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The Last Spellslinger

Hank Williams was just a twerp when his parents died, slaughtered by Indians. Spending his time working as a Rebel and a Yank, he believed that his parents were avenged. Of course, the case is never simple, and always so when magic is involved. After being recruited by his father's friend, Hank must kill monsters and wizards as he tracks down his parents and kills his parent's killers.

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Uncertain Stranger

As he looked up at the lone figure, Hank felt a sense of unease settle over him. The man's wide-brimmed hat and dusty boots marked him as a cowboy, but there was something about him that was otherworldly. His face was hidden in the shadow of his hat, and his eyes gleamed with a sinister light that spoke of a life spent in the company of danger and death. Hank could see the callouses on his hands as he gripped the reins of his horse, a trusted companion in this harsh and unforgiving world. It was as the man had stepped out of the very fabric of the universe, a creature of the wilderness that had come to haunt Hank's dreams.

Hank had never encountered a man like this before. His voice was like the howling wind, a guttural growl that echoed through the dark corners of the mind. It spoke of things unseen, of creatures that lurked in the shadows, and of a world beyond the safety of civilization. The very sound of it sent shivers down Hank's spine, a primal reminder of the raw power of the untamed wilderness. And yet, despite the apprehension he felt, there was something strangely alluring about it. It was a voice that spoke of mysteries beyond comprehension, and Hank found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

"Wut, cat got yer tongue?"

Hank snapped out of his momentary trance.

"Naw, sir. Ah wuz just taken aback momentarily." Hank wearily replied. "That'd be mah paw, he died fourteen years ago. Injuns came and killed my ma and my pa. Lawmen told me so."

The man's face turned into a sudden scowl. "Your pa didn't die fightin' no Injuns, boy. Them lawmen been lyin' to ya."

Hank cocked one eyebrow. "What do you mean? I was told my pa died defendin' our home from Injuns."

"Injuns couldn't have done what was done to your parents, boy. It was a group of wand wielders who killed 'em."

"Wand wielders? What the hell is that?"

"Magicians, boy." The man slowly shook his head. " Your pa was a brave man, Hank. Studyin' magic without havin' a drop of it in his blood. Them wand wielders didn't like that."

"But why would they kill him and my ma for that?"

"Magicians are pretentious, son. Wand wielders, they're some real greedy bastards, and they don't take kindly to folks tryin' to messing, or much less outshinin' them with their own power. They didn't just see yer pa as a threat, but a mortal enemy. I been lookin' for 'em for fourteen years, but those bastards are worse than snakes. Never did find them. They'd kill themselves with their own magic when Ah got hold of them."

The man stuck a cigar in his mouth. "But it wasn't always like this, of course. One night, when Ah was out drinkin' and crossing the wild with yer pa, we stumbled upon some book sticking out of them dirt. Crazy book with crazy symbols on it. You'd know how crazy it gets out here, you've got proof right in your hands." He gestured with his head towards the dead monster. "Chupacabras are a nasty bunch, ain't they? Suck you right dry." He gave a little chuckle.

"Of course, that's when the root of our problems began." He puffed out a cloud of smoke. " You see, you don't need to be able to feel magic to use it. Of course, it does help. Once you find yourself enough magic, you might even be able to see and feel it."

"But Ah digress, we took that tome and we started readin' it. Don't remember too much, but Ah distinctly recall waking up covered in chickens on mah horse an' bein' chased by some flyin' pair of knick knacks cursin' at us. Jack started readin' some funny soundin' lines and them things disappeared." He sighed. "After taking that thing home, started studyin'. Took nearly a year before he finally learnt some of that 'Archanic Noledge', as Jack called it. It let us shoot real good, it did." The old man reminisced those memories and drew a revolver from his side. He fired it without warning. The shot curved around, hitting the backside of a fence post with a wooden smack.

"Jesus, sir!" Hank exclaimed, but was found himself unable to lift a finger in the man's presence. The man's shadow had blocked the noon sun from reaching Hank's eyes, even though the man was meters away.

"You've got a long shadow, son." Jebediah took a long look at Hank. "But mine's miles darker."

"Do you want revenge?"

"Yeah."

"You willing to bleed for it?"

"Yeah."

"You willing to lose yer mind for it?"

"Yeah."

"Then call me Jebediah Stone. Veteran Spellslinger, at yer service."