Chapter 0006: Sheriff

Narniff produced his rifle, amidst the crowds of vendors eyeing him. He made his way to the saloon and ordered the usual: whiffey with a darrint squid's belly ink and sugar stirred in, then did the routinely socializing with the bartender, and quaffing down his whiffey heartily, then leaving the saloon.

There for him awaited Sheriff Coldheart Jareem, who glared daggers at him with a silver gleam in his eye. "Been waiting for you. When fate first crossed our eyes over each other in the deserts of Shardunnar, I never thought we'd part ways so much longer than then— 'twas then, 'tis now, my eyes are opened—" He paused to stare down the ex-bounty hunter. "—Narniff. Son of the deceased emperor, whose power pit was sealed by my father, Emperor Sharduunar, namesake of the ancient desert and burial ground of my ancestors, and their ancestors, and those who came before them— and soon my grandchildren, and their grandchildren— and those who come after them, et cetera."

"Wouldn't be so eager to have grandchildren," said Narniff. He lowered his rifle. "Besides, you aren't espoused. And women of heart wouldn't dare approach you, lest you strip them of their dignity by having them associate with you."

Sheriff Jareem readily undressed his coat. "I wouldn't taunt me and expect no reciprocation. I am a sheriff, and I am here to collect your debts— whether that is your taxes— or your lives. You will pay me, or I will make you pay me."

Out of nowhere, the mighty Jareem sprung off his speedy mustang, towards the elusive ex-bounty hunter. The sheriff thrusted his glimmering silver sword forward, Narniff levelling his gun to his chest again. The muffled sound of gunfire ran from the southwestern areas of Sharduunar to the northeastern shores of Kolah.

Narniff shielded himself from incoming strikes with graceful mastery, and demanded, "Leave this town. Leave this empire. Leave us alone— leave us all alone. Only then will our fortunes go to the emperor."

Jareem opposed Narniff's grace with brutal, fatal yet precise blows. "This is my empire. My father rules it, and soon I should too."

"Your empire is flawed," replied Jareem, angrily. As the daring assailant and crude sheriff dueled down the streets, the saloon erupted with cheers from the drunken patrons, who acted like drugged referees in a game of Sandwick.

The bartender anxiously spectated alongside the drunken women and men. "Well, the people of The Wildsmoke Empire sure are a fighting bunch. That's how it is— around these parts at least— it's beating, shooting and gutting. Absolute violence spreads infinitely."

The bartender readily opened a jar of whiffey, stirred in some sugar, some darrint squid's belly ink and milk, and quietly slipped a teabag of poision, allowing it to simmer in the thick, muddy delectable. Quietly, the bartender announced the closing of the saloon. "It'll be ready when he gets here, alright. Surely he'll come for his drink, and it'll be here for him— because I'm a good friend that way."

***

Sheriff Jareem said, "Go home, Narniff."

Narniff holstered his rifle, finally surrendering. "I should head home to my wife. She's probably awaiting supper."

"The Sun didn't make it fast enough to shine on her glamorous, pretty face." Sheriff Jareem slipped his blade into his coat, and embarked on his mustang. "Too bad you'll suffer the same fate— if you come too close."