com/drifters.png)</div><br/><em>3 perspectives, separated by time and space and sand. </em><br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"> <div align="center"><span class="bbc_u">The Dual Pistol Dreamer</span></div><br/>Carol Lynn has always dreamed of living the life of a Drifter. As a kid, she was in love with the idea of roaming the open plains and experiencing action and danger every step of the way. As her passion to be a Drifter grew, she decided to leave her comfortable nest to live out her dream.<br/>            <br/>            <div align="center">(http://wildarms.webs.com/train2.png)<br/><br/><em>Two weeks before the fateful encounter…</em></div><br/><br/><br/>   A train barrels through the desert under a blanket of darkness. As the windows flash by, a girl in a dress looks out, yawning as she reads her book - Wasteland Compendium by Elliot Enduro. She has been en route to her destination, but she did not know where she was going. Carol Lynn wanted to go as far away as humanly possible and start off anew - a new persona, a new life. The train had been bustling along sluggishly, sweeping up a tail of dust continuously as it crossed the arid Wasteland. The slow pace of the train gave Carol time to recollect and rethink. Was this truly the course on which she was destined to go? Was the life of a Drifter truly for her?<br/><br/>She thought of her younger brother back at home, probably wondering where his big sister had gone. "I can't think about that right now," Carol Lynn retorted, almost apologetically. In her mind and spirit, Carol realized she was doing this for herself (and perhaps to herself) and this was the path she had chosen.  <br/><br/>Suddenly, the train jerks to a halt, launching her out of her seat.<br/><br/><em>"What the fuck? Who's operating this thing?"</em><br/><br/><strong>Train Announcer:</strong><em> "Attention all passengers: we are currently decelerating from our normal speed and are arriving at our destination. Please remain seated for your safety."</em><br/><br/>The girl collects herself and sits back down on the red velvet seat within her cabin. She continues reading her book, absorbing as much information about Drifters and the Wasteland in as condensed period of time as possible. Like a child looking on with all the wonder and curiosity of the world, a small fire was lit in Carol's heart that grew with excitement and intrigue every minute. Carol Lynn remains seated and shortly after hears the door of her cabin compartment opening. A man dressed in a dark-green uniform looks at her curiously and asks:<br/><br/>"Are you Miss Schrödinger?" <br/><br/>"I might be, who wants to know?" she answered back hesitantly.The train employee looked exasperated and was clearly not in the mood for Carol's games. He handed her a white-enveloped letter. "I received a call to deliver this to you." Before she could thank him, the uniformed boy closed her cabin door and was swiftly gone. Carol fumbled around with the letter in her hands and surveyed the envelope. Plain white envelope, no return address and all that was written on the outside was her name: "Carol Lynn Schrödinger."<br/><br/>But directly under: <em>"(Urgent)"</em> She slowly opened the envelope and scanned the contents of the letter. A vague smile painted her face as her eyes lit up and looked out the window; the endless blur of rocks and dirt blended together along the speed of the moving train.<br/><br/>A sly twinkle in her eye implied something in the young woman's mind clicked into place. Gears shifted in her head as the train pulled into the station. Her hands went to her waist - assuring that her prized ARMs were there; two identical white pistols were sheathed in leather holsters sewn into her dress. Carol fanned herself with the letter and wondered if this was the opportunity she has been waiting for. "I guess I'm getting off a stop earlier than I planned to," she thought to herself.</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><em>A Drifter Sheriff's and his misfit entourage's last attempt at removing some of the waste in the Wasteland. </em><br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"> <div align="center"><span class="bbc_u">The Sheriff</span></div><br/>The Sheriff paced back and forth across the creaky wooden floorboards of his station. A look, more anxious than nervous, appeared embedded into his eyes. His fingers instinctively traced his gun holster and then moved down the sleek barrel of his revolver.<br/><br/>His badge read “A. Williams” and was barely legible. The writing looked worn with age in addition to being dust-covered.<br/> <br/>"6:30 already?..."<br/><br/>The man took a drag of his cigarette and looked out the small window towards the town of Happy Alex, his birthplace and the town which he protected. In this town, this man was both the law and the order. <br/><br/>“Where the hell are all of ‘em? Can’t trust youngsters with anythin’ these days. They better show their asses,” he muttered to himself.<br/><br/>He took a final pull of the cigarette and threw it on the wooden floor. The Sheriff stopped pacing around the Lone Star, a decrepit, small shack that doubled as both the town’s sheriff’s office and as his place of residence. The man picked up his mug and held the glass to his lips. The cool beer was beyond refreshing, but most of all it calmed the man’s nerves. He set the glass down and peered out of the small window once more. Overjoyed, he saw a large group of people advancing towards his “office,” traveling in what looked one wide mass.<br/><br/>The group was curiously diverse, some young, some old. Some appeared well-kempt, perhaps even exuding an aura of apparent affluence. Others wore run-down or tattered clothes. Most of these travelers were on horses, treading into the town slowly, although a select foolish few seemed to have made the journey on foot.<br/><br/>“Here it goes. Better meet ‘em out,” the Sheriff’s gaze broke from the mob and he went outside to greet them.<br/><br/>“Where the hell are all of ‘em? Can’t trust youngsters with anythin’ these days. They better show their asses,” he muttered to himself. <br/><br/>The group and the man walked steadily towards each other. The Sheriff stopped a few feet outside of the Lone Star and waited until the group started to gather in front. An air of concern and uncertainty made the mood tense. Some of the younger-looking ruffians gossiped and whispered amongst themselves, while the older generation within the group just smirked at them, knowing something revolutionary was about to take place right before their very eyes.<br/><br/>(“Pssst, is that the guy?)<br/>(“Yeah, I think so. He’s supposed to be real famous around these parts or something. Heard one of the geezer Drifters talking about him.”)<br/>(“Hey is that the guy who’s leading this?”)<br/>("Apparently.")<br/>("Seriously? Isn't this guy supposed to be 30 or something...? He looks ancient.")<br/><br/>“Shut your mouth, pup. This man is thrice the Drifter you can ever hope to be,” one of the older men on a sandy-colored, brown steed retorted acidly.<br/><br/>The Sheriff kept his composure cool and confident, and then scanned the group that had coalesced in front of him. Soon a voice screamed with glee, the origin seemed to resonate from the center of the crowd…<br/><br/><br/>“AMOS! Amoooos!” The voice was clearly female and every head among the crowd turned to the source of the obnoxious holler.<br/> A young woman, barely out of adolescence, ran for the Sheriff and the ocean of people cleared to both sides to let the woman through. <br/><br/>She wore a corset-like, russet, midriff garment, which began just below her collar and fell to her navel. The garment indicated that this Drifter girl was probably older and more mature than she appeared. This was <em>certainly</em> not the apparel of a young girl. <br/>A champagne-colored decorative bow was tied on the front of her top, in addition to a miniskirt, which only grazed her upper thighs. Her hair was sleek and straw-like of a goldenrod shade.<br/><br/>Noticeably beautiful, her come-hither looks were met with the prying and staring eyes of the men in the crowd. A few whistles and calls came from some of the adolescent guys (and a few of the older perverts) in the mob.<br/>  <br/>The woman nearly tackled the Sheriff, but ran to him with open arms and embraced him warmly.<br/><br/>“Easy there! Here, let me have a look at you.” The girl was considerably shorter than Amos, and he tilted her head up to face him.<br/>“Carol Lynn! By the Guardians! Can it be you? Looks like someone grew up,” Amos embraced the girl sincerely, it was apparent their relationship was strictly platonic.<br/><br/>“I hope you mean me. It’s been too long Amos. Imagine my surprise when I learned my dear childhood friend was having this grand Drifter get-together and yet I received no invite,” Carol Lynn teased her friend then joined the crowd once more.<br/><br/>The orange sun harbored no mercy and shone down on the now increasingly impatient and hot crowd. The Sheriff wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead and tilted his ten-gallon hat back, so as to get a better glimpse of the crowd, before clearing his throat to break the momentary silence. <br/><br/>“Ahem…erm…welcome to Happy Alex, my distinguished guests, friends, and fellow Drifters.” A few older men clapped for a short moment. The man who scolded the younger Drifters hopped off his horse which let out a soft neigh.<br/><br/>“To my friends, I welcome you back and to those of y’all who I’ve never met, I go by Sheriff Amos Williams. There’s a reason each and every one of you are here today and that’s because you made a name for yourself in this lawless Wasteland. Your keen ability to survive in Filgaia’s Wasteland does not go unnoticed and some of y’all may be even more popular than you’re aware,” this small ego boost seemed to pique the curiosity of the people and they listened more intently to this well-spoken orator. <br/><br/>“I may not look like much now, but I too was a Drifter a while back. I come to you my friends, and y’all youngins, under the gravest of circumstances. Filgaia is changin’, slowly but surely and I know y’all can feel it too.”<br/>“Changing how ?” questioned one of the Drifters in the front. <br/><br/>“Changin’ for the worse. That’s how. This minimalistic, barren desert is getting’ hotter and drier day by day. Don’t tell me y’all can’t see the change happenin’ right before your very eyes. I ask those of you who have spread your wings, is this the same Filgaia you knew a year ago…Five years ago? Ten years ago? You can’t deny this; the land is growin’ stagnant. Everyone should be aski—<br/>“Ain’t nobody disagreeing with ya, geezer. You’d have to be a novice Driftah, or live in a bubble, not to notice it,” another rude younger Drifter interrupted Amos’s speech.<br/><br/>“The question he meant to ask was: what does this have to do with us?” The older Drifter with the brown horse was growing weary of these younger pups, nipping them back as he redirected the conversation back to Amos. The Sherrif was grateful for the older man’s presence and authoritative scorn at the younger Drifters.<br/><br/>“Of course. I was gettin’ to that. How many of you have been to the village of Rabask, in the eastern plateaus?” Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.<br/><br/>“The Rabaskian people tell of a Filgaia that is unlike the one today, a legend passed down among the priest lineage in their village. It tells of a land of green and blue, a planet that was bountiful with life, plants and water. Back when I spread my wings as a Drifter, I heard this legend once from a shaman in Rabask Village. It foretold of a Filgaia with 2 paths, one that led to the gradual decline and destruction of our planet…and the other of the people coming together to restore the planet. Now, for the reason I went to such lengths to gather all of you from all corners of the Wasteland. How would you guys like to see this dream become a reality? How would y’all like to restore this damned Wasteland to its former glory?”<br/><br/>Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment.Only a few hands in the crowd rose and the Drifters that had never been were immediately humbled and subdued, if only for the moment. <br/><br/>Everyone knew this was a rhetorical question and they simply listened intently. Amos knew what he wanted to say to this group long before they even answered his invitation.<br/><br/>“I’m probably way in over my head here and I’m clingin’ to a small glimmerin’ star of hope, but it’s worth tryin’. If the legends told to me by the Shaman are true, we can restore Filgaia. I don’t know about y’all, but I’d like to try.” <br/>“You do realize some of us came from hundreds of miles away, just to answer your invitation? This is the so called ‘big news’ we were waiting for? Some half-assed altruistic attempt at saving the world?” one of the Drifters showed his disdain for the idea and its clear lack of a slightly more “measurable” reward. The cold whip of his disapproval stung Amos, but he continued on with his spiel. <br/><br/>Only a few of the Drifters were optimistic enough to believe there might be an alternative to the Filgaia they see before them and yet, for some strange reason, in the back of everyone's minds, they could vaguely envision a Filgaia that seemed to almost exist elsewhere outside of their heads. It seemed almost tangible; as if it existed at one point in time. <br/>Would it really be possible to turn this dusty planet into a paradise? <br/><br/>“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking you to do this for free. There’s some organization that’s hirin’ gunslingers from all over to go into some ruins they excavated. They’re willin’ to pay y’all guys well if y’all help out. I spoke with the organization’s leader and told him I may be able to provide him with some skilled Drifters that would further the organization’s goal…This is our chance. The fate of Filgaia lies in the hands and ARMs of y’all younger Drifters. Now is the time to lift our planet from the quicksands of decline.” His words trailed off towards the crowd pleadingly and for what seemed like a few minutes, nobody said anything. Then one lone man opened his mouth.<br/><br/>“If they’re paying, I’m your man. I’m in,” one of the Drifters stepped in. The band of Drifters laughed in agreement before erupting in rowdy applause and cheer. The gunslingers hooted.<br/><br/>"You know I'm in, Amos." Carol Lynn added.<br/><br/>"Then our path is clear guys, our next destination is the WEDO Base."<br/><br/>"We do?" one of the Drifters questioned.<br/>"WEDO. It's the name of an organization that's hirin' Drifters. They'll explain everythin'. If y'all gunslingers still aren't fully sold on this idea, come along for the ride anyway and see if the bounty the organization offers you is worth your time."<br/><br/>With hope in Amos's heart, and curiosity in the Drifters', they set up camp in the dusty town of Happy Alex. They needed their rest and strength for tomorrow morning they would set course for the WEDO Base.</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div align="center"><em>In some unknown ruins, jutting from the unwelcoming landscape, a trio of bandits seems to be looting and defiling. Perhaps, looking for something specific.</em></div><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"> <div align="center"><span class="bbc_u">Change of Plans</span></div><br/><em>"Hey Boss, what the hell are we doing over here again?"</em> a brutish-looking man questioned.<br/><br/><em>"Roe? We shouldn't be here...What are we looking for anyway?"</em> a second man wearing a red bandanna tied around his neck directed his question towards the third member of the trio.<br/><br/><em>"I'll know it when I see it. For once in your miserable lives, would you guys just do as I say and shut the hell up? Sheesh,"</em> clearly agitated, the leader of the trip, Roe Cassidy, began sifting through the central chamber of the ruins. On the northern wall, a pile of rubble and debris lay stacked. <br/><br/><em>"B-but Boss."</em><br/><br/><em>"NOW. Be. Quiet. And. Get. To. Searching,"</em> irately, Roe commanded his two pawns.<br/>The two knew better than to trigger Roe's temper. They weren't sure what exactly to look for, but they knew they had better look busy doing something.<br/><br/>The two men worked in unison to lift rock and rubble from the ruins. What sort of natural trauma had befallen this dilapidated monument? It was long thought that disturbing places of great spiritual energy such as these ruins, would incur the wrath of the gods. This seemed to be nothing more than a myth of the Wasteland conjured up to benefit looters who didn't buy into the stories. Surely any competent god or gods would not let Filgaia deteriorate to such a sad state.<br/><br/><em>"Uggggh,"</em> the two men lifted piece by piece of the rubble from underneath a collapsed wall. They spotted something wedged between two rocks - something slightly lustrous and golden. They removed the remainder of the rock and held a piece of gold, in the shape of a trident.<br/><br/><em>"Boss! We found something!"</em> the slim man with the bandana around his neck hollered as Roe came over.<br/><em>"Good job, Diego and Murv! I told you guys there was treasure here."</em> he inspected the golden object and, exasperated, put his hand to his forehead.<br/><br/><em>"This is just a damn candlestick, you idiots. How do you expect to get paid with a candle holder? I swear, this thing is almost as useless as you two,"</em> Roe's bark was equally as bad as his bite. Diego and Murv remained silent. <br/><br/><em>"Boss, let's go to be checking out the rest of this place. There ain't nothing over here in this place n'eways,"</em> suggested Murv.<br/><br/><em>"Hmm. Maybe you're right for once. All right, you two go exploring that way,"</em> Roe pointed to an area just beyond the collapsed wall from which the debris was removed. <em>"I'll go on forward. We'll meet back here once we search every nook and cranny."</em><br/><br/>The duo of Diego and Murv did as ordered and climbed the small mound of concrete to access an adjacent hall. <em>"This place be kinda pretty creepy, ain't'it?"</em> Murv observed the torches on the walls. After several minutes of walking, the duo arrived at a moderately sized, circular, room. Shelves upon shelves of volumes, tomes, books, and manuscripts rested, all covered in more dust than Filgaia. <br/><br/><em>"You think there's anything worth our time in here, Murv?"</em><br/><br/><em>"Pro'ly not. Let's jus' look in here n'eways to make the Boss happy."</em><br/><br/>Dust and cobwebs filled the air as Diego and Murv wiped down the shelves with their hands, attempting to salvage anything of interest and potential profit. They came across a book, thicker than any other volume there - The Guardians of Filgaia. Murv, who was illiterate, passed the over-sized tome to Diego, who inspected it promptly. There was a long passage, which he simply skimmed:<br/><br/><em>"Oft did we Guardians attempt to salvage this Filgaia. This damned eternal desert from which we sought to free the denizens of Filgaia. In times long past, the Great Guardian Queen, Viras Silth, relinquished her power over the elements and humans and bestowed them unto us Guardians."</em><br/><br/>To a scholar, this historical account might have piqued interest and curiosity, but to Diego it registered as mindless drivel.<br/>"I bet there's some sucker that gets a hard on for history textbooks. Maybe we can sell it. Let's find Roe." The duo walked back to the central chamber to alert their leader.   <br/>   <br/>After an hour or so of scouring the ruins, the trio arrived at a final chamber. They surveyed the room only to find nothing remarkable. "Looted. What a waste of time," said Roe.<br/><br/><em>"All this work and a lousy book? You think it's worth anything, Roe?"</em><br/> ....... </blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/><hr/><hr/>