[ WP ] `` He ai n't no gunslinger : they call him the Spellslinger . ''

`` He aint no gunslinger: They call him the Spellslinger'' Echoed in his mind as he approached the saloon. 
 
 Walking into the saloon, Roscoe Boone surveyed the inhabitants drinking themselves stupid. Roscoe was known to prefer to bring his bounties in dead, rather than alive. This bounty was very special however, as it was one that required killing a towns sheriff who happened to be a former preacher. The idea of killing a lawman was satisfying, but the idea of killing a preacher as well brought a sick smile to Roscoe's face. He was met with a silent glances from almost everyone in the room, as he stood in the doorway. Hacking loudly, he spat on the ground as he pulled out the old wanted poster that read: 
 
 Fr. Ashton Clay 
 Dead or Alive: $ 5000 
 6 ft tall, dark hair, one blue eye, one red eye, scar on his left hand in the shape of a star in a circle. 
 
 Roscoe spent the last year hunting down the holy man, and he always got his man. Which is what brought him to the town of LostPoint, a shitty little town on the edge of nowhere. Roscoe walked up to the bar, and grinned his dirty yellow smile at the prostitute at the end of the bar before looking at the bartender. 
 
 Roscoe was an intimidating man for sure. his face was almost always dirty with his beard a thick shade of black that made all the food caught in it stand out. He was a large strong man, whose stench was often a mix of sweat, whiskey, and blood. He had killed his first man at the age of 12, and his second man a day after that. Roscoe was always the stronger man after that lesson was learned, by any means necessary. This is probably why Roscoe became a bounty hunter. The appeal of committing murder for money, and not facing the consequences from the law made this the perfect job for him. 
 
 `` Gim me a whiskey...'' Roscoe said, smiling at the mustached bartender. 
 Pouring the glass before the disgusting looking man, the bartender gulped loudly as the other bar patrons went about their business. 
 
 `` What brings ya to Lostpoint, pardner?'' The Bartender asked, as Roscoe downed his whiskey with a satisfying sigh that followed. 
 
 `` I'm looking for your sheriff.'' Roscoe stated, looking around the bar. 
 
 `` Why would you be looking for him?'' The bartender asked, cleaning off the glass that Roscoe just drank from before Roscoe slammed the wanted poster onto the table. 
 
 `` Because, I'm aiming to take him in and claim his bounty.'' Roscoe said, a grin passing his face. 
 
 Whispers erupted from the patrons, as Roscoe turned around to smile at the townsfolk. He had seen this before. 
 `` I think your mistaken, friend.'' The bartender argued, trying to sound more in charge than he probably was. 
 
 `` I aint mistaken. Ashton Clay, wanted for the murder of over twelve of his flock during a single sermon. Red eye and a scar on his left hand, sound familiar to you folks?'' Roscoe mocked, as he picked up and waved the wanted poster in the air. 
 `` It was fourteen, son.'' A voice from the second floor corrected. 
 
 All the heads in the saloon shot up, and looked towards the source of the voice. Standing shirtless, was a man who looked like he was in his forties. His hair was black with grey on the sides, a mustache crowning his upper lip, one red eye, one blue eye, and a scar on his left hand in the shape of a star in a circle. Young prostitutes stood on either side of him, as he looked down at the dirty bounty hunter at the bar. 
 
 `` Now, I aint a holy man, but I dont think the bible looks fondly on men of the cloth conversing with whores.'' Roscoe mocked, as he looked up at his target. 
 
 `` I aint a man of the cloth no more.'' Ashton said, as one of the young women handed him his black shirt, collar, and cross. 
 
 `` Now if thats true, why do ya'all still wear that cross?'' Roscoe laughed, keeping a his hand close to his six shooter. 
 
 `` As a reminder.'' Ashton responded, glaring down at Roscoe. 
 
 `` Of all them people you killed? Lot good that does.'' Roscoe said, smiling up to the sheriff. 
 
 Ashton couldnt forget those people that died in his church, all those years ago. He, however was not to blame for their deaths. Father Clay was a good man and decent with a gun, but not all good men inspire goodness in others. During his sermon, August Ellison and his brother Roy, marched in with guns. They were chanting some crazy talk while they slaughtered Ashtons flock, and laughed. Pinning him down to the alter, they blinded him in one eye and branded Ashton with the scar now on his left hand. Just then, a large fiery hole ripped open in the center of the room, freeing all manner of monsters from it. The burn on Ashton's hand glowed, and burned worse than it had before. He saw some dark shadow rush towards him, and into his body. In this moment, the world stopped. Like everyone else had stopped in time, and it was just Ashton that could move, and someone else who hadnt been there before. 
 
 `` Hello Ashton.'' He said, his voice inhuman but calming at the same time. 
 
 `` Am I dead?'' Ashton asked, as he picked himself up from the ground. 
 
 `` No... well not yet.'' He said, offering Ashton a hand to get up. 
 
 `` Are you the devil?'' Ashton asked, looking at the hand before him. He looked and dressed like a rich man, but his voice was the most demonic thing Ashton had ever heard before. 
 
 `` Would it make you feel better if I said yes?'' It asked, its handsome face frowning as it looked at Ashton. 
 
 ( To be continued in response )
