OoC: Sadly, this is the best my creativity could muster.

IC:

Light bore down heavily towards the village of Jalson; raining a angelic sparkle. A bright light; yes, but not one that would cause any extra irritation to the townspeople. No, they bucket-loads of irritation, horror and sorrow. These three reasons were the sole reason that when a stranger arrived in the town, he’d be utterly confused, go looking for people, and perhaps perish. Due to his curiosity.

A similar thing was happening today in Jalson. A red-clothed stranger arrived in the village; confused, disappointed, annoyed. Well, perhaps he should have turned back? But he didn’t.

“Where the hell is everyone?!” he growled in frustration.

He clutched a pair of chained sticks, and wore an open vest of a vivid red; and harmonious crimson trousers that hugged his waist tightly, hence the reason they hadn’t fallen down yet. He wore nothing on his feet, yet they bore no blisters of marks.

“Jesus Christ!” his high-voice cried out as he eyes scanned the roads.

The streets were empty; stripped of the buzz and bite that one would expect a village of any size to maintain. A tumbleweed rolling about in the winds would not have seemed out of place.

“****, I’ve come here for nothing…” the fighter moaned as he realised how his time had been wasted.

“… I’ll be damned if you take another visitor you damn dirty monster! … ” a distant shout echoed through the tranquillity and silence.

Following his ears, the man began to run towards the inn, where the yell had come from.

Opening the door, he tentatively stepped inside and…

“Gahhhhh!” a fierce scream hammered over the sound of gunshots.

Hastily throwing up a barrier of stone, the visitor crouched low. Bullets ripped through the shield of rock like lightning as the crimson fighter’s mind began to search frantically for ideas. Resting on a suitable one, the man launched himself out from the boulders; blasting lightning at his assailant in mid-air.

The gunman dropped what was now recognisable as a shotgun and fell to his knees.

“I’m so sorry my friend!” he sobbed in hysterics, “I thought you were…” he broke off. “I’ll give you a room for the night!” his eyes glittered as he changed the subject, luckily it was something the red-martial artist needed.

“Okay…” he responded as he lowered his weapon. “You’d better tell me what’s going on tomorrow though.”

“I will!” the clerk replied in fear. “There’s one other man staying here too, though.”

Nodding, the barefooted man grabbed one of the numbered keys the receptionist had offered; and walked towards the door entitled: “Rooms”.

“Wait!” a shout followed him. “What is your name?”

Smiling, the red-clothed fighter responded, “Heishuro Maruchi.”

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