A Bounty Hunter's Bundle

Meeting Death Himself.

Lincoln, the infamous bounty hunter slammed his glass on the bar table. His last mission had been a complete utter waste of his time. No deaths, and he nearly blew his cover. The worst part, was the king wanted a report tomorrow, and that horrible man had slithered from his grasp.

"Give me another, Edna," he spit at probably his only friend in this world. The old inn keeper. She dipped her head and passed him another glass of beer. Checking his cross bow was hidden well enough under his massive black trench coat, he touched the brim of his massive hat then grabbed the glass and drank it in one go.

Edna politely put a frail hand on his wrist, "I'll leave an upstairs room for you, dear. You know where it is." She smiled, and then went to help another customer.

It was late in the night. Everyone was finished with dinner and was drinking, or had left all together. Lincoln sat by himself. No on would dare even come near him. What made him mad was he was a rather small man without his imposing cloak and massive hat. He was incredibly toned and never had lost a fight, but he was a Bounty Hunter, he deserved to be bigger. Taller. Stronger. Not shorter. Not lean. Not small.

Lincoln wasn't a tiny man, he was average sized, but for the amount of people he killed, for how big his legend was....he was rather a startling sight. Most expected a drilled warrior. A massive man with broad shoulders. Someone capable of ripping another in half.

"Ah, fuck, I knew I drank to much beer, to quickly. You fucking dumb moron, Lincoln." He cursed himself softly, as he rubbed his stomach. With a belch, he threw himself to his feet. No one paid any attention to him as he stomped across the smoky, small little tavern room.

A chill went down his spine, and he stopped abruptly. His world spun slightly but he never drank enough to completely render his surroundings. The door opened with an odd creak, and he looked over his shoulder.

Lincoln had never been scared before. Never seen anything so imposing. The man that entered, was utterly daunting. Fully clad in black, and seeming to suck the light and any noise from the room, he rose far above any normal man, and had the shoulders of a giant, and muscular legs that probably could kill people with a single kick to the right place. Lincoln shivered. He had never been this intimidated before--he would never pick a fight with that man. He didn't have a death wish.

But as the king's infamous Bounty Hunter, this man posed a threat. He had to stay. Lincoln turned at once. The man's cloaked head turned his way once, but then he sat down at the bar. Right were Lincoln had been sitting before. Once he sat, and ordered a beer, the room filled with chatter again.

The Bounty Hunter, seeming tiny compared to the massive being that had just sat down, lifted his head, touched the brim of his massive hat and made way across the room. Shivering every so slightly at all the cruel weapons gleaming underneath that treacherous black cape.

The man didn't talk as Lincoln sat beside him. Didn't tense. Didn't so much as move. "Ah..." he purred, after a long moment and looked at Lincoln. "The infamous Bounty Hunter."

Lincoln tensed, and studied the man with all his might, but nothing could be made out. The man's cowl was too deep. The bounty hunter wanted to swear for not leaving his goggles on to hide his embarrassing friendly brown eyes, but hopefully his broad rimmed hat would cast enough shadows.

"Who. Are. You?" Lincoln growled, as Edna glanced once their way and got the message to ignore everything from that moment on.

"For now," the blasted, massive warrior purred yet again--with a rich deep voice, "An ally."

"How do you know who I am?"

"Your legend has grown rather big. I bet everyone who comes here often enough, knows just who you are."

"What are you here for?" Lincoln responded confidently, trying to match the unholy, ancient, tone of voice--even though he wished he had never decided to confront the man.

"You," he menaced, then finished his beer, and stood up. He strutted across the small tavern without another word. Lincoln wanted, right now, nothing more than to unhinge his crossbow, and shoot the bastard in the back. The way he had spoken his last phrase, was not friendly, not even remotely kind, but wasn't a threat either.

"Oh, Edna, I wish that ass hole had just killed me..." The bounty hunter murmured, reaching up to gingerly touch the hefty cut, tearing down the left side of his face. He had received it today when he confronted his target. From the way the massive warrior, who had just came--with twin swords on his massive back--gave Lincoln the precise idea, that this was about to get a lot more hairy. That today's failure, the king already knew about. That, that....death incarnate he had just met, was hired by the king to help him.