The Hollow Worlds
Posted: Mon Sep 17, 2018 12:24 pm
Pipers Fort - Hollow World
The fields gently sloped down for several acres before they reached the woodland which formed a perimeter to the college grounds, long switch grass swayed in the damp morning breeze.
The grizzled form of Nathaniel Brocklesby examined a patch of ground covered in tuberous scarlet red vines, rubbing his stubbled chin he set to digging the invading weeds out.
As always the bastards proved difficult, writhing and squirming around the fork until he wrenched them from earthly soil, panting he took a breath before committing them to fire.
As he listened to them hiss and burn he noticed movement in the tree line, hopefully deer, sqirrils or a flock of the keets, but no such luck as a small walker broke into a striding gallop through the foliage.
“Fer gods sake” he grumbled, turning to his wheelbarrow he opened his rifle bag and drew his Witch Rifle “More every week” he said to himself as he shouldered the wide barreled rifle.
Drawing a bead, he watched the swirling ribbons of energy within its scope, following the alien machine as it darted trying to remain in cover before make a break for the college.
As it charged he fired three times, Etherium discs arced across the clearing exploding through Martian metals, the walker shuddered, staggered and collapsed, Nate waited keeping his bead.
Moments passed before seals on the domed body hissed, a hatch opened allowing a slimy red form to slide from its capsule, as it twitched and tried to stand, he fired, a noisome pop sprayed viscous gloop over the lawn.
The poacher turned grounds man grumbled to himself, now he had to clean all of this up and it would be hours before he could return to his boat on the Barbican.
The fields gently sloped down for several acres before they reached the woodland which formed a perimeter to the college grounds, long switch grass swayed in the damp morning breeze.
The grizzled form of Nathaniel Brocklesby examined a patch of ground covered in tuberous scarlet red vines, rubbing his stubbled chin he set to digging the invading weeds out.
As always the bastards proved difficult, writhing and squirming around the fork until he wrenched them from earthly soil, panting he took a breath before committing them to fire.
As he listened to them hiss and burn he noticed movement in the tree line, hopefully deer, sqirrils or a flock of the keets, but no such luck as a small walker broke into a striding gallop through the foliage.
“Fer gods sake” he grumbled, turning to his wheelbarrow he opened his rifle bag and drew his Witch Rifle “More every week” he said to himself as he shouldered the wide barreled rifle.
Drawing a bead, he watched the swirling ribbons of energy within its scope, following the alien machine as it darted trying to remain in cover before make a break for the college.
As it charged he fired three times, Etherium discs arced across the clearing exploding through Martian metals, the walker shuddered, staggered and collapsed, Nate waited keeping his bead.
Moments passed before seals on the domed body hissed, a hatch opened allowing a slimy red form to slide from its capsule, as it twitched and tried to stand, he fired, a noisome pop sprayed viscous gloop over the lawn.
The poacher turned grounds man grumbled to himself, now he had to clean all of this up and it would be hours before he could return to his boat on the Barbican.