#12 Feat. Staff Picks in Drum & Bass

Prequel: The Dawning Path or The Mercenarys Oath As the sun rose to crest the horizon and cast long shadows across the desolate plain, five figures shrouded in the dust of their exploits rode towards the rising light. Sonny Jim and Scruggs, two amongst them known for their sharp eyes and quicker guns, led the group of mercenaries. At their sides rode a trio of compatriots; Eli Deadeye Brown, a sharpshooter with a calm and steady demeanor, Big Jack, a towering brute whose strength was matched only by his loyalty, and Finn Redbeard OReilly, a redheaded cowboy with a long, fiery beard and a knack for nitroglycerin. Jim, Scruggs said, breaking the silence. Ever think bout what brought us here? Sonny Jim adjusted his hat, squinting at the distant mountains. Reckon its the same thing that drives most folks—need for coin, and a thirst for something more. Their early days as mercenaries had been a blur of contracts and confrontations. They had carved out a reputation as relentless hunters, willing to take on any task for the right price. This reputation had now brought them to the bustling town of Copper Creek, a frontier settlement teeming with traders, prospectors, and more than its fair share of rogues. It was here that they received their next assignment—a wealthy patron seeking protection for an expedition into the untamed wilderness, and a chance for them to delve into the mysterious lands that lay beyond the known territories of the country that they called their home. Inside the Copper Pot Saloon at the heart of town, a portly man with a nervous disposition introduced himself as Dalton, their would-be financier. Ive heard tales of your exploits. I need men of your caliber to ensure the safety of my venture, came his opening pitch. Though of shrewd business acumen, Daltons tone ran wary in the face of the veteran mercenaries he now spoke with. Scruggs leaned back, eyeing the man carefully. What exactly are we protectin, Mr. Dalton? Artifacts, Dalton replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. Ancient relics said to hold unimaginable power. We believe they are located deep within the Heartland Woods, in territory no sane man would dare venture alone. Sonny Jim exchanged a glance with Scruggs. They both knew the risks, but the promise of wealth and the allure of the unknown were too tempting to pass up. Some days later, as the Dalton convoy embarked on its first forays into the Heartland Woods, the mercenaries remarked on the foreign energies that suffused the trees that surrounded them. Their branches intertwined to create a canopy that filtered the sunlight into shifting patterns on the forest floor. The wind that whipped through them whispered into ones ear as though an everpresent voice, and the deeper that the convoy ventured, the more this voice seemed almost to speak in whispers of an ancient and long-forgotten past. As they continued through the treacherous terrain, fending off wild beasts and under the constant threat of a bandit raid, the group proved their mettle, each members abilities finding purchase in defending their expedition. Sonny Jims instincts gave warning to Deadeye Browns unerring aim, whilst Scruggs expert navigation guided the brute strength of Big Jack and the explosive temperament of Redbeard OReilly against the groups obstacles as a nail guides the blow of a hammer. Deeper and deeper the group ventured, and though they grew accustomed to the environment that now enveloped them none could shake the presence that had followed them within these woods from their very first step. One night, as they camped by a clear stream, Scruggs turned to Sonny Jim. These woods... they aint natural. Feels like theyre watchin us. Sonny Jim nodded, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. Theres a power here, old and restless. We need to be on our guard. Story by Gwen Kubik

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