Firstborn of the Frontier

The days go slow, but the weeks move fast when you living all by your lonesome.

Least that's how it feels out here at the quay. After seeing them mafioso's off and bringing my friends back home on my boat, I fall into a steady routine that keeps me busy through the boring winter days. I wake up, see to the animals, have me some breakfast, then it's off to work. Not paid work mind you, just things that need doing. There's some regular life stuff like smoking meat so it don't go bad or bottling sodas so I don't gotta buy them. Repairs too, both on the wagon and patching up all the damage them squatters done all around the quay. There's also plenty of maintenance to keep up with like removing snow from roofs to prevent a collapse, or patching up holes dug by chitter-rats in search of an easy meal, or filling bigger holes ones dug by marties chasing after them chitter-rats.

That's only some of the stuff which needed doin' right quick, but then there's the stuff I gotta do if I wanna stay on point. Like practicing with the Shortsword, my new primary Aetherarm from here on out, so I get a few hours in where I can. Gotta say, I don't much like the gun. Even though it's similar enough to the Rattlesnake that most folks won't notice a difference, I most certainly do and it's throwing me off. Especially when I shoot more than one Bolt at a time, and even more so when I try a triple shot. Went from a grouping size less than a handspan apart to maybe twice that on average. Guess I won't be using that little trick anytime soon, not until I get used to the new weight and recoil pattern, which means many more hours spent shooting Bolts at nothing. Some folks shoot and note how they over or under compensating before making minute and deliberate adjustments. Me, I'm a brain empty sort of shooter. I just shoot until I get it right, then do that every time. It's all in the muscle memory, and none of it cerebral, because if I have to focus that much to shoot my gun, then I can't be doing nothing else.

And I got a lot of other things I could be doing. Sling Spells, ready grenades, check my Detection Spells, manage my Mage Hands and any weapons they holding, or just attend to one of a thousand other minor things I could be juggling at any given moment in a firefight. With all that, I need shooting to be easy and second nature, else it limits my options far too much. Multitasking ain't as easy as it sounds, and to anyone who thinks otherwise, I challenge you to draw a square with your left hand and a circle with your right, while hopping on one foot and reciting the alphabet backwards. If you can do that, then you might stand a chance of coordinating your two hands with your Mage Hands while slinging Spells in the heat of battle. Maybe.

Course, it's not a necessity. Plenty of professional Rangers get by doing things one or two at a time. Run and Gun. Duck and Cover. Spray and Pray. There's a reason it ain't 'Run, Gun, and Sling Spells', and it's not because it don't rhyme good. It's because it takes some serious work to get it right with only two tasks to handle, so most tend to stop there. Me though? If I want to make the most out of my Mage Hands, I gotta up the stakes, so ain't nothing for it except to put in the hours.

I've also put a lot of time into Etching myself a new Prosthetic, but the work is slow going to be sure. Mostly because I keep trying to incorporate every new idea I come up with and gotta head back to the drawing board to figure out how it all comes together. Or doesn't, as is the case with my idea to incorporate a basic, bog-standard Lightning Beam Cannon into the Prosthetic, because a Third Order Spell is still a Third Order Spell even without any Metamagics to speak of. On paper, it all looked good, and I even managed to rig up a working, standalone Artifact. Ain't nothing like sending a 30-meter-long beam of crackling lighting straight up into the sky, as it beats out any sort of fireworks or light show I done ever did see.

Problem is, I must've overlooked some calculation I was supposed to make or failed to account for some obscure Aetheric interaction between the Artifact and my prosthetic. I know this only because my first attempt to test-fire the Lightning Beam Cannon while affixed to my prosthetic almost set the snowy field aflame. Not because of the Lightning either; no, it was the heat from the Artifact that done it, as it got so hot it melted the brass components of my prosthetic after burning the wooden outer shell right up.

Would've really ruined my day if that was strapped to my wrist, and I got no earthly idea how to fix it. As such, that idea went the way of the dodo right quick, as I realized I don't know enough about Lightning Beam to be fiddling around with it. Which I probably should've known beforehand, but I figured I might as well give it the old college try. Granted, I technically never finished grade school, much less high school which is a requirement for higher education, so that might well be why I failed. Course, it ain't like they got classes on Artificing in high school, so I don't see why that should matter. Either way, I add it to the list of questions to run by Danny and Marijke the next time I'm in town and get right back to crafting another prosthetic.

One with a few minor modifications and improvements, with a heavy emphasis on minor, most of which ain't worth bragging about. Still feel right pleased to get it all working, but the heady rush of success is muted by the lack of anyone to share it with. Not Tina, not Chrissy, not even Aunty Ray, because while we have ourselves a chat over the Radio every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night, I don't care much to share my tricks of the trade over the open airwaves. Fact is, I don't got much to share really, nothing besides updates on Frowny's training progress.

"It's been two weeks since he 'et up that Spell Core," Aunty Ray says, her exasperation coming through loud and clear over the tinny speakers, "And you tellin' me he still nippin' at your fingertips? Over."

"He thinks it's a game," I retort, smiling as I rub his frowny cheeks and earn myself a couple nips in the process. "It's just his way of showing affection, over."

"It is until it isn't, and then you both in for a world of pain." Aunty Ray ain't playing around, so I withdraw my hand from Frowny and get to petting Stella instead, which earns me a fair few nibbles from the newly minted Magical Beast. "I keep tellin' you what to do, but it goes in one ear and out the other. No pets, no treats, no affection of any kind until he settles in and stops nippin' at you. Then you praise him to high heaven until he nips again, and rinse and repeat until he learns not to nip."

What follows is a lengthy haranguing over the air waves, and I feel my cheeks heat at the mere prospect that some stranger might be listening in. It'd be someone scanning on all frequencies for activity, and etiquette demands they move on once they realize it ain't someone in need or a conversation anyone can join in on, but entertainment do be in short supply over the winter months. There are some settlements with less than a dozen souls all told who are stuck with one another until the snows let up. Hearing the fabled Firstborn get chewed out would make for some fine gossip to share and regurgitate for the next few weeks, so I can't imagine they'd move on once they knew what they was listening to. That's why I change up the frequency every time we talk, meeting on a standard one beforehand to share the code of the next, but the code ain't all that hard to crack. Couldn't be, because if it was, Aunty Ray would have trouble figuring it out for herself, as she never finished high school either.

Not to say she dumb or nothing. She sharp as a tack and got a mind like a steel trap. She just don't like math or puzzles all that much, and tends to give up without even trying because she don't care to put the effort in. Tina's the same way, and asking Chrissy to do math is like asking Cowie to compose a poem. It ain't gonna happen, so we're stuck with how it is, and I'm dreading the day when I sign off with a 'Love you, Aunty Ray', and hear a stranger reply, 'Love you too'.

That there is the stuff of nightmares, but I love these little chats more than I care to admit. It's just nice hearing a familiar voice is all, even if it's over the radio, and doubly nice knowing someone cares enough to check in on me. That's why I take my lumps and don't argue even when I think I'm being maligned, though truth be told, Aunty Ray got my number down pat. I do think it's cute when Frowny gives me a love bite, though sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between that and an actual bite. Both are about equally gentle, because his beak ain't built for applying pressure, so I usually gotta go by context instead. A nibble while I'm scritching his chin? Love bite. Same but when I poke his belly? Angry bite. Toe nibbles in the morning? Starts off as love, but then turns to anger when I don't respond right quick and get him his breakfast on the double.

So yeah. I can see the problem if he should learn something like Alter Self or Bull's Strength to put some real muscle into his pecks. Or worse, something like Caustic Spray or Flaming Cloud and uses that to get his point across instead. Gotta remember, Schools of Magic are a human contrivance, and not always all that accurate either. We consider Ablative Armour as Transmutation because rather than Conjuring a full suit of armour, it technically sprouts that armour off of whatever's there. Like skin, clothes, scales, or in Frowny's case, most likely his feathers. A difference with only a minor distinction, in that even though the Ecto takes the damage, sometimes, when the caster takes too much damage, the physical foundation that the Spell is built upon can become damaged too. Like if you use Ablative Armour to turn your glove into a gauntlet then set it on fire, the gauntlet will take damage until the Ecto can't hold itself together anymore. Even if you put it out at the moment of failure, your glove is gonna come back singed at the very least, but your hand won't be burned so long as you acted quickly enough.

Whereas with something like Conjure Armour, the armour would heat up, but unless you get hot enough to melt metal, all it'll do is absorb that heat and burn your hand underneath. That makes for two Spells with seemingly similar effects, except they way they protect you is completely different. The latter is armour in the traditional sense of the word, a hard shell to protect the soft interior, whereas Ablative Armour is just that. Ablative, as in meant to be chipped or broken away at in order to protect what's underneath.

Course, Frowny ain't actually used the Spell just yet. Doesn't mean he ain't a Magical Beast though, because he got a new Brand that makes him stand out from the rest of his round, feathered brethren. Whereas the rest of them kiccaws are dark brown in colouring, with light tan bellies and off-white markings dotted all over their bodies, Frowny is much the same colors, only with a decidedly metallic sheen across the bulk of his rotund body. His feathers are a little more abrasive too, almost sharp if you run your hand over him in the wrong way, but nowhere near sharp enough to break skin. Just feels a little stiffer and pricklier than the rest of the birds, on top of being all shiny and shimmery when the light hits him just right.

"He likes you well enough," Aunty Ray continues, never once giving me a chance to reply during her long-winded tirade. "Shows in how he hops onto your lap to sleep, and that's good, but he gotta learn to behave or else they gonna deny his registration and turn him into a pot pie. That what you want? Because that's what's gonna happen if you keep indulgin' him like you do, over."

"I'll do better Aunty Ray," I say, while doing my damnedest to ignore Frowny as he demands for his fair share of affection. I wish she could've trained him up, but she said it was best to let me do it since kiccaws are pack animals and she want him to think of me as part of the flock rather than her. I'm just not that great a trainer though, nor do I got all the tricks Aunty Ray does. She'd've let Frowny know in no uncertain terms how she felt about his nipping using a combination of Bolstering Compliments, Animal Friendship, and the Chevalier staple Spell which they use to train up the best battlements in this world and the old, Warding Bond. A Spell which allows the caster and target share simple emotions, but the caster had best keep their emotions in check, else it can get mighty confusing or perhaps even dangerous when the target flips out. Abby use the Spell on one another, but with humans, we typically limit our targets to animals, because the instinctive rejection is ridiculously high.

Even if it works, there are often unsavoury side effects like dissociative disorders and psychotic breaks. Often times, even with animals, you can get caster and target rebounding emotions off one another and letting them build up before reflecting back until you both hate each others guts or can't live without the other. A process that can happen in the blink of an eye or over the course of the Spell's hour-long base duration, making it a restricted Spell for reasons other than war crimes. Fact is, Aunty Ray only knows it because it came with her bloodline, which is heavy on Illusion but got a good foot in Enchantment too. What's that got to do with Warding Bond you might ask, which is actually a Second Order Abjuration Spell? Nothing at all except to reinforce what I said earlier about Schools of Magic being a man-made thing. The Spells themselves ain't limited by schools or whatnot, nor do they really care to be. Schools of Magic is just a system meant to make it easier to categorize the types of Spells available to you and narrow down which Spells you're good at.

Me, I wanna try them all, but I can't because I only got so many Spell slots and a limited amount of Aether to play with every day. That said, I'm hoping to have a few new Spells to muddle through soon enough, which I segue into after reassuring Aunty Ray that I'm doing everything I can to get Frowny all trained. "Anywho, I heard back from Levi yesterday morning, so I'll be heading up to Silver Summit for a meetin' tomorrow." It's a 12-hour trip for the laden wagons, but less than half that for Cowie and me. Even faster if I use Levitate or Spider Climb to speed our way up the side of Mount Rime, or at least I hope. Got my path all picked out, so even if I do end up getting home late, I'm pretty sure I can make it there and back again without needing to ask Carter to look after the animals.

Course, I got other things to do in town besides my meeting with Levi, plans which may delay my return home. Don't tell Aunty Ray about those plans, but I do ask her to be on standby the day after tomorrow around lunchtime so I can check in and let her know I made it home in one piece. "Just in case I sleep in a bit," I add, though truth be told, I picked lunchtime in case I end up staying in Silver Summit overnight, and not by choice. "That alright, over?"

Don't know what it is that gives me away. The fact that I brung up the check in before she could, my comment about sleeping in, or maybe it's just something in my delivery that lets her read me like a book, but I can tell she knows something afoot. She don't know what exactly, but she knows it ain't good else I wouldn't be hedging my bets like I am. I want the check in because I want to be sure someone knows I went up to Silver Summit and didn't make it home on time, someone with the means and motive to look into it.

That's the thing about the law around these parts. Every town got a Sheriff, and far as the residents and visitors are concerned, he is the law. Technically, there are ways to get a Sheriff impeached if he don't enforce the laws he supposed to or breaks the law himself, but that requires reaching out to the Rangers, while the danger is right there in your own backyard. Or beating on your face while detaining you illegally as it were, but here's hoping the crooked Sheriff of Silver Summit likes to keep his own hands squeaky clean outside of accepting dirty monies.

If not? Well, then I best hope Aunty Ray can convince the Rangers that something is rotten in the town of Silver Summit, else I might have to stage a jailbreak and fight my way out.

"You sure you should head up there?" Aunty Ray asks, her tone heavy with concern. "Maybe you could ask this Levi to come down to you? Over."

"I move faster, and he already done come see me once. Only seems right I head on up to him this time around." Which is only half the story, but 100% true. Besides, while he got plans to make me a good bit of scratch, that won't be for a while yet. Months at the very least, and being cash poor as I am, I gotta go out and grind for a living even though I ain't feeling entirely up to snuff.

Takes some doing, but I manage to calm Aunty Ray enough to keep her from fretting too too much without telling her the whole story or giving away my secrets. After that, I have a bit of a chit and a chat with Tina too, while Chrissy listens in. Our Princess don't much like the Radio, not even to listen to music, because somehow the delivery mechanism does something to the songs that throws her off. Recorded music on a crystal is all fine and dandy; it's broadcasts she has a problem with. Might be some sort of Aetheric feedback or something like what Tina and Aunty Ray get, but we don't know how bad it is for Chrissy because she ain't never said nothing about it. Same as with Frowny, all we got to go on is context, namely in how she steers clear of the radio whenever possible.

She still sits in to listen and hear my voice though, so I also tell her I love her lots before signing off. Then I head over to my favourite chair which I done washed a fair few more times since Sarah Jay threw up all over it, and settle in with my best bird Stella to do some Scripting. Good friend that he is, Danny done wrote down all his thoughts on the matter and avenues I could pursue regarding my Scripts after our talk before Christmas. Gave them over to Tina to pass along to me, which I suppose may have been a good motivator for doing what he did, but I don't think he'll have any luck barking up that tree. Tina just don't understand romance and ain't never made moon eyes at any man, which is something I only really became aware of after Aunty Ray pointed it out.

I mean look at Sarah Jay. Errol runs out on her and she gets drunk enough to make eyes on me. Ain't casting aspersions on her character, just pointing out how people get lonely and make stupid decisions when they're heartbroken, like I did after Josie passed. Would've been a terrible pairing though, me and Sarah Jay, because even though she's one hell of a woman, we would've exhausted ourselves competing in and out of the bedroom.

Would've had fun doing it though, right up until it wasn't fun no more…

In keeping with Aunty Ray's instructions, I ignore Frowny so long as he keeps pecking, but the problem is he don't stop. He's a stubborn and determined little bird he is, and he keeps right on pecking at my buttons for a whole two hours of Scripting. Tuckers himself out eventually though, and soon as he sinks down in defeat, I hit him with a Bolstering Compliment and shower him with treats and scritches. Don't think the message sinks in though, because soon as I try to get back to Scripting, he gets right back to pecking until he falls asleep mid strike. I take that as my cue to sleep too, because I got a long day ahead of me tomorrow, and possibly a long night after the fact.

Doesn't stop me from waking bright and early as intended though, and I take my time making sure I got all my ducks in a row. Got my duster all Mended and good to go, as well as my new and improved Automaton prosthetic which I only got fully working just two days ago. Fitting it on, I run it through a Script that flexes all the fingers like I'm playing air guitar, which is the basis of a Script I'm working on to actually play the instrument. Mostly to learn and adapt, as it's a complex series of instructions that gotta blend together seamlessly in time to whatever song I'm playing, and I gotta do it without making a custom Script for each and every song. That's my problem right now, in that I'm making my Scripts far too specific, and thus making it harder on myself to command the Automaton prosthetic intuitively.

Would help if I crafted a normal skitterbot too, but you can't rush this sort of thing. Got go slow and steady when you Etch as much as I have in the last two weeks, because the last thing I wanna do is overdraft my Spirit and turn my brain to mush.

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Got problems enough with my Spirit though, or whatever it is that makes my missing hand flare up in pain when I see my prosthetic fingers moving. Really shouldn't happen, because the only thing connecting the Automaton to my physical body is a bunch of straps, sockets, and a harness. Otherwise, the connection is purely Spiritual, and thus should have no effect on my phantom nerves which no longer technically exist but are still lighting up like my missing hand is ablaze. Hurts something fierce it does, but a liberal application of Red Sun Balm is enough to put it out of mind.

Been using it a bit too often for my liking, but I can't help it. My hand hurts enough to keep me from making use of it, so ain't nothing to be done. Thankfully, the drug don't affect my judgement and the reduced pain don't interfere with any actual movements, and I prove it to myself by putting the Automaton through its paces. I have it snap, make a fist, draw my Model 10, twirl it around on a finger, then stow it away with a depressing lack of panache. Always thought that sorta tomfoolerly was foolish as can be, but it do be fun to spin a gun when you got nothing better to do. Looks cool too, and could even be practical considering all the tricks I been working on, including a fair few different draws that look like I'm handing my gun over, but leave me plenty of room to flip the weapon around and get to Blasting away.

Or Bolting, but that don't sound as good…

While Frowny has yet to sling a Spell, I ain't about to leave him unsupervised at home. That means he gets to hitch a ride inside of my duster, and I bring Stella and Terrance along too. The former because she's my best bird, and the latter because he's a peacekeeper and will keep Frowny from bullying Stella too much along the way. As for Cowie, he's thrilled to be out on the road again after these last two weeks of rest, especially since we leaving the wagon behind. No point having him lug all that steel over frozen muddy roads, not when I don't got no cargo to bring to or from Silver Summit. I'm still carrying a fair amount of gear, what with my 4 pistols and Ranger Repeater, and I even tuck the Whumper into his harness for good measure. I'm also wearing my plate carrier, as well as plenty of pouches stocked with ammo and what's left of the potions I brung into the badlands, since I can't rightly afford to buy more just yet.

All of that plus my components ain't nothing but a drop in the bucket for my furry partner though. Sensing something of a kindred spirit in Frowny, Cowie gives the bird a happy little nuzzle before moving into position for me to climb on, then sets out for Rimepeak without me having to say much of anything at all. It's been three nights since it snowed and the nonstop caravans moving to and from the quay have cut a clear path through it. A muddy, uneven path, but a path all the same, and my surefooted partner navigates it with laughable ease. Barely feel a bump as he trundles along at a fair rate of knots, and I gotta fight the urge to grin like a fool as all three kiccaws poke their heads out from my duster and flutter their nubby little wings like they helping us along. Makes for a rare sight as we move alongside the morning convoys heading up the mountain, but them horses and wagons laden with cargo can't hold a candle to Cowie and get left in his dust right quick. Then it just the two of us and our three kiccaw companions, and we make good time right up to the base of Rimepeak.

Then comes my turn to pitch in and help Cowie out as I pull out a jar of bitumen from my components pouch and grab myself a small dab. The black, semi-solid petroleum jelly is sticky as all sin, but the good news is the Spell will sublimate it away and leave my hands clean as a whistle. Can't say the same for the other component, which is the dried corpse of a spider I done caught some time ago, a big, spindly fella I kinda feel bad for considering he or she was just setting up shop to keep them bugs away from me and mine. No help for it though, as the Spell Spider Climb requires both components to work, so I say a small prayer for the dead spider before launching into the Spell.

One I cast on myself of course, because the alternative would be to cling onto Cowie for dear life as he hauls me up the side of the mountain. Which probably wouldn't work all that well and hurt him something fierce considering the only thing I could hold onto was his fur. Instead, he goes baby sized and snuggles up inside his harness with the kiccaws as I scramble up the side of Mount Rimepeak on my hands and feet. Ain't all that dignified, but it'd take considerably longer if we used the winding paths instead of heading straight up.

Course that means I'm using muscles I don't normally use, because even though the Spell keeps me from falling off the side of the mountain, I still gotta haul myself up it carrying everything that I am. It's a novel sensation, moving up the side of a mountain as easily as walking over rough, uneven terrain, which is to say not that easily at all. Least the three curious kiccaws poking their heads out is adorable as all heck, and so is the very satisfied Cowie who's just enjoying the ride. Helps that the Spell applies to my boots instead of bare feet, and even seamlessly incorporates my Automaton prosthetic to let me grip on to sheer surfaces and release with little more than a thought. Real nifty Spell, as it makes climbing the mountain only slightly more difficult than ascending a really long ladder. I'm talking really, really long, as they don't call it Silver Summit for nothing, and I get to wishing I'd've left at least some gear behind. Darksteel plates are heavy, and so's the Whumper, but better to have and not need than need and not have. Course, I ain't feeling that wisdom after the first hour of the Secord Order Spell's base duration, and the second hour I get thanks to Extend Metamagic makes me wish I could use Levitate at the same time.

Can't though, as they both require Concentration, so I tough it out and make it almost to the top before my Spell runs out. Without coming across a single soul as it were, having just avoided crossing paths with the convoys heading towards the quay. Wasn't by design, but I'll take what I can get, as there ain't no element more powerful than the element of surprise.

Not that I'm expecting my arrival to make any waves.

It's more my departure I'm worried about.

I'll burn that bridge when I get there though. Before that, I take my time prepping a random rock with a Clairvoyance Ritual. The Spell is pretty pricey considering it requires a pinch of diamond dust to cast, but it's a worthwhile investment. Doubly so since I bought a whole bunch of diamond dust in bulk some two years back, even though I didn't have much use for it. The price seemed low, and I figured I could resell it for a quick buck, but don't no one wanna buy diamond dust off the back of a wagon, not when it's so difficult to discern if it's actually diamonds instead of glass.

I can do it with Appraisal easily enough, but the types of folks who'd buy diamond dust are typically more than happy to pay a premium for guaranteed quality instead of scrimping and saving by buying from a fella like me. No matter though, because it just means my Spells cost that much less considering the rising price of all precious stones and minerals. Once I got my Clairvoyance going, I double check my Spells and gear to make sure I'm good to go. Got my Mage Armour and Hearing Protection, as well as a Barkskin potion stowed close to hand on my belt. Also got a Gaseous Form too, but no Flashbangs or Entangle Grenades as we done used them all in the badlands. My Deck of Illusions is still missing a fair few cards, but I got most of the Deck still available to me, including a choice few which might come in handy soon enough.

Guns, ammo, prepared Spells, I go through it all to remind myself what's where and what tools I got available to me. It's all good and well to be prepared, but that don't matter much if you forget what you prepped in the heat of the moment. Once I'm all reviewed and ready, I put a line of Red Sun Balm under my nose again before heading on up the rest of the way to Silver Summit, with Cowie prancing along beside me all cute and baby like. Being of Qin ancestry like I am, I tend to stick out like a sore thumb wherever I go, but one good way to stick out even more is to arrive on the back of a giant, shaggy white bull. Ain't many of Cowie's progeny around these parts, as most are shipped up to the Deadlands where the French Chevaliers help train them. Aunty Ray could've made some decent money doing it too, but she didn't much like the thought of sending Cowie's babies to war.

Because make no mistake. A big, burly, fire-breathing magical beast is most certainly going to be a war mount. Cowie fits the bill I suppose, but like I said before, he's more of a partner than anything else, unless that thing is family.

Dunno if its because I'm not as well known as I like to think, or because the guards on duty don't give two shits about a kid without a wagon, but don't no one blink twice as I stroll on through Silver Summit's southern gates. Or maybe they just don't got the courage to stop anyone loaded for bear, what with all the criminals moving in and out of Rimepeak of late. Vultures is what they are, all looking to move into the power vacuum left behind by the Pugliano's absence. They say nature abhors a vacuum, which don't make much sense considering most of the universe as we know it exists in a vacuum, but that's neither here nor there. No, the important thing is that the gate guards are so spineless they don't even look closely at an armed stranger moseying on in on a random Saturday morning.

Doesn't do much to bolster my faith in Silver Summit's Sheriff's Office, nor does the town itself inspire confidence. The high-sounding name don't do nothing to clear the stink of sulfides released from the silver smelters, or the less mentioned but infinitely more useful lead smelters making short work of whatever comes up out of their mineshafts. The cold, thin air makes the stench feel worse than it is, because I'm drawing deeper breaths more often and being subjected to it. Cowie don't seem to care, but the kiccaws don't like it one bit, snuggling into my duster good and well for the first time the entire trip. One I'm in a rush to see through as quick as I can, so I make a beeline for the offices of the Adelmann, Eisenhardt, and Hornstein Corporation.

Had Rhodey put me in touch with a few fellas who were from here, and asked them to point out where the offices were on a town map I bought in New Hope long before I was Exiled. While not wholly up to date, it was good enough for my purposes, and the fellas even showed me where I might find a good pastry and coffee along the now ironically named Liberty Row, though they also warned me to stay away. I ain't ever one to heed warnings though, so after arriving at the offices and finding Levi, I say, "Was a long, cold trip, so I could use a hot coffee and sweet pastry. Mind if we take this meeting outside?"

"Not at all," Levi replies. "Just let me grab some documents and I'll be happy to show you around town."

Ain't much to show if I'm being honest, and I have a very specific destination in mind, one I say came highly recommended and ain't all that far. Thing is, Levi knows his town well and soon realizes where I'm bringing him. "Ahem," he begins, clearing his throat and rearranging the yarmulke atop his head. "There is a wonderful bakery that makes the best bapple latkes in town close by. Why don't we go there instead?"

"Don't worry Levi," I say, giving him a wink. "We're just out here for a coffee and a pastry. Won't no one make trouble for us."

Least I don't think they will, seeing how I got no beef with anyone in town. Like I said though, this here is a business trip, so I got business to attend to, and while Levi is nervous to be heading into the worst part of town, he follows along without further protest. Tells me one of two things. Either Levi is braver than he looks, or he's already had business dealings on this side of town and ain't concerned about his safety, not directly. He ain't concerned about mine neither; just worried I might bump into someone who rubs me the wrong way and start a fight over something silly as a mean glare or whatnot.

He ain't wrong to worry, but his reasoning is a little off.

Liberty Row looks much like the rest of the town. A little grimy, a little unkempt, and stinking to high heaven to boot. The only real difference is the abundance of bodies on the street, as most honest townsfolk are busy at work. The mines operate 24 hours a day and 7 days a week, so even on a Saturday, there ain't all that many people out and about, not compared to a thriving town like New Hope. Here on Liberty Row however, there are no less than a dozen thuggish men standing or leaning about on either side of the streets. Rival gangs as it were, with the Whisky Knives lining the east side and the Pick Peckers on the west. Odd names for a gang, as they both fairly phallic, what with Whiskey Dick being a thing and a whiskey knife sounding like it'd flop right over instead of stabbing right it. As for Peckers, well that there is a euphemism for penis. Granted, I'm pretty sure whoever came up with the names meant to invoke the concept of said pick pecking through a skull and drunk slashers as opposed to what I got in mind, but still not the best names around.

Not like the Firstborn's Frontierborn. Now there's a great name. Alas, that's all behind me now, a dream that ain't never gonna come to pass, but that don't mean I can't mourn it's passing.

My arrival makes a few waves on both sides of the street, but again, I can't tell if it's because I am who I am, or because I got a whole lot of guns while these fellas only got knives and pickaxes for the most part. They got a few handguns, namely the junky Maosers I left for Levi to sell, which explains why he was wary of coming all this way. Judging by the looks he's getting from them gangsters, they ain't none too happy to learn that he sold to both sides. Say what you will about him, Levi got stones enough to not balk before their stares and just follows me in to the bakery on the west side of the street.

But not before I inconspicuously drop my Clairvoyance rock a few dozen meters back, giving me a clear view of anyone coming up from the direction we just came from.

The inside of the bakery ain't nothing to write home about, but their coffee is strong, their pastries fresh, and their table by the window has a clear view of the men mad-dogging one another outside. Even better, the proprietor don't mind me bringing baby Cowie and the kiccaws in, so long as I keep them from wandering about by their lonesome. As for watching my back, that's what the Clairvoyance is for, so I settle in and order us a cup of coffee each and a sampler box of various sweet treats to munch on while we talk shop. Well, Levi talks, while I mostly nod along, feed treats to Cowie and the kiccaws, and stare out the big window which gives me a clear line of sight to the bar wherein the Whiskey Knives do their business. Namely selling illicit drugs, which I don't condone, but apparently they get a pass from the Sheriff because they kick up to him every month. The same goes for the Pick Peckers working out of the bar across the street, which is how their rivalry came about. Two groups selling the same product on the same street means they gotta compete for customers. Rather than try and entice said customers with good deals and service, both groups would much rather eliminate the competition.

I ain't interested in their minor league scuffles though, nor am I all that enthralled by Levi's pitch about how to eke out maximum value from the properties at the quay and fill them with warm bodies right quick. He reads my lack of interest as dissatisfaction in his pitch, and tries to rally back from right quick. "Oh of course," he says, gently smacking himself on the forehead. "How could I forget? I was so eager to do new business, I overlooked closing out our old business." Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out something much too quickly for a gunslingers liking, but considering he made the trip to New Hope without an Aetherarm, I was fairly certain he wasn't about to pull out a gun and shoot me. Not entirely certain, which is why I tense up a bit, but he don't notice as he places a check in front of me with a smile. "The proceeds from the sale of the… goods you entrusted to my care." The check is made out for $137, which is more than I expected, but a bit of mental math tells me Levi must've sold them at close to retail value.

Because them gangsters out there were in desperate need of firepower, on account of the growing rivalry between them. Smart. Levi saw an opportunity and ran with it, but wasn't smart enough to back the winning horse. Heaving a sigh, I shake my head and say, "You got a good head for business Levi, but might be you should put some thought into keeping your hide intact." Nodding at the gangsters outside while taking a sip of my too sweet coffee, I explain, "I get your logic, selling to both sides. That way, they keep the status quo, instead of the losers getting upset that you helped the winners out. Problem is, now neither side is happy with you, because even though you gave them the means to defend themselves adequately, you did the same to their enemies which is no different from a knife in the back." Shrugging, I add, "If I was you, I'd've figured out which side was more likely to win and helped them out instead. Might've earned you a bit less since you couldn't spark off a bidding war between them, but at least then the winners would have your back."

Levi's pale features go almost stark white as he gives me a good look, no doubt wondering if someone he works with spilled all his secrets or if I got someone keeping an eye on him. It's neither, as I mostly guessed, but I suppose I was close enough to spook him. Rather than tell the truth or reassure him of anything, I decide to give him a bit more of a scare because he really needs to face facts. "Also, you might want to be more careful when selling less than legitimate goods salvaged off a smuggler next time around." Taking a big bite of a crispy grumbleberry rugelach, I chew, chew, and swallow before continuing. "Already seen off one attempt from the previous owners, and I might not be around to see off the next, so maybe use some cut-outs or move them somewhere besides the town that you live in, yeah?"

Didn't think it was possible for Levi to go any whiter, but the man is almost glowing with fear and lack of blood. "Relax," I say, gesturing for him to try one of the pastries. "I dealt with it, so won't no one come a lookin' to collect so long as I do my part. Just saying is all. Be more careful when dealing with the darker sides of society."

Like myself, I suppose, which ain't all that pleasant to think about. I would like to be a good man, like my daddy, Uncle Teddy, and Uncle Art want me to be, but my metric for 'good' was always a little skewed by my preference for doing things smart. When it's kill or be killed, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be the one to shoot first, because doing otherwise just seems stupid. Maybe not if you a heavy hitting Abjurer like Uncle Teddy, but even then, I'd sooner not take the risk. Suppose that's what makes him good though, the fact that he is willing to lay his life on the line to hold true to his ideal. That right there is a high bar I don't much care to even try and vault over, and would much rather limbo on under without getting too low to the ground, if you know what I mean.

Still, I should at least try to be a good man, like Uncle Art asked, so I do what I can to warn Levi about what he's walking into. "I want to work with you," I begin, patting the documents he brung along to show me everything he done. "You're close enough to get to if I need to talk, but not so close as to breed… familiarity. You willing to bend the rules a bit, and you got a good head on your shoulders to help me cut through all the red tape. Like all that talk about calling in a surveyor to divide up the properties and have them all individually assessed for value. I would've just put up one price and sold them first come first served. Sounds fair, but isn't, because some of them houses are objectively better than the others. Bad way to start off, with neighbours upset at one another because someone else got a better deal."

Giving Levi a look, I continue, "Moving forward, we can keep everything aboveboard if you like. I got legitimate needs that you could help with, like sourcing a reputable Appraiser who'll keep their mouth shut, or dealing with whatever I bring back from my hunts." It wouldn't be worth much though, not compared to my less legitimate dealings once the properties are all sold, and Levi knows it. "It's up to you," I say, not giving Levi a chance to answer without having thought it through, and to really make sure he doesn't think about this until later, I add, "Also, cut your estimated median selling price by about half. Maybe 60% even. Your numbers are too high, because prospective value ain't worth shit if no one can afford it. Also, your interest rates are too high, meaning anyone who does accept them will be someone unable to afford a loan from a bigger bank. Chances of them defaulting is higher, not to mention you take on more risk since it takes more time for them to pay you back in full. Lower price, and lower profits, but I'll double your commission so you earn more upfront to make up for it. Sound good?"

Levi thinks it through, then nods before hitting back with a few suggestions of his own, and we go back and forth on it for a bit while marking all the changes as we go. When all's said and done, we got no more coffee or pastries, as I done ate most of them. Partially because of my increased appetite since I'm still using Minor Regeneration to deal with the chip in my humorous, but also because I'm worried I won't get to eat dinner. Either way, the time has come to part ways, as I spot my next appointment coming up the street through Clairvoyance. "Draw up the papers," I say, brushing my hands off as I stand up from my seat. "If I'm still around town, you'll know where to find me. If not, then just mail them over, and I'll have a lawyer look at things before signing and sending them back."

A statement which earns me a quizzical look from Levi, because it don't really make sense in the moment. It will in hindsight though, and I got no time to explain as I help Levi to his feet and guide him out the door. "Best if you moved quick," I say, exiting the bakery alongside him while gesturing for him to skedaddle. "It's time I did my part."

Levi got stones, but he got good sense too, so he rabbits on down the street as soon as he puts two and two together. Not sure if he knows exactly what's about to happen, but he do know he don't want to be here. Me, I take my sweet time moving back down the street while readying my Spell, as my next appointment ain't here just yet. Mostly because he don't know we got one on the books, which is why he's taking his sweet time. I ain't in no rush though, as it gives me time to ready a Force Barrier, so I make a big show of doing some window shopping until it comes time to handle my business.

I time it just right, as I'm moving in between two buildings while crossing paths with the leader of the Whiskey Knives, one Harlan Pike. A mean son of a gun with arms marked with scars from various knife fights he been in, he's a real menace with the machete he wears strapped to his waist. That's why I don't give him a chance to use it as I draw and shoot him dead without warning. Ting Tang. Two shots from my Shortsword sound off in the streets as the Bolts take him clean in the chest. Kills him dead before he hits the ground, but I'm already diving for cover behind a couple empty crates where Cowie is already sat and waiting with the kiccaws.

Including Frowny, who spooks from all the noise and puffs up all angry-like with nubby wings spread as his feathers grow about 10% thicker. Happens right before my eyes, and it can't be anything besides his first cast of Ablative Armour, which he uses to shelter his fellow kiccaws and even Cowie as he faces the barrage of return-fire without fear.

Them thugs out there ain't none too shy about shooting back, and didn't waste no time doing it either. Makes me wish I'd've opened up on them with Fireball, but that would've technically been murder seeing how there only be the one outlaw in the mix. Even if they was all outlaws and free game, I could get dinged for prepping the Spell inside of Federal territory. Add in the fact that I ain't ready for the whole wide world to know I can sling Fireballs whenever I please, I decided to do things the hard way. That includes weathering a storm of Bolts from the Whiskey Knives' fast-firing automatic Maosers which empty their 10 round magazines in about 3 seconds flat. Feels like an eternity in the moment as wood and stone chips fly all around me as I take cover, but don't none of their shots hit home. That there is the finest Qinese engineering at work, and I find it wholly offensive. Ain't like they can't do better, they simply choose not to because they prefer quantity to quality. What's more, the Maoser's Metamagics are geared for speed, not power, so even they hit, I doubt their Bolts would do much damage after passing through the readied Force Barrier I threw up at the entrance to the alleyway as well as the crates I'm hunkered down behind.

Soon as the last magazine clicks empty, I use Thaumaturgy to make myself heard. "My name is Howie Zhu," I begin, not liking having to sit here like a fish in a barrel just to give these criminals a chance to walk away. "And the man I just shot was one Harlan Pike. A wanted outlaw of the United Federation of American States with a price on his head of two-hundred dollars, dead or alive. As such, my actions were well within the bounds of the law, while your efforts to avenge the fallen are misguided at best, and at worst, illegal. I demand that you cease fire and fetch the Sheriff so that I may surrender myself to his custody and present the warrants I have upon my person which prove that my actions were lawful and without criminal intent."

And claim my $200 as it were. $337 ain't a huge haul, but it ain't a bad one considering that's round about what an average labourer makes in a season. Course, I gotta survive to collect my bounty, and it seems my speech failed to instill fear into these lawless, leaderless scoundrels as they open fire on me once more without so much as a reply. More guns join the mix, as I ain't all that far from their headquarters meaning most them Whiskey Knives were nearby, just like the message from Revolvers Rossi said they'd be.

No matter though. I said my piece and got it all on recording, which means in the eyes of the law, I can now legally defend myself using lethal force. Soon as there's another lull in the shooting as them thugs reload once more, I rise from behind the crates with a grin on my face and four guns a blazing to light up them Silver Summit streets.

Gotta say, it feels good to be back in the game, and better still to clear out these wastes of air and resources. As the Bolts fly and the blood spills, I can't help but think that this is the life I was meant for, the one I was on track to have before I done lost my hand and got Exiled from New Hope, so a return to normalcy is just what I need to put some wind in my sails and pep in my step.