Hammer and Anvil
Arcane Gun Mage Pistoleer
Mortlock Graves, Gambler, Gunslinger and all round loveable rogue…
A bead of sweat burrowed its way through 3 days of built up dirt and grime down Morts face as he stared down at the Pistol in his hand. It was ostensibly a standard, though ornate, looking flintlock pistol, from its lightly etched barrel down to the ergonomically designed stock it could be mistaken for being a rather beautiful though outdated piece of weaponry. As Mort scoured the surface of the pistol with his electric blue eyes he knew it was anything bu, he concentrated his mind and the etchings started to smoulder with a dark blue hue. He closed his eyes and drove the full focus of his power into his pistol hand, he could feel the pistol as an extension of his own body, the cold snap of the metal contrasted with the glowing warmth of the rune-etchings across its surface as they began to pulse.
His eyes snapped open as he heard the cracking of a twig from behind the tree he was butted up against. Again he looked down at the pistol in his hand, the dull blue hue disappeared altogether to be replaced by a blazing ice blue, he paused for just a second, his mind cleared and the training took over, as the muscles in his body tensed up ready to make his move it was as though time slowed down for Mort, it was at this moment he felt most comfortable, completely at peace, the calm before the storm that was before him when the combat training took over. Mort side-stepped out from behind tree trunk a rogue gust of wind billowing his greatcoat out behind him. His battle trained eyes scanned the area in which just seconds ago his assailant had made the fatal mistake of giving away his position. His pistol outstretched his eyes locked with his target through the translucent runes which were now rotating around the end of the barrel. Channelling all of his focus Mort pulled the trigger, he felt the runes spark with this final jolt of ethereal energy as they imbued the bullet within. As the bullet left the barrel there was no report from the pistol though trails of blue electricity following in its wake, coursing their way behind the shot as it arrived at its mark, there was no soft thud as the bullet entered its chest not even a sharp intake of breath as the bullet ended the life of his would be attacker. Mort had infused the bullet with a silencing rune its magical energy masking any sound that the gun, bullet or intended recipient would make.