A Vision of a Storm Cloud [13+]

[Medivh]

[We're back, baby!]

[spoiler=Table of Contents]Chapter 0 - Prologue
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[spoiler= Prologue][i]Before the storm[/i]
[i]28 July, 161E [/i]

There is no peace. All prophecies were lies. Smoke rose from the nearly burnt-out remains of a hastily constructed campfire, while soldiers baked in their leather armor. Ezekiel stood on the shores of a canal, a rare sight in the desert. Before him, the soldier saw the silhouetted figures of the ones he had once called [i]mother, father, sister. [/i]The opaque figures faded soon, with the coming of the sun. A sigh escaped Ezekiel. Another ordinary dawn. The canal was the construction site for a now destroyed village, burned and sacked by bandits, or worse. Strangely, a garden next to the docks had seemingly escaped from the inferno unharmed. The light of summer painted the olives green, each leaf a stepping stone to a higher plane.

A single bullet can change the course of history, for better or for worse. The sudden [i]crack [/i]of a revolver was heard, the bullet invisible. An armor-clad soldier crumpled into the sand, iron sword clanking as he fell. Several men drew their weapons (Swords, axes, the like), and whirled around to face the assailant. The assailant in question was a rather tall man wearing a pitch-black shirt and pants, along with a long, flowing dark cloak that covered his legs and feet. His face was hidden under the shadow of a wide-brimmed top hat, the pistol he was holding unique, for it had a deep crimson metal and black wood. Foolishly, several soldiers charged at the stranger, and where subsequently dispatched with three short [i]cracks [/i]of a bullet being fired. Blood began to pool from the various wounds in their corpses, making a single puddle between all of them. The remaining two soldiers took uneasy steps backward, shields meters away, near the campfire. May as well have been a mile as they, too were dispatched by the remaining two shots of the this man's pistol.

Just now turning around, Ezekiel's hand dropped to the hilt of his sheathed sword. His glare unwavering as he faced the man who had killed an entire party of his soldier's a whim.
"What is it you want, exactly?" the squadron captain asked of the cloaked figure before him.
"I believe you know, Ezekiel Phasa, squadron captain of Beat Kingdom, and entrusted bearer of the left pauldron of Ishmael." The man responded, his voice barley above a whisper.
"If you know about this armor, then I'm sure you're aware I can't and won't simply let you have it and take off." Ezekiel told his soon-to be opponent, drawing his sword out of the sheath and inch or two.
"Very well," said the cloaked figure simply, aimed directly at the resister's head, and fired.
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