A voice warmer than desert sands, the being speaks with a subtlety that echoes through the very fiber of souls; a gift from a pantheon long dead. Divinity and power, gathered into the creation of a singular rogue mage of the Armin Collective. “The Vigil, Carrin Alto.”

Like a song she weaves together words, an accent displaced from ancient deserts and wastelands. “I have always wanted to meet you.”

Stepping into the room she calmly stares at the Gunslinger, unblinking as she faces down divine weaponry. A well fitted array of clothing on her frame, created of synthetic fibers and a singular plate of polished ceramic worn across her chest. Protection, cobbled together from stolen sources.

“Your termination will not be completed today.” She states with a lifeless smile as she continues to walk towards him, a hand glancing over her own holstered handgun. “So I ask you to not point that at me.”

Unflinching, the revolver follows her form; the thing’s deep eyes turning to the bartender watching in frozen silence. “Please get me a drink. Something preferably warm.”

The old man tries to take a breath as he forces his body to move, stumbling towards the bar at the far end of the room.

“I have not had the most productive of weeks.” The woman admits calmly as she runs a finger across the bar. Polymer peels against arcane alloy, immense strength as she carves a valley through the scratched surface. “Bounty hunters have planted their traps in the Plateau, a few dangerous ones among them. I would have attempted to dislodge their roots alongside a tendinous alliance, but then I was interrupted by my collective here, carrying with them a message… of you.”

A single glass of cold water is set onto the polymer slab, her slender fingers gripping it with a calm motion. “I could never dream of meeting you, Carrin. Until now, in which it has become reality.”

A short sip, the woman’s calm smile souring for just a moment as she tastes the familiar temperature. Speaking again, she stares at the Gunslinger. “My name is Naro, once of District Two. Now, however, I carve my own path through this world.”

Slowly tasting the liquid again she exhales a held breath, impossibly cold air released as she grips the glass. “I know that you have terminated two of my warriors. However, their fate is irrelevant. I understand the soul-laws you follow, the necessity of your actions in accordance to them. You will not leave this town until you believe it is safe from me. I therefore see no purpose in attempting to convince you to leave, as it would be a squandering of our time. The only option remaining is for me to terminate you… or convince you otherwise.”

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A cold smile meets an expressionless face, the glass in her hand gripped with supernatural force. Cracks slowly branch out from the points of impact, subtle sound echoing through the empty bar. “Will you join me? Our goals as wanderers of this land are similar. And I can offer you more than simple coinage.”

Motionless, the Gunslinger matches her cold gaze.

She speaks as implication submits an answer, a breath taken carefully. “I require one day. There are specific warriors within my Collective that require adjustment, weaknesses to uproot. When I am finished, we will… ”

From behind the bar the roar of gunfire slams into the Mage. Twined rounds fired from an ancient double barreled shotgun sends buckshot screaming towards her form, each individual scrap of lead suddenly stopped cold by raw force.

Individual pellets hang in the air, mere centimeters from lethal contact. A subtle distortion surrounds the Mage’s thin form as gravity is bent by will and augmentation, the creature’s eyes shimmering a bright hue of sky blue.

Turning to face the perpetrator, she watches as Old Joe drops his shotgun in fear. Her expression marching forward with disappointment, the Mage speaks. “I will not terminate you, Bartender, for the hospitality you have provided my Collective has bought your existence today. But understand, that such provocation will result in the erasement of this town, and its inhabitants.”

A wave of her hand sends reality rippling between beings. The shattering of bone and twisting of organs muffled by flesh, the Old Man retching blood as he collapses from the bar.

Buckshot clattering onto the ground, the Mage turns back to the Gunslinger as energy fades from her eyes. The glass in her hands shatters, individual pieces like blades as they fall. In a single movement her form moves like a shadow, reforming within point blank range of the Gunslinger, dead brown eyes matching those of warm green. “Can I not convince you to join me, Gunfighter? To wander this world to experience every sense imaginable? To grasp true freedom, away from the fates that the Five, or even Armin has laid for us?”

Completely emotionless, unflinching in execution the young man speaks the words as the weapon remains leveled on the thing’s head. An honor bound beneath gods above, words left untranslated. “I issue to you Naro, a deuncol divinica Armin.”

A deep breath exhaled from mechanical lungs, the Mage’s face pulls with a sadistic smile as she realizes the implication. “You are insane. You seek to challenge me under the old law?”

Silence, the issuance of fate strung together in the absence of gods. She continues. “Then when the suns awaken, we will meet. It will be then, I will feel your bones crumble as I tear you to dust. The Five will watch as you die, and your weapon will be mine to wield. Goodbye, Carrin.”

In a blink her form shifts to the door, shadows dancing across the interior as she stops. A final stare between wanderers, the gulf bridged with a single lethal purpose. Without words the door slams shut, the Gunslinger holding position for a few more seconds before releasing a held breath.

Gun quickly placed back into its holster, Alto sprints over to the bar. Peering over, he immediately spots the fallen man. “Old Joe!”