Raiders Revenge

Saint's Crew

Virgil didn't often submit to temptation, but when he heard of the massive payload riding in from Coldwater Haven, he couldn't resist.

They would be passing Boot Hill, the closest cemetery to the town of Subdov. The cemetery just happened to have a lovely vantage point for a crew of twenty. There were plenty of trees and shrubbery, not to mention the many hills around it. Oh... and of course the thick fog cover.

Virgil stood, back to a tree, five of the best men he'd ever had the pleasure of working with in his sight. The rest were across the road atop the next hill or behind crypts or in trees of their own. To his left, Johnny was silently loading his rifle beside Emmy, who pretended to keep an eye out for the coach but really was staring at him.

Ever since the robbery they pulled in Chandvaj, she'd been acting strange: jumpy, muttering, staring... mainly at him as though he were some sort of target. If he didn't already have so much on his plate, he'd address her here and now about it.

To his right, his sharpshooter twirled his pistols confidently. He winked at Virgil and Virgil nodded back. The Half-Orc woman in the tree directly above him clutched a knife in her green hand, ready to throw it.

"It's sun down," she said. "How much longer, Saint?"

"Any time now," Virgil said softly, almost to himself.

Saint. A play on his last name, Saeklanton, he'd once thought. Now, he knew better. His crew meant it in a different sense. Despite his church orphan upbringing, he was no saint. Far from it. He'd murdered. And he'd schemed. And he'd gambled with lives as well as he did cards... All for the sake of greed.

"Everythin's set, Saint," said his explosives expert, Fin, as he climbed the hill to him. Fin was a short human boy about eighteen years old. He learned his trade from his father who'd worked on the Brinestone Rail back during its construction —back when you needed dynamite to make mountain tunnels for train tracks.

"Good," replied Virgil.

"Remind me why I keep gettin' myself into these situations with you," Fin muttered, checking his pistol's chamber and loading bullets into empty spaces.

"Because you have an unfortunate habit of throwing your money away," Virgil answered, eyes fixed on the left side of the road where the armored coach would surely be barreling in from the wooded valley beyond at any second. "Remember to wait for the explosion!" he turned and called out to the rest of his crew. "We don't need to scare them off!"

"I mean besides that," Fin said as muddled replies of acknowledgement drifted through the air.

"I don't have time to puzzle out the troubling aspects of your life, Fin. Do as I say, do your job, and you'll be alright. Or you can always leave."

Virgil's gaze drifted back to Emmy. She was still staring! What was her deal? He knew each and every man and woman well. They'd been together for years. When one died, it was as though a cloud was lowered over the whole gang. If any of them had a problem, they had Virgil to vent to and they knew it. Something was clearly wrong with Emmy. So why wasn't she talking? He didn't like the malice in those eyes- Wait! Since when was her eyes white?

"But... I've got no wheres else to go," Fin whined.

Virgil growled to himself, settling a stern look on the boy. "Then I wouldn't complain if I were you."

Fin shrank back slightly. It wasn't safe to push Virgil 'Saint' Saeklanton. You had to pick your battles with him, for he had a darkness inside him you did not want to tempt. "Yes, sir."

The unmistakeable sound of hooves against road and the creaks of metal rose in the near distance. The cemetery's intruders fell silent.

The armored coach rattled around the corner and into the stretch at the bottom of the two hills, four horses working hard to pull their heavy load, a driver and rifle man sitting up front. Virgil cocked his pistol, the slow series of clicks making him cringe. If this worked, he and his boys —and ladies— would have enough gold dust to last a good while. They would be rich if any of them were wise enough to invest it, but instant gratification ruled their lives and that was a truth they'd rather live with than fight. This was going to be relatively easy assuming all went accordingly: Fin with his nitroglycerin, Shawna with her knife, no dragonborn officers hiding inside.