Shrouded Paradox ://: BTS

Prologue

April 18th, 1873

Kansas Territory, now modern day Colorado, USA

Rocky Mountain Front Range

The Stone dropped out of a man's pocket as he made his way along, a horse at his side carrying satchels of food and materials. The small ticking noise of the rock hitting the trail made the man stop and turn. He looked down at the little thing in confusion. He never recalled ever picking up a stone such as that. He swore to it.

Leaning over and lightly tugging at the reins for his steed to come to a halt, he reached out and picked up the stone. It felt lifeless as all other rocks were in his hands, yet the vibrant red of the surface was extraordinary. Fractures of quartz, no bigger than a strand of hair, ran through the rock in natural pattern. The man was captivated, and stood up from where he was crouching.

Suddenly, the stone began to hum in his fingers. A small ounce of power beginning to come from the peculiar thing. The action surprised the man, and he almost dropped it as his heart leapt from the sudden action.

The horse huffed in a seemingly frustrated manner and the man looked back.

"I know, I know. We are going, we are going."

Slipping the rock into a more secure pocket in his shirt, the man got on his horse and galloped away in the direction of the small town in the distance. The dusty summer earth crumbling under the horses hooves. Thunder heads gathered above their heads as the man and his horse man way onward.

The year was 1873.

The saloon doors opened and closed stiffly as the man quickly entered. The music was loud and people were rowdy. Men sat around tables as smoke of cigars filtered through the air. Women in corsets, short ruffle dresses, and garter belts a made their way around to collect compliments and flirt. Collecting glasses as they went. No one paid the man any mind.

The man's hand immediately went to his pocket to grasp the stone that lay within. His nerves were skyrocketing. Anything could happen, he just had to keep his head down and get one drink. Then it was off on the road.

After about an hour of sitting at the bar, setimentaly drinking his bourbon, the man felt the stone began to hum violently in his pocket. Surprised, he looked down at his hand as he secretly pulled out the red rock. It was duly glowing, and growing hot.

Suddenly, the saloon doors slammed open, and in walked three people. They donned dark billowing cloaks, hoods that obscured their faces, and brought a desolate feeling into the once lively area.

The man looked around as he saw many of the men, including the bartender, slowly reaching for their pistols. Ready for any shoot out that could happen. He slipped the stone back into his pocket and reached for his pistol as well. The familiar steel gracing his fingers.

"We are looking for something, and we know it is somewhere here in this room," one said in a strange accent. The words were clipped and short, almost piercing to the ears. A high voice yet muffled by some sort of mask they could not see.

One man in the crowd stood up, but the bartender shot him a careful look, " I'm sure we can help you find what you are looking for... Sir?"

The figure in the middle, the shortest of the three, made their way up to the bar. Thier cloak grazing the man's side of his arm. He recoiled quickly back, afraid of what could happen. They were so close to him.

"I would appreciate that. However, I don't think I will be needing your help." The voice again came from the beings mouth in that clipped tone.

The man's skin was crawling.