Curse of the Phoenix

Shorts - His Dad's Rifle

This is just short stories that touch on the characters backgrounds and lore! It's just bonus content, so it's not essential. But it'll help you get to know the world better! So do what you want and hope you enjoy!

A gunshot rang through the cold air and the metal target clanged. A bullet hitting it right between the eyes.

"And that," a man said with a sigh, "is how you do it." The father wore a red sweater and black jeans as he looked at the target planted on a lush grass field with tress surrounding the clearing. Several piles of melting snow littered the area as the beaming sun shone on them, the sign of a 9 month winter's end.

A boy with a black sweater and blue jeans clapped his hands. His eyes gleaming at the man.

"I want to try!" the boy said.

The father chuckled. "No, son. Not yet. Its too dangerous for you to be using a gun."

The boy pouted and said, "Come on, dad. Just once?"

"One day, but not today."

The boy sighed and plopped on the wet grass. After his pants got wet, he jolted back up and checked his behind.

The father chuckled again. "Come here, son. Let me tell you a secret," he said while gesturing the boy to come closer.

The little boy walked to his father's side while the father kneeled down and propped the gun on the ground. "This gun, isn't actually mine."

The boy stared at his father. "Did you steal it?"

His father sighed and gave a tired smile. "When I was out hunting with the Legion, we found a dreary cave that led to a humongous cavern. At the time, we were looking for a Karidan's nest. It was going pretty well when one of us fell down a hidden hole, making us rush after him."

The boy nodded as he awaited his next words. Storytelling came naturally to his father. He would narrate hundreds of folklores, legends, and myths right before he went to sleep. If he was lucky, his father would recount an exciting story from his own adventures.

Every story, every legend, every myth his father unfolded was a dazzling new adventure. He bought hundreds of anthologies that his dad would read from time to time. If not, he would marvel at the heroic tales by himself.

Because of this, he always wanted to be a writer. To share a story for everyone to enjoy. To make someone smile, or to make someone cry. If done well, stories are more than just words on paper. They're exciting, emotional, mysterious and inspirational.

The world always needed a few stories to keep their spirits high, or to have something to believe in. Maybe someday he'll become a writer. Someday... 

"The hole was actually a slide, so we slid down, following its trail to another cavern. And hidden inside was something amazing."

"Was it a ruin?" the boy asked.

"Nope, try again."

"Was it a... hidden city?"

"Nope, still not right."

"Hmm... Are you sure it wasn't a ruin?"

The man chuckled and said, "What's inside was better than any ruin. Inside it was a Nomad's Carrier!"

The boy gasped and said, "Like the ones the nomads used to have after the fall of the First Kingdom?!"

"Exactly. Webs littered the carrier, and dust had engulfed its structure. The carrier was clearly too old to function and we couldn't salvage anything, so we headed out. That's when a pack of Karidans showed up!"

"Woah!"

"We tried to hold them back, but there were too many. We retreated into the carrier to get a better position, but some of the Karidans broke into the Carrier. At the same moment a rifle burst out of the wall. The Nomads must've hidden it inside the walls so no one would find it."

"It skidded to a stop in front of me, so I picked it up. I was unsure of how to use it, but it was actually pretty similar to normal rifles. Pull back, aim and fire. Thankfully, it still had a full set of exploding rounds in it. I emptied the rounds on the Karidans, clearing them out with ease. After all that, I went home with a new rifle and another successful hunt under the belt."

"But... what's so special about that one? There are lots of rifles that can shoot exploding bullets," the boy said, pointing at the rifle.

A smile formed on his father's face and he pointed at a symbol on the wooden stock. Arkanin wood made most of its structure, which was the strongest type of wood known in the Vastlands. Red stripes painted the wood, and on the stock was a carving of a map with an X in the middle.

"This map, is the symbol of the Prime Nomads, the greatest nomads since the fall of the First Kingdom. This rifle must've belonged to one of them."

"Woahh! That's amazing!" The boy reached out his hands, eager to inspect the legendary rifle. The rifle was surprisingly light. He moved it around and pretended to shoot some monsters in the distance.

His father chuckled and patted the boy's short, curly hair. "One day, I'll pass this rifle down to you, son. One of the best rifles ever made used by one of the best nomads who ever lived."