He stared across the battlefield, the empty sounds of battle raging around him. A smell of gunpowder hung on the rage-filled air, an acrid scent that infiltrated the nostrils with a digging claw. However, it did not seem to bother the calm soldier. He merely sat, and watched as a multitude of bodies pressed and heaved against each other. A bullet whizzed by his hanging ear yet he did not move.

Dressed up in unusual attire, the shiny Umbreon wore a professional and clean Napoleonic uniform, a tall shako upon his head. Clutched in his hands was a simple musket, its metal gleaming coldly upon the dirty air.

What was perhaps stranger, however, was the battlefield around him. Knights charged down men in spacesuits while ninjas clashed with pirates. It was truly a thing of chaos, warriors from around reality torn from their times and thrust into a fight not of their own choosing.

That was not important right now though. The line was pressing against his side's front, threatening to break the fragile defense they had spent countless bodies to keep. The commander for the other side was a smart and wily fellow. He had taken charge of his men with a ruthless fist forcing them into acts of bravery and bloodshed that had surprised their enemy. Of course, that was easily rectified. As the resident sniper, all Rygone had to do was find and put a bullet through his head. However, his opponent was smart. He had disguised himself as a common soldier. His commands hidden and his motions shielded.

Yet, the Umbreon was patient. Waiting. Watching for the smallest slip-up.

Time passed like a blur as more men were pressed into the fight. A friendly barbarian went down mere meters from Rygone's left. His chest slashed open by a Reaper's blade. This was not good. The line was buckling.

If he could not find the commander by his own actions, then perhaps he could find him through his men.

...

...

...

Ah. There it was. The smallest of glances. The hope for guidance.

His finger pressed against the trigger of his gun like a squeeze from a lover and slowly the familiar crack of the musket's shot thudded against his shoulder.

A cry went up as his army surged forward. The enemy's commander was down!

Smiling, Rygone picked up his rifle, dusted off his uniform, and began to march along with his allies.

---

Once upon a time I used to play a game called Lost Saga. A fun little brawler that had the concept of having heroes from across time and space fight each other in the grand stage of combat. While there were definitely many characters to pick from, my favorite had always been the musketeer. Considered one of the weaker, if not weakest class, it was satisfying to pull of those precise shots that could turn the tide of a battle.

The game is dead now, at least here in North America, but I still have fond memories of it.

What you see here is the one and only uniform design I ever did for the game. Called Cold Iron, it was my signature uniform and dare I say was one of the sharpest-looking ones out there. A style that I think Rygone carries quite well.

Ahhhh good times.

Art by  MintChip

Rygone belongs to  Rygone