Rufus "Hotshot" Cullen's page

Rufus Cullen. A whisper in the breeze. A name hidden by a cloak and a bullet. A name that goes unknown by near everyone. Those that know it are either dead, or will soon be wishing they were.
Born the son of a village blacksmith, Rufus lived an extravagantly ordinary life. He was apprenticed to his father, roughhoused with his friends (Timothy, Chester, Rorsch), explored the forests, made fun of Old Man Jenkins, and stayed clear of the alchemist's house on the hill.

Superstition and legend surrounded the alchemists house, aided by the fact that the man rarely stepped outside, and when he did he was clad in strange flowing garbs, his hair always unkempt, striding straight towards the forest or some other equally isolated place. If anyone tried to talk to him, he would often mutter about "Important projects. No time for imbeciles," before pushing them out of his way and carrying on. His infamy was only furthered by the unkempt state of his house and the periodic explosions and strange noises that issued forth from it.

Rufus would always play with his friends, daring each other to see how close to the alchemist's abode they could get. Rorsch had actually gone up and touched the house, and Rufus, not one to be slighted, took it upon himself the be the first to enter it. They waited until the alchemist had left on one of his trips, and immediately set out to his house afterwards. Trying the front door, rufus found it to be locked. Spending some time looking about, he found the entrance to a cellar, under a fallen tree and obscured by bramble. Clearing a path, he managed to create a passage for himself, disappearing beneath the house.

Being the only other person to ever enter this house, Rufus took it upon himself to explore. Walking past shelves full of strange chemicals he'd never even heard of before, assorted organs in sealed glass jars, and various instruments he'd not want to guess the uses for, he came upon the work bench of the alchemist. A thick black powder covered the area, some of it scooped into a bowl. On the bench he saw a strange device, a curved tube with a handle and trigger similar to that of a crossbow. He picked it up and twirled it about, the device feeling strange, yet oddly at home in his hand. Having all the dexterity of a blacksmith at the time, it finally slid out of his hand, clattering to the floor. Once it impacted, an explosion echoed the room, smoke emitting from the device.
Rufus yelped and turned around, only to find him face to face with the alchemist.

"You're not supposed to be here, young one." he said, his head cocked slightly.

Managing to barely stammer out an excuse, Rufus turned and fled, bolting out the front door of the house, never to return, or so he said to himself. The next day the alchemist had packed up most of his equipment in a hurry and left town, stating to all those that would listen "Hunted. My greatest invention. Must leave now." Rufus was thirteen.

It was the eve of his eighteenth birthday. His father, now growing in age, had taught him well. He was to inherit the smithy, and his fathers sword, on his birthday. But the town was abuzz that day, a group of fifteen travellers had arrived, each bearing the same strange salamander brooch. They stayed at the local inn, asking questions about the alchemist. At mid-morning the next day, they had tried to break into his house, being repelled by every magical charm laid on the stonework. One could feel their anger and hear the screams from the village. By noon they had given up and came down to the village, gathering as many people as they could. The obvious leader of the group, a rippled man, clad in a breastplate and bull-shaped helm, approached the group. "Oy. Get us in the house, or we start lopping off heads. You lot knew him."

A rather courageous man spoke up from the crowd. "But sir, we hardly knew him. The man was a recluse, you see. He almost never ca--" The mans words were broken off by an arrow through his neck, falling to the ground in a pool of his own blood. The crowd began screaming, rushing this way and that.

The leader of the salamanders spoke up once more "You boys know what to do. Kill and burn, save any who surrender or look like they may know something. Have fun."

Rufus had managed to sneak away during the confusion, running straight back to the house of the alchemist. He was relieved to find the same cellar door, hidden under more brush than he thought possible. A few minutes of prying later and he had formed a hole through which he reentered the house for his last time. Taking stock of the situation, he began searching the workshop. Finding a battered, dusty gun, obviously one of the first prototypes, some powder and shot, and scant few pages detailing the workings of this early prototype, he fled from the place
and returned to his fathers smithy, only to find it ablaze.

Fearing the worst, Rufus climbed through a window, heading to the dining room, where he found both his mother and his father spitted with their own working tools. The shock of the scene not having hit him yet, Rufus kissed them both on the forehead, dashed to his room and grabbed his scant few belongings; some gold he had saved, his wide-brimmed hat, duster coat, and his backpack.

Rufus left and never turned back. It was only two hours later, when the screams had long since disappeared behind him, did he finally stop. He bent over, vomiting and vomiting, then dry heaving when he had nothing left to vomit. He spent the night crying. The next morning he had composed himself and carried on.

A few days of travel later, he had stumbled upon a farmer with his cart at sword-point from a duo of outlaws. Outraged, he had vowed to stand up for the poor, defenseless folk like these, taking justice into his own hands. Using the forest as cover, he had dispatched both of the men with his pistol, much to the terror of the farmer. When he finally showed himself, the farmer regained his composure and spoke. "Fancy weapon, stranger. Thanks for the help. What do they call you?"

Rufus reloaded the gun, twirling it once before sliding it into his belt.

"Hotshot."

Rufus hopes to one day find the group responsible for the sacking of his village, and deliver unto them his own brand of justice. He also wishes to find the alchemist one day, to sate his curiosity and see the one surviving member from his town.