Forums » General Roleplay » ToC: Tiberius v. Sam Wilson

A moderate-sized table of rock, circled all around by a deep and ancient river, hedged by tall cliffs beyond and set in the middle of a southwestern desert. A few scrubby bushes cling to life on the small finger of land, some sand, and a few hand-sized rocks.
A flash of shimmering light illuminates the pre-dawn darkness, leaving two figures ten yards apart, at either end of the football-shaped island, all of their human weaponry left with them.";

Tiberius stood there, looking down for second then rose his head. Looking across he saw a woman in western clothing. So this is my first fight eh? "So then, this is it huh? You and me..."

Sam blinked slowly as her eyes adjusted, the left barely moving. Despite the sharpness of the right, however, the burned woman didn't see the man until he spoke. Instantly, the hermit's hand was upon her pistol, cocking back the hammer on her Single Action Army. Her Cavalry model might have caused her to be slower on the draw, but her good eye still picked out the peculiar shape of the Volcanics, and Sam knew that any time she lost in the first shot, if she made it past there, she could make up with the second, not having to work a lever, which was unwieldy on a pistol.
Saying nothing, the woman waited for the sun to spill into the canyon, golden light revealing their tableau better, including her burned left side and almost visibly blind eye. "I. You and I. Not that it stands much of a chance of matterin', or that I don't speak the same."

Tiberius shrugged. "Whatever Miss." Tiberius threw off his duster jacket, t hitting the ground. "So you wanna make the first draw?"

Sam stared at the man for a moment, her right eye traveling over him while her left stayed still. It almost seemed a pity to the hermit, as he seemed like the kind of person that could shut up for a few months and be fine with it. Her right hand stay upon the butt of her pistol, easing into the grip like an old glove as she elected to leave her duster on. It bulked her up, made her appear larger than she was, taking the attention away from her tight, bony frame. Her body turned ever so slightly, her left foot sliding forward, decreasing the angle that she presented while at the same time lessening the distance that she had to draw before being able the bring the muzzle of the Colt in line. With a glance to the sky, Sam gave the man a nod, ready when he was.

(Shall I roll the die then?)

(How about a d100? 1-10 could be a kill shot, 10-30 is gravely wounded, 30-55 is a graze and 55 up is a miss? And I'll do the same in my next post?)

1-10 could be a kill shot, 11-30 is gravely wounded, 31-45 is a graze to the arm and 46- 54 is a graze to the leg 55 up is a miss

Tiberius drew his right hand and turned his body, the way he liked to shoot, turning his body, so only his right side was exposed and shot at the woman.

As the man drew, so did Sam, turning her body more to present even less of a target. The woman's hand was snakelike in its speed as the pistol was drawn smoothly from the holster, her shot cracking off very nearly in the same split second that his did.

The bullet cut along his arm, lightly burning his right shoulder. "You'll regret that.." He growled, He drew his second pistol, being the same kind of pistol and shot at her again, now facing her head on, a mean look in his eyes. Right after he shot, he dropped both guns back into their homes and reached back and drew his Wind Chester rifle.

Sam blanched as her leg felt like it caught on fire. The hermit noted that she'd hit the man in the arm, if barely, and that in the haze of adrenaline, he didn't even notice. Quickly, her two hands working in concert, the woman fired off the five rounds that remained in the cylinder, not truly aiming a single one, before performing an odd feat. Instead of reloading or drawing her shotgun from her pack, Sam jumped backwards with all of her available strength, going over the edge of the table-top rock and vanishing from sight. The cry of a wounded woman in pain pierced the air a second later, and though the cry was true, Sam having pounded her fist upon her wound to produce it, the illusion of distress was not.
Instead, she'd gotten lucky, as she had in so many situations before, and landed on a brief ledge a few feet below the top. Silently, she slipped her shotgun from her pack, checked the load, then pressed her back tight to the wall of rock and aimed the scattergun straight up, the burned woman counting on the horrible appearance of her face and bare head, her hat having fallen off when she jumped, to give the man a moment's pause. Just the moment she'd need to send two twelve-gauge shells worth of shot into him.

Tiberius followed her with his sight, trying to get a good shot. "Did I win?" He asked under his breath as she fell off the rim. He quickly fell to the ground, on his belly, and took aim where he last saw her. When he saw her raise her head he squeezed off a shot.

1-50 miss 51-80 hit shot gun 81-90 hit hand holding shotgun, 91-100 headshot

Ducking back below the edge, Sam cussed at herself in her typical foul-mouthed fashion for nearly getting her head blown off. Pulling two of the four shells that she kept on her cartridge belt to be ready for a quick reload, the woman used one hand to slip the muzzle of her shotgun, an over-under affair onto the top of the rock, setting it nearly flat upon the ground that the man lay on before letting fly with both barrels, the firearm quickly yanked below cover to be reloaded. Taking less than a second to jam two fresh shells into place, the hermit quickly turned her attentions to her pistol, pouring out the empty cartridges and forcing her hands not to shake as he rapidly put in six more.
(I'll leave it to you on how you want to deal with the shotgun blast)

Tiberius had rolled from his last spot, but one of the pellets from the shotgun did get into his left shoulder. He gasped in pain, but fought it. After taking a few breaths he rolled away a few more feet and waited.

Sam listened to the pained gasping, guessing that she scored some sort of a hit, though what sort she didn't know. What she did know, however, what that she could out-wait him, wait for his adrenaline to crash and bury him in shock, if only she could prevent the same happening to her. Keeping her head low, she shuffled along the ledge until she ran out of room. It was only a few feet, but it was better than nothing.
Placing her shotgun back into the scabbard that she'd sewn into her pack, the hermit slipped on arm out of the straps and snaked a hand inside, finding her canteen and a bandanna, which she tied around her forehead to protect her eye from the sun's glare. Taking a swallow from the canteen, Sam couldn't help but note how hot it already was that morning, growing hotter as the sun slowly baked more and more of the still air. Displaying a grim blend of mercy and ruthlessness, the burnt woman called out before flinging her canteen as far as she could, making it maybe halfway between her and the man. "You thirsty, numbnuts? Have some water!"

Tiberius just aimed and shot the canteen. He was usually friendly, especially towards women, but the was in no mood right now. For all he knew it had poison in it. "Thanks but no thanks..." He growled. He closed his eyes for a second, and calmed himself down, then opened his eyes and waited...

Sam heard the gunshot and the sound of water gurgling out of its container. "That was my favorite canteen, you worthless son of a whore!"
Testing the solidity of her wounded leg, the hermit dug back into her pack and pulled out her last two shotgun shells, eying them for a moment before she slipped her pack completely off and took a deep breath, counting two shells in the shotgun, two in her hand, two in her belt. Six rounds in the revolver, with no time to reload once the shooting started again.
The shotgun was retrieved, and one more cleansing breath was taken before the muzzle went over the side once more, aimed at where Sam guessed the last shot had come from, barking with only one barrel. She was already moving, head and upper body vaulting onto the top of the rock when she fired the other barrel. On her feet now, her right hand dipped back to her gun belt and she feinted left, then right, the old Colt slipped from its holster and barking once with another blast of suppressive fire.
All in a space of seconds, she'd gotten off three shots and taken her place back on top of the small island. But her fourth shot was deliberate and aimed, Sam taking all the time in the world to draw a bead on the man

The first shotgun missed compeletly, the next foully all missed but the last kicked dirt in front of him. Tiberius returned fire, shooting as fist as he could work the lever on the rifle. Sending seven shots at the woman before running out.

0-25 missed 26-75 limb shot 51-80 gravely hit 81-92 graze 93- up kill