Friday, May 13, 2011

Hello, my name is Ennik, and I like to do drawings.

Summer TN1913
Kazzov Ranch, Cauchan Homestead County, outside Prince Gable, Badlands

The paper was thick and heavy, so unlike the stuff he used to get in school. It felt so good under his fingers, and it didn't shiver and ruffle quite so easily in the breeze. Ennik could still smell the "Authentic Norlight Fir Paper" smell when he brought the sketchbook up to his face and breathed in deeply. It almost masked the stench of the herd of springers he was watching over. Sitting astride the riding springer, Ennik looked up for an instant, did a quick head count, and returned to his sketchbook. He squinted in the morning sunlight reflected off the savannah and made another attempt at faithfully rendering the herding springer nearest him.

The sketchbook and art pencils had been a birthday gift from his parents last season. He was 23 cycles now, nearly grown. There was no celebration, no cake, just a card and a little brown box wrapped in a bow. It's not that his parents neglected him, though Ennik occasionally suspected that being the middle child of seven did not do him any favours. Rather, it was all about timing. Ennik was born on 3 Spring, Barnabus Day. The Badlands had very few national holidays, and Barnabus Day, commemorating General Barnabus Collins, the legendary First Badlander, was celebrated in the homestead counties around Prince Gable with religious obsession. Compared to the First Badlander, Ennik Kazzov couldn't compete.

Ennik sighed. His drawing of the herding springer chewing on johar leaf wasn't bad, but it was becoming increasingly clear to the teenager that he wasn't going to be going to art school in Prince Gable in two cycles. He shrugged and looked out from under the brim of his hat. The herd was shuffling a bit, suddenly very nervous. He urged his riding springer forward, but the animal wouldn't have it. That's when Ennik heard a high-pitched whine, like a jet engine, but angrier.

"What the... a jet flying this close to the Great White Desert?" Ennik shook his head, "probably some Polar lost his way--" Ennik's eyes widened when he saw the source of the noise. It wasn't a jet. It was a tank, kicking up dust, screaming across the savannah, hovering. The herding springers began running, as a second hovertank appeared. Ennik swallowed hard and spun his riding springer around, desperate to get home as quickly as he could. He was engulfed in a cloud of dust as the tanks screamed past him.

Heavy Gear Roleplaying Game


Hermes 72 - Heavy Gear RPG - Most artwork Copyright 2002 Dream Pod 9, Inc.