Choomie April 23 "Newt" Gaspard • Cattle Rustler The hummock that became Hell choked on smoke. A thick, greasy pall hung over Newt, and with each blast, it tangoed and roiled like a puppet. He tasted the metallic tang of spent shells on his tongue, a sweet, sickly reek of saltpeter. This acrid air was a familiar stench-blanket that seemed to follow Man as he conquered more and more of the frontier and himself with it. It had almost become a natural smell, natural like a pine's crisp, resiny perfume or the scent of trampled bunchgrass under a dirty boot. It was the odor of the modern land, distilled to its basest and most pure, primordial element. "Buzz!" Newt shouted as his companion slipped in the commotion of the battle. He cleaned the rifle, then loaded a fresh cartridge. Full-round action to reload the rifle (I forgot to do this last turn!)
Choomie April 23 "Newt" Gaspard • Cattle Rustler The hummock that became Hell choked on smoke. A thick, greasy pall hung over, and with each blast, it tangoed and roiled like a puppet. Newt tasted the metallic tang of spent shells on his tongue, a bitter inverse to the sweet, sickly reek of saltpeter that grated his throat as he took a ragged breath, drawing in oxygen and transforming air into adrenaline. This acrid air was a familiar stench-blanket that seemed to follow Man as he conquered more and more of the frontier and himself. It had almost become a natural smell, natural like a pine's crisp, resiny perfume or the scent of trampled bunchgrass under a dirty boot. It was the odor of the modern land, distilled to its basest and most pure, primordial element. "Buzz!" Newt shouted as his companion slipped in the commotion of the battle. Newt's fingers danced a frantic jig on the worn leather of his gun belt. He cleaned the rifle, then loaded a fresh cartridge. Full-round action to reload the rifle (I forgot to do this last turn!)
