Total unauthorized interruption.
Twinhorn never saw it coming.
That’s what the ‘Hulking Hurler’ thought would happen anyways. He knew the Scourge of the West wasn’t going to go down easily, nor would he trust the giant hulk of a man who’d just blasted his way into the centaur’s good graces. Nevertheless, he’d planned for the Centaur to expect his betrayal in the heat of battle, or after the spoils were waiting to be divided, not so very soon after Fjorn’s entrance into the band.
Instead, not two hours after blowing apart Twinhorn’s Unicorn, while the war party was running through a narrow Canyon, shots rang out. “AMBUSH!” The Drider and other Centaur shouted, while Twinhorn drew his bow.
“TRAITOR!” The Scourge of the west shouted simultaneously, turning towards a Fjorn who’d already disappeared. Bullets tore into him, every shot of the ambush aimed at the Centaur, it was a miracle, magic, or maybe even the Scourge’s legendary skill that kept him alive.
Still mobile and furious with rage, Twinhorm took aim at the only rock outcropping large enough to hide the Hulking Hurler, and blew it apart with a single arrow – just in time to reveal Fjorn and his massive rifle firing off into the mountainside behind Twinhorn, blasting apart a conveniently prepared rockslide. This was no lucky strike, no natural rock formation, this was hundreds of tons of rock carefully set up to create an avalanche of death. One Fjorn was already scrambling up the other side of the canyon to escape from with manic speed.
One Twinhorn’s two allies ran from with all speed…
One Twinhorn himself tried to escape through pure willpower, trying to force his legs to move, despite the gaping holes. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke and rubble.
When the dust cleared, Twinhorn’s two still-living lieutenants found themselves surrounded by men. Simple, two-legged, non-giant men, but men with guns nontheless. A towering Fjorn stepped up behind them, his massive rifle already reloaded and pointed at the both of them.
“Twinhorn is dead, I be yer boss now, tha’ new Scourge o’ the West. All that was his is now mine, including you two, an’ all of yer friends back at the hideout.”
And so the conquest was complete. Fjorn’s gang consisted of a dozen men, all of whom were assembled here, and none of which was very good at banditry. While Fjorn himself was amazing, he couldn’t be the Scourge of the West alone… What better way to build a gang worthy of the Hulking Hurler than to steal it?
What better way to inspire a legend than to defeat the Scourge of the West?
Who better to introduce his legend to than the very target they were riding for? By Sunrise, they would arrive.
