The small wooden cart rocked gently as it made its way down the paved road towards the brilliant looking city in the distance. At the front sat an older man in typical farmer overalls and a straw hat. The oppressive summer heat didn’t seem to faze the aging farmer or his three horned ox pulling the cart. 

Speaking of the heat the farmer looked over his shoulder at his silent companion in the back of the cart. The man (at least he assumed it was a man) was completely covered by his worn brown traveling cloak the aging farmer wanted to offer his large companion some water but so far he hadn’t said a single thing not even when he’d asked for a ride. 

He simply held out a handful of coppers and pointed at the back of the cart. Sighing the farmer returned his attention to the road again his thoughts turning to his crops and the latest gossip. He almost didn’t see the gleam of sun on metal before the arrow embedded itself into the bench just an inch away from his leg.

With surprising speed the farmer pulled the cart to a stop from its already ponderous pace while grabbing a crossbow from under his bench. Before it had stopped moving he was already on the ground and taking cover.

Cursing the man began loading his crossbow with the only one of ten crossbow bolts he owned. Internally mourning at how expensive even these ten were to get he began going over everything he’d learned in the militia back in his younger days. None of that would really help him now he was certain but he at least knew how to hold and fire the weapon even if he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Slowly the man poked his head around the corner of the cart only to yank it back as a loud thud echoed where his head had been. As the farmer began contemplating his dilemma he suddenly realized that something was wrong.

With a start he began whipping his head from side to side looking for his silent passenger he hadn’t heard any arrows landing behind him in the cart, did that mean they hit him silently or was his passenger perhaps one of them?

As the farmers face began growing more and more grim he noticed a dirty brown cloak swaying in the wind just in front of his ox. In the strangers hand was a crossbow bolt held upside down. It’s tip was facing the surprisingly docile ox.

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”There’s no way...”

The mans focus wasn’t on the fact that the stranger had just grabbed a crossbow bolt from mid air or the fact that he never even saw the stranger move. No all of that made perfect sense when he saw the strangers exposed arm.

Black as ebony and thick with corded muscle flowing along the midnight skin of his arm was an intricate white tattoo that disappeared somewhere past his shoulder.

Slowly the man let his ratty brown cloak drift to the ground. With a sound like fire works the man stretched letting the bones in his back pop with great satisfaction. Finally raising up to his full height of seven feet tall, hair as white as moonlight fell to his shoulders as he began working out the kinks in his neck.

Slowly the Variant let out a deep breath seemingly basking in the hot summer sun. Idly, almost like he didn’t even notice it he snapped the thick crossbow bolt between his fingers like a dry twig.

All the while the forest remained eerily calm no attacks coming as the Variant revealed himself to the world, the farmer didn’t blame them if they had already run away. You don’t mess with one of their kind, only the greedy the desperate, or the stupid would try to take one of them on without some serious firepower.

Apparently these bandits qualified for at least one if not all of those categories as three more crossbow bolts shot towards the Variant. Without hesitation he took a quick, short step to his right as all three impacted the ground roughly where he stood a moment ago. The farmer almost didn’t notice how one of those bolts he dodged landed close to the docile beast.

Slowly the Variant looked over his shoulder to stare right into the aging farmers warm brown eyes with his own predetorial red ones. Now that he could see his face the farmer noticed that the intricate white tattoo continued up his shoulder and stopped around his right temple.

”Just sit tight old man there’s only four of the idiots and I can see them all from here.”

The farmer wished to form some sort of response but his mouth wouldn’t move. Here stood one of the bedtime stories his Pap told him to scare him straight. He had to admit that those scary stories weren’t very fair to the real deal. This man was far more terrifying than anything those silly books could match.

Without even waiting for his response the Variant was already walking forward toward where the bandits were no doubt hiding. Suddenly the farmer almost felt a little sorry for those bandits. Almost.

”I’m getting too old for this shit.”