03-05-2021, 07:47 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]He awoke with a flinch to the sound of an explosion, head lifting before peering out his bedroom. The gunsmith was in flames, the alarmed leader quickly sitting up before his brows bunched together. ❝ Goddamn— ❞ That was when he saw Flintlock in the distance, Brock staring with parted lips before he stumbled up to his feet. Whilst he was in absolutely no position to be able to stand and fight — still recovering from his injuries to the point he was barely able to walk — he couldn’t sit back without doing something. Whilst Brock was not a good man by any stretch of the imagination, lazy and more than willing for his people to fall in his stead, Brock felt obliged to at least show his face, shoot a couple of these good-for-nothing Flintlockers down. Stumbling over as he rushed to his wardrobe, Brock dressed himself before using his crutches to hurriedly limp out of Sweetwater Farm and around the back to the stables.
❝ Lets go now, boy. ❞ Brock tried to keep his cool as he swiftly tasked Prospector up, tossing his crutches aside before hauling himself on top of his stallion’s back with a pained grunt. Without a moment to spare, Brock threw the reins forward, only using one leg to urge his horse into a gallop, the Thoroughbred, speeding through Alexandra as he joined his people towards the back for the fight. He halted Prospector, the horse’s front legs leaving the ground slightly, as Brock looked towards the fighters at the front. Eben stood towards the front, shotgun raised as he fired into the crowd of Flintlockers, whilst Frank hid behind a crate with a glock in his hand, worried yet determined all the same.
❝ Dad?! ❞ Cassidy’s voice exclaimed from nearby, Brock looking towards where his eldest son rushed over, rifle in hand. ❝ You’re injured, why are you here? ❞ ❝ What else am I supposed to do, son? Sit at home? ❞ Cassidy grimaced, shaking his head slowly, ❝ Sometimes I feel like you want to get yourself killed. ❞ With that, Cassidy powered ahead out of Alexandra to join the frontline.
With sneering features, Brock removed his pistol from its holster, bringing Prospector to a gallop as Brock rode closer towards the Flintlockers, firing his pistol multiple times towards the crowd, a couple of NPCs falling to the ground. Prospector’s nostrils flared, the whites in his eyes showing as he swung his head back as Brock fought. That was until a bullet whirred passed him, Brock whipping his head around to see the one and only William Stirling crouching on the roof of the general store with a grin on his lips, sniper rifle aimed and ready to send another bullet Brock’s way. ❝ Goddamn snake! ❞ Brock shouted at the top of his lungs, voice cracking with the strain before he rode Prospector around the back of Alexandra so that William would lose sight of him. When William was least expecting it, Brock would send a bullet in his skull.
❝ Lets go now, boy. ❞ Brock tried to keep his cool as he swiftly tasked Prospector up, tossing his crutches aside before hauling himself on top of his stallion’s back with a pained grunt. Without a moment to spare, Brock threw the reins forward, only using one leg to urge his horse into a gallop, the Thoroughbred, speeding through Alexandra as he joined his people towards the back for the fight. He halted Prospector, the horse’s front legs leaving the ground slightly, as Brock looked towards the fighters at the front. Eben stood towards the front, shotgun raised as he fired into the crowd of Flintlockers, whilst Frank hid behind a crate with a glock in his hand, worried yet determined all the same.
❝ Dad?! ❞ Cassidy’s voice exclaimed from nearby, Brock looking towards where his eldest son rushed over, rifle in hand. ❝ You’re injured, why are you here? ❞ ❝ What else am I supposed to do, son? Sit at home? ❞ Cassidy grimaced, shaking his head slowly, ❝ Sometimes I feel like you want to get yourself killed. ❞ With that, Cassidy powered ahead out of Alexandra to join the frontline.
With sneering features, Brock removed his pistol from its holster, bringing Prospector to a gallop as Brock rode closer towards the Flintlockers, firing his pistol multiple times towards the crowd, a couple of NPCs falling to the ground. Prospector’s nostrils flared, the whites in his eyes showing as he swung his head back as Brock fought. That was until a bullet whirred passed him, Brock whipping his head around to see the one and only William Stirling crouching on the roof of the general store with a grin on his lips, sniper rifle aimed and ready to send another bullet Brock’s way. ❝ Goddamn snake! ❞ Brock shouted at the top of his lungs, voice cracking with the strain before he rode Prospector around the back of Alexandra so that William would lose sight of him. When William was least expecting it, Brock would send a bullet in his skull.
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TAKES HIS CLEAVER , CUTS YOUR THROAT
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]A COLD-HEARTED KILLER IN A DARK BLACK COAT — NOTES.
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]A COLD-HEARTED KILLER IN A DARK BLACK COAT — NOTES.