Blood and Steel (I)
Posted: Sun Jan 05, 2025 3:36 am
The quiet evening breeze accompanied him. Unseen but felt. A trail of smoke curled up from the half-burnt cigarette on the ashtray on the windowsill. Leon looked out into the evening sky, taking an occasional sip from the mug he was holding. It had been a long season, and with the arrival of Frost, he had wished for a few days of peace and quiet.
KNOCK
A single knock at the door, deep and hollow, as though resonating through the earth itself. Leon almost jumped off the windowsill. He reached for his gun and crept silently toward the door. Pressing his ear against the door, all he could hear was the howling of the wind. With his gun raised, Leon opened the door, anticipating coming face to face with the barrel of a gun or the tip of the sword, but he found no one. In its place was a gust of wind, and Leon ducked his head to protect his eyes. A package wrapped in the most unassuming brown paper and string imaginable on the ground. He looked to his left and right; the hallway was as empty as it could be. Picking up the package, he made his way back inside and waited for a few moments. After making sure that whoever dropped off the package was no longer within the vicinity, he made his way to the kitchen counter, carefully placing the package on the counter. He studied the package, looking for any familiar marks or smells. He jiggled it lightly. After a few more seconds of pondering, Leon finally pulled the string, and the wrapping came undone.
“What the?” he exclaimed as he lifted the flap of the small, unassuming leather pouch. It was a field kit for repairing, cleaning, and adjusting firearms. One that he had used countless times during his service. He turned the leather pouch around, looking for any insignias or identifying markers. There was none. Leon then took out the tools one by one. It felt light yet sturdy. The tools were polished and symmetrical. Only a master crafter could make this. The one time he held a tool of this caliber and craftsmanship was when he was first recruited into the Jaeger Corps.
“Extraordinary,” he mumbled to himself, admiring the craftsmanship. The feeling of uneasiness crept from the back of his head. Why was this leather pouch here? How did the sender figure out where he was? Or that he was a gunsmith? Leon had made it a habit to change places every few days or so, never staying in one place. Could it be? Leon stood straight up, pocketed the leather pouch, grabbed his gun, and exited the room.
KNOCK
A single knock at the door, deep and hollow, as though resonating through the earth itself. Leon almost jumped off the windowsill. He reached for his gun and crept silently toward the door. Pressing his ear against the door, all he could hear was the howling of the wind. With his gun raised, Leon opened the door, anticipating coming face to face with the barrel of a gun or the tip of the sword, but he found no one. In its place was a gust of wind, and Leon ducked his head to protect his eyes. A package wrapped in the most unassuming brown paper and string imaginable on the ground. He looked to his left and right; the hallway was as empty as it could be. Picking up the package, he made his way back inside and waited for a few moments. After making sure that whoever dropped off the package was no longer within the vicinity, he made his way to the kitchen counter, carefully placing the package on the counter. He studied the package, looking for any familiar marks or smells. He jiggled it lightly. After a few more seconds of pondering, Leon finally pulled the string, and the wrapping came undone.
“What the?” he exclaimed as he lifted the flap of the small, unassuming leather pouch. It was a field kit for repairing, cleaning, and adjusting firearms. One that he had used countless times during his service. He turned the leather pouch around, looking for any insignias or identifying markers. There was none. Leon then took out the tools one by one. It felt light yet sturdy. The tools were polished and symmetrical. Only a master crafter could make this. The one time he held a tool of this caliber and craftsmanship was when he was first recruited into the Jaeger Corps.
“Extraordinary,” he mumbled to himself, admiring the craftsmanship. The feeling of uneasiness crept from the back of his head. Why was this leather pouch here? How did the sender figure out where he was? Or that he was a gunsmith? Leon had made it a habit to change places every few days or so, never staying in one place. Could it be? Leon stood straight up, pocketed the leather pouch, grabbed his gun, and exited the room.