This fic was a result of a convo between me and Nitram in another
thread in the Fanfic forum.
SirNitram wrote:Aya wrote:On a related note, Robert Jordan is apparently going to be writing some stories about samurai (well, Shogun, really) Elves. I can already imagine what they'd look like.
Nit: I like your western cowboy Elves idea. I'll see if I can't come up with
something and post it.
You rock me like a hurricane, Aya. Make with the fic'ing!
So there you have it, blame this whole mess on him.
Eli Tor'el quickly leveled his gun at the charging brutes called humans and fired several shots from his trusty rifle in quick succession, dropping three of the savages dead and blowing a nice sized chunk of flesh from another's shoulder. That'll show the bastards. Eli thought to himself as he ducked behind a large rock and quickly reached into his ammo pouch to reload his rifle. He frowned when his fingers only found three of the brass cartridges. Blast and theres still four of them too. He cursed himself for wasting ammo in his desire to have a decent supper of bird meat that night. The sounds of approaching foot steps snapped him back to reality and he quickly loaded the three bullets into the rifle and waited. The first of the fur wearing men that came around the rock met his fate at the end of the rifle pointed right at his face (or what was left of it after the bullet ripped through it and out the back of his head). His friends met a similar fate as the gruff Elven westerner leaped from his cover and fired his last two shells into the surprised natives. As fast as he could, Eli dropped his trusty rifle and reached for even trustier six shooter and still running, fired several shots blindly. All except for two missed. The two that hit though, did their job impeccably. One bullet blew apart the savage's right knee, while the other hit his stomach dead center. Eli released the breath he had been holding from his lungs and took a few deep ones in return. As he was catching his breath he noticed blood dripping on the hot sand and a quick survey of his face found the source, a long cut on his left cheek. Damn savages and their bloody magic bolts. It was then that he noticed that the man he had just shot was still alive. Bleeding profusely and crippled for life, but still alive. He walked over and stood above the human and stared down at him intently. In almost a snarl, Eli cocked the hammer of his revolve and pointed it at the man's head.
"Fuck you." He said just before pulling and trigger and sending a bullet through his former attacker's skull. He still held gun as he walked over to retrieve his rifle and before going to look where his llama went. His eyes constantly scanned the area ahead of him, as his long ears scanned for any sound that might betray the presents of any more natives. He was thankful that his race had such great hearing. It had saved his life again, like it had many times before, by letting him hear the native humans as they tried to ambush him as he passed through the area. They had succeeded in not only forcing him off his mount, but also scared it off. He grumbled at that last thought. There's no telling where that thing was. When scared, llamas had a tendency to run very far, very fast. His could be a mile or more away by now! If it was, he'd have a long ways to walk to the nearest town, Sinoma, a good thirty miles away. He didn't even want to think about the coin he'd had to lay out for a new ride, the saddle and other gear. He breathed a sigh of relief as his ears picked up the sound of a llama from behind a twenty foot tall rock. Fortunately, his mount had just enough balls or brains (or both) to just run for cover and not the next county. He put his pistol back in its holster and took a few minutes to calm Voln, his llama down, then slipping the rifle back into its holster on the saddle.
"Next time you buck my ass to the ground like that, you're supper." Eli smirked and scratched the creature behind its ear before climbing onto the saddle and grabbing the reins. He nudged Voln and steered him in the direction of Sinoma, his right hand resting on the handle of his pistol. He needed a warm meal, ammo a good woman to share a warm bed and a cold ale. He'd find all that and probably more in Sinoma. That is, if he could get there without anymore attacks or getting knocked on his ass.
Its a rough draft. Thoughts?
