Firstborn of the Frontier

Rimepeak Terrorized By Foreign Vigilante

By Thomas Keane, Rimepeak Post

Violence broke out on the streets of Silver Summit this past Saturday when Howie Zhu paid the quaint mining town a surprise visit. Son of departed Federal Auxiliary and Republic citizen Ming (no last name), and one time Disciple of the good Marshal Theodore Ellis, the notorious 18-year-old gunfighter strode into town shortly after noon. According to the arrest report, he was there to discuss business with the offices of Adelmann, Eisenhardt, and Hornstein Corporation. While eyewitnesses have stated seeing the Qin youngster in the bakery on Liberty Row, his alleged meeting would have long since come to an end when he crossed paths with notorious outlaw Harlan Pike on the streets of Silver Summit. Wanted for murder, extortion, smuggling, trafficking of illicit substances, and more, it is unknown at this time what the outlaw was doing in Silver Summit, but his appearance in town was a mistake from which he would never recover from.

There was no warning given to the outlaw, no alarm raised to alert the innocent bystanders nearby, nor any attempt made by Howie Zhu to alert the authorities. Upon seeing the criminal, the young, brash gunfighter simply drew his sidearm and fired twice into the crowd to kill Harlan Pike outright. In doing so, the Qinese youth "fortuitously" claimed the generous, two-hundred-dollar bounty on the outlaw's head, while at the same time placing the good people of Silver Summit in the crossfire at a time when most would have been out in force to enjoy their weekend afternoon. This flagrant disregard for public safety alone should be enough to raise a public outcry, but the foreign-born bounty hunter was far from finished. Following the reckless public execution, Howie Zhu embarked on a seventeen-minute shootout with the Whiskey Knives, the gang run by the felled outlaw Harlan Pike. Hell-bent on avenging their fallen leader, the Whiskey Knives turned out in droves with semi-automatic weapons to put down their foe, but the military-trained young man met them Bolt for Bolt and added another thirteen tallies to his already impressive kill count.

All without taking injury himself it would seem, as there was no request put in or a doctor when Silver Summit Sheriff Leffler arrived and took the young vigilante into custody.

The self-professed Firstborn of the Frontier, the young Qin expat only turned eighteen last December, but his long history of violence speaks for itself. Last spring, he brought forth information that led to a Ranger operation in the Coral Desert town of Pleasant Dunes that ended in an all-out war between the hot-tempered youth and Vanguard National, a corporate entity led by C.E.O Ronald Jackson who funded and founded the desert mining town. When the dust settled, the self-made man and his life's work were no more, and the Firstborn was left maimed with only one hand remaining, but still standing from a bloody and explosive battle which saw two decorated Rangers fall.

Though the investigation into the affair is still underway, there are still more questions than answers coming out of the Rangers offices as to why an operation to defend an Independent outpost outside of Federal Territory was ever sanctioned when there are so many here at home who could use their aid. Howie Zhu's injuries did little to slow him down however, as a few short weeks later, the one-handed young man engaged in a shootout in the New Hope's Sheriff's Office where he gunned down five men in guard uniforms, once again without so much as uttering a single word. Though the subsequent investigation uncovered that the dead men had ties to the Mafia and had stolen their uniforms in a supposed attempt to free their imprisoned companion, a former employee of Vanguard National being held to await trial, it shows that the Firstborn has a history of shooting first without so much as even attempting to open a dialogue, and caring little as to who gets swept up in his wake.

More to the point, it begs the question as to how the young man was able to identify these criminals on sight, and shines new light into the whole debacle in Pleasant Dunes, as well as what was to come soon after.

An outburst of bloodshed and violence on the very streets of New Hope, when no less than seventeen minors brought weapons to bear against the Firstborn in what is believed was an attack carried out in retaliation to Howie Zhu's actions in the Sheriff's Offices. The violence claimed the life of a young and innocent girl caught in the crossfire, but even more horrific are the tales of the slaughter the Firstborn inflicted upon those youths who had the misfortune to earn his wrath. At least one child was scalped while still alive, while several others were supposedly killed after they had thrown their weapons aside in an effort to surrender. There was no quarter given however, for true to his blood-thirsty nature, Howie Zhu gave no quarter and took no prisoners, not in Pleasant Dunes, on the streets of New Hope, or on Liberty Row in Silver Summit.

At the time of writing this, the Firstborn has been arrested by Sheriff Leffler for disturbing the peace, though he has yet to comment on whether the Firstborn will be charged with any further crimes. Given the rumours of Howie Zhu's involvement with the Mafioso Massacre in Brightpick last July, one that came on the heels of the aforementioned slaughter on the streets of New Hope, it is possible the young man will be held on pending charges until such a time when Sheriff Leffler has had time to discuss the matter with his counterparts in Brightpick and New Hope respectively. Will this reckless, Republic vigilante face justice, or will he somehow miraculously emerge unscathed once more? Only time will tell, but as a concerned citizen, this reporter will be watching closely as things unfold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What a load of horseshit.

Scowling something fierce at how the reporter brought up Josie like that, I toss the paper aside with a clink of metal chains. "This here was a hit piece, written all because I look Qin and that makes for easy engagement these days. Can't I sue for slander or something?"

"Technically, it would be libel," Mr. Tillman responds, collecting the paper and folding it back up nice and neat. "Slander is spoken, whereas this was written. And you could sue for libel, but I would advise against it."

"Why shouldn't I?" Burning with pique, I gesture the paper and say, "Damn article makes me out to be some sort of trigger-happy gun-nut who don't care if anyone gets hurt, but I put a whole lot of thought into this. Made sure there wasn't no one on the street besides my target and his collaborators, and took him out as soon as I had a clean shot. Even used a non-penetrating Aetherarm despite knowing he was wearing plates to avoid an accidental through and through, then gave the rest plenty of chance to walk away clean."

"I know," Mr. Tillman says, placing the paper back down before me to tap a single line in particular. "The reporter also suspects as much. See how he wrote, "fortuitously" in quotes there? He is implying you were lying in wait for your target, that you implicitly chose to bring violence onto these streets where even hardened criminals strive to keep violence to a minimum during daylight hours." Leaning back in his seat, my lawyer shrugs and says, "Bad for business if your customers risk getting shot every time they seek you out, so smart criminals keep their conflicts outside of town walls whenever possible, or at the very least try to keep things quick and quiet."

Okay. So I was lying in wait for Harlan Pike, and yeah, I chose to shoot him down in the streets like a goddamned dog, but I had good reason for it. First off, I don't like the idea of wanted criminals moseying about in broad daylight without so much as a how you do. Me, I kill a bunch of mafiosos and suddenly I gotta ask permission to go into town at least a week in advance, while this son of a bitch with a price on his head is living pretty up here in Silver Summit? Well maybe now others will think twice about showing their face in and around my quay. Second, Harlan was a careful man engaged in a war with the gang across the street, the Pickaxe Peckers. Since he wasn't keen on getting his pecker pickaxed, he only ever went to one of two places. The bar where he works from, and the house where he lives, which was a no go since I'd stand out like a sore thumb wandering through a residential district. So it was the bar or nothing, and I made sure there wasn't no bystanders moving through the streets before I took my shot.

Did my research beforehand too. I knew good and well Silver Summit wasn't as busy as New Hope, even if the author of that hit-piece implies otherwise. Ain't no families wandering about Liberty Row on a Saturday afternoon, only drunks and junkies looking for a fix. Especially seeing how this is a mining town with the bulk of their workers on 12-hour shifts. I was there in the early afternoon, almost smack dab between the morning and evening shifts, so even the latest sleepers and earliest risers would've been in bed at the time. Fact is, Silver Summit is a town only in name, one built up to support the workers who spend two weeks in the mines before leaving to spend a week in one of the other mountain towns that are more convenient to get to and have more support for their families.

As such, I had a good inkling that the only folks wandering around Liberty Row at the time would've been outlaws or folks looking to do business with them. Fact is, I also knew the Whiskey Knives were expecting a big shipment in the next few hours, so Harlan would've called a meeting to make sure all his boys were ready and sober. Gotta keep all sorts of hours when you dealing in illicit goods, because even though most his clientele shows up around 8 in the morning and evenings, you still gotta do business with other folks keeping normal hours. Like guards who need bribing or smugglers bringing your illegal product in through the gates, which was my window of opportunity on that there day to get Harlan Pike with not so many people around.

Course, I was working mostly off of information provided to me by the Cattaneo's. Dropped off a dossier for me to pick up, but wasn't no proof that everything they said was true. They could've easily told me exactly what I needed to hear so that I'd give them exactly what they wanted. A big, noisy, public execution of one of their enemies, so they can claim they got the Yellow Devil in their pocket. Rossi even warned me of it, but I don't care about the hit to my rep, because folks will learn the truth of it soon enough.

I don't work for no one. Mostly by choice.

What I'm saying is I came into Silver Summit with a plan, and it worked out great. Up to the killing part at least, as the rest ain't going as planned. If it was, I wouldn't be sat here chained to a table with anti-magic manacles in an interrogation room across the table from my high-priced lawyer who's gonna charge me extra because he had to rush over after the crooker Sheriff Leffler arrested me out of sheer panic. Gave him 48 hours to hold me while he figured out what he was gonna do, which was time enough for Mr. Tillman to hightail it out here and see what's what.

As for me? I sat around twiddling my fingers while the taxpayers grossly overpaid for my sorely lacking room and board.

Which brings us back to my question about libel, to which Mr. Tillman explains, "Should we sue for libel, then the burden of proof lies upon us. We would have to prove that the statements within this article knowingly presented facts that are untrue, and more importantly, the jury would have to believe it. Such as the statement I previously mentioned regarding the possibility that you were lying in wait for the deceased. To which you will say, "but it is false, because I did not lie in wait for my target and came across him by sheer happenstance". That is what you told the Sheriff, is it not? And yet you had the public warrant for Harlan Pike on your person, ready to present to Sheriff Leffler when he arrived to arrest you." Giving me a look that says not to teach my grandpa how to suck eggs, he adds, "And no other warrants on your person."

Oof. He's got me there, as that do seem mighty suspicious, and while it might not mean much in a criminal court, a civil matter like libel is a whole different ball game. Mr. Tillman ain't done yet though, as he goes through a whole laundry list of reasons why a libel suit would be a bad look. Mostly because anything that happens during a civil case can easily be entered into record during a criminal case, like testimony from a witness who might suddenly become unavailable during the subsequent trail. Means Mr. Tillman wouldn't be able to cross examine them on the stand, and the testimony would be entered as is, which is tricksy because he might not know to ask a question until he knows what charges are being brought against me. What's more, if I lose a libel case, that could prejudice an already shallow pool of jurors who might one day have to decide if I'm guilty or innocent, and we wouldn't want that.

"I can defend you in a court of law," Mr. Tillman concludes, putting to rest my ambitions of a libel lawsuit, "But I cannot defend you from the court of public opinion. If the world thinks you guilty, you will simply have to bear with it as a free man."

That's why I like Mr. Tillman. He's a cocky son of a gun who's damn good at his job, and he ain't shy about sharing it. "A word of advice?" he asks, and actually pauses to see if I care to hear what he has to say.

"Might as well," I say with a shrug. "I'm already paying for your time, so might as well take the advice too."

Mr. Tillman smiles unapologetically, as he knows his worth and ain't shy about it. "The Federal Warrant for Harlan Pike says, 'Wanted Dead or Alive'. You have yourself taking the shot on recording, which is enough to lay claim to the bounty. As such, there was no reason for you to stay after the fact, so should you ever find yourself in a similar position again, I urge you to do you work and make yourself scarce after the fact. As impressive as it is to stand your ground and claim credit for the work, it would cause you and I both a great deal less heartache if you simply faded away into the shadows and claimed the bounty in a different town rather than dealing with whatever may come."

"What if someone claims it before I do?" I ask with a frown. "Wouldn't that be a whole mess?"

"It would," Mr. Tillman admits, without looking none too bothered by it. "However, with proper proof, you will be paid in full eventually, and my fees for handling the paperwork would be far less than what you're paying me to travel here." Giving me a smile to ease the blow, he adds, "More to the point, I believe you overestimate the number of people brave enough to steal from a bounty hunter who just shot a hardened criminal in front of them. If they were so brave, why I daresay they would have gone after the criminal themselves. You can rest assured that your bounties will be paid in full even if you exercise more discretion."

"Fair enough," I say, doing my best not to look as stupid as I feel. I suppose I could've just cut and run, or better yet, posted up on a rooftop to shoot the man from a hundred meters out. Didn't want to risk it though, because I needed to I.D. my target and take him out in a short time frame, and the town's high altitude means a whole lot of wind to mess up my aim. Either way, I figured them other criminals would just slink away once they heard I done killed Harlan legit instead of engaging in open warfare on the streets. Only killed 13 more to bring me to an even 14 bodies, which is more of that certain death to watch out for. Stupid that, being worried about a number, but even though I ain't one for superstitions, I can't help but notice it every time it comes up.

Now that Mr. Tillman's here, he says I can expect to be released in short order, though Sheriff Lessler do be taking his sweet time about it. Also told me Aunty Ray said she'd take care of the animals at the quay, so I know I'm gonna get a talking to about the poor state I left things in. The houses are neat enough, just not up to snuff in her eyes, with everything in its proper place and not a speck of dust to be found. She ain't one to leave things be either, as she'll take it upon herself to clean up while she waits, mostly because it'll keep her mind off of worrying about me. Chrissy will be there too, because I can't imagine Aunty Ray leaving her alone in town, not with Tina doing patrols out in the badlands and working all sorts of hours these days.

Ain't fair, me throwing their lives into disarray every time I find myself in some trouble. At least now I'm taking steps to getting new neighbours who can help me out instead. As for the here and now, there ain't much to do besides catch up on what's happening with my legal proceedings, which really ain't much at all. We got our countersuit against Dave going and added pressure on the D.A to bring charges against him, which will then show that I was acting well within my rights when I disarmed him and force the D.A to drop his charges against me. Then there's the matter of my Exile, which Mr. Tillman brings up as a point regarding my dead-and-buried libel suit, because if it ever did go to court, opposing council could simply point at my Exile status and say I didn't have no reputation to ruin. Again, that's fair, but I got no intention to move back into New Hope, and no inclination to make anyone think otherwise.

Granted, it does put a hamper on my activities in town, but my license to carry is still good everywhere else in Federal Territory. Unless I get Exiled from other towns too, which is a concern given the article I just read, as folks might get to Exiling me before I even visit just to stay safe from the Qink boogeyman. Idiots is what they are, because if a mere Exile was enough to keep me from killing them, then I wouldn't be much of a killer, now would I? Laws only keep honest people honest. Everyone else just does as the please, and bears with the consequence after the fact.

Which I suppose is why I'm paying dearly for it. I figured Sheriff Lessler would uphold the law, or at least be forced to do so in a public setting. Instead, he's circling his wagons and dragging this out for one reason or another and I had to ask Levi to look after Cowie and the kiccaws for a few days.

Not for too much longer however, as soon enough Sheriff Lessler arrives to tell me I'm free to go. The man looks meaner than most thugs I done killed, with face that been punched so many times I can't even imagine what he looked like in his youth. "If you was smart," the flat-faced man adds, giving me a look I don't much appreciate as he unlocks my anti-magic manacles, "You would get gone from my town while you still can."

I don't pay Sheriff Lessler no mind, because I'm too busy rubbing my sore wrists and basking in the sensation of flowing Aether which I can't actually perceive, but know is now available to me once more. Don't know how they work, but they do what they do very well, because I can't use any Spells or Cantrips once both manacles are clamped down to complete the circuit. Never knew how nice it was to be able to cast any Cantrip at will until I lost it for the last two days. No Water Sphere to wash my face, no Prestidigitation to clean my teeth, clothes, or soiled prison bedding. Couldn't Conjure up no Mage Hands to twiddle my thumbs, throw on some music with Minor Illusion, or put on a light show with Thaumaturgy.

Not to mention the complete and utter lack of options when it comes to breaking out of prison. Can't really do much without magic, and I suppose I ought to do something about it.

Course I also don't say nothing because I got Mr. Tillman here, and I want to see if he'll say anything first. That sounded like a threat after all, and it was, but my lawyer shakes his head ever so slightly and tells me to leave it be. For once, I actually listen, so I give Sheriff Lessler a big, bright smile and say, "That so? Well, I'll be happy to put Silver Summit in my six as soon as I collect my things."

"Lost the paperwork," he replies, giving me a smug sneer that don't do nothing to brighten his expression. "We'll mail you your things when we find them."

This time, Mr. Tillman speaks up and says how this ain't acceptable, as well as a whole bunch of other things that I can see ain't getting through to the deputy. He toes the line and says lost is lost, and ain't nothing to be done about it. After a few minutes of back and forth, I run out of patience and tell Mr. Tillman, "Why don't you go find the deputy who booked my things? Might be he made a copy of the paperwork for filing in triplicate or something." Seeing the look in my eyes, Mr. Tillman steps off right quick and I waste no time moving into the doorway behind him to keep Sheriff Lessler trapped inside. The fool is all bark and no bite, as evidenced by how he drops my manacles and fumbles for his sidearm before thinking better of it, because it don't matter what happens to me if he's already dead.

"You go out there and get me my gear," I say, giving him my best, toothy smile while making sure it don't reach my eyes. "Because if I walk out the front door without my things, I will come back to collect what's owed."

See? I can be subtle when I care to be, and turnabout is fair play.

As the scared Sheriff scurries off to grab my things, I can't help but sneer at the sheer stupidity of it all. Uncle Art wants me to strive to be a good man, and while I agree with the sentiment, I can't help but wonder how it's even possible in this day and age we live in. A good man wouldn't threaten a lawman like that, but that'd mean walking out unarmed into what I can only assume will be a waiting ambush. Real convenient that, for Sheriff Lessler to hold me for time enough for my enemies to get into place then have me march out with nothing but the clothes on my back. No guns or gear is bad enough, but I won't even have the components needed to cast most my Spells. Fireball don't need no components, but I'd hate to see what the papers write after I let one of those loose in town. Bet they'll overlook the fact that I got no guns or gear either, just sweep it under the rug same as the cold hard facts of the gunfight.

I killed an outlaw, then told the dead outlaw's lackies to get gone. They stayed, and more importantly, they kept shooting, so them 13 extra deaths ain't on me. No bystanders died either, though I'd bet every last cent I got that the papers would blame me for that too. Not the wanted criminal hanging out in town, or his comrades slinging poison to miners just looking for an escape. They didn't blame the obviously crooked Sheriff Leffler either, who's bent as a horseshoe and incompetent to boot, or the deputies who go along with his crooked ways and ignore the outlaws in their midst because they too scared to do their goddamned jobs.

No, they blame the guy who comes along to do something about it, like they blame the doctor for taking off their arm after they done let an untreated infection take root. Don't make no sense. What am I supposed to do? Look the other way like everyone else? Pay no mind to the criminals. They won't hurt you, and if they do, well then you must've been mixed up with them somehow. That's what that fucker Thomas Keane was implying with all that he wrote, that I was some sort of go-between for the Mafia and Pleasant Dunes, and I killed them men in the Sheriff's office because I didn't want them knowing what went down. I got half a mind to march down to the offices of the Rimepeak Post and give him a piece of my mind, but ain't no point in saying nothing. Rabble rousers like him don't care about the truth, or even hearing my side of the story. Nah, Thomas Keane's got his narrative in mind, that I'm a dangerous Qin mixed up in all sorts of bad things, and he twists the facts to try and fit it.

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And despite all that, all the eager journalists who only want a good story, the unrepentant criminals who do as they please, the crooked lawmen who trample the very laws they supposed to uphold, I gotta be a good man because… because what? Because I'm Qin and held to a higher standard? Because my daddy was a good man who was disgraced by the same nation he worked so hard to help? Because I'm the Firstborn, and therefore supposed to represent hope for the Frontier?

Newsflash. There ain't no hope, not if we continue like this. All the criminals and corrupt officials ain't nothing but dead weight on the shoulders of everyone doing what they're supposed to, a weight that threatens to drag us all down with them. Just look at the new towns going up south of Redeemer's Keep. Yeah, the Qin raids have been slowing their progress, but the papers don't say shit about how the Puglianos were driving prices sky high through artificial scarcity before they went the way of the dodo. Now the Feds got plenty of materials to work with, because criminals are too busy fighting amongst themselves to price fix, but I ain't ever heard word one of thanks, nor did anyone even care to comment about it. No, all they see is the criminals flooding into Rimepeak like that's my fucking fault, but I don't see no goddamn Sheriff's badge on my chest. Where's the outcry about Sheriff Leffler just letting wanted criminals walk his streets like they own them? Because they most certainly do, and anyone who says different is a liar or a fool.

The way I see it? We can never stamp out all crime and corruption, but just because you can't make things perfect doesn't mean you can't try for good enough. It'll cost us dearly, but less than leaving things be in the long run. That's what most can't wrap their heads around. The prospect of conflict sends them running, so they avoid it as best they can, and think others should too. Anyone who don't is just stirring the pot instead of standing up for what's right. With the way things are, the Frontier is doomed if we keep at it like we are, because if Abby don't tear down our walls and eat us up, then the criminals will reign over us all, and a life lived under another man's boot ain't no proper life at all.

America, the land of the free for the rich and lawless. For everyone else? It's the mines for you, or the factory, the kitchen, the job site, the warfront, or whatever. All shackles folks take up freely because they've convinced themselves that things will get better so long as they keep on at it. One of these days, they'll pull themselves up by their bootstraps and become one of the wealthy elite, never you mind how that expression don't make no doggone sense. It's fucking impossible to physically pull yourself up by your bootstraps, and I challenge anyone who thinks different to bend over and give it a try.

Takes some doing before Sheriff Lessler 'finds' my guns, no doubt because he gotta warn my ambushers that I'm coming out strapped. Man don't even got the spine to bring them to me himself, and instead sends one of his deputies to hand my gear over. Soon as I get my guns, I sit down at the interrogation table to look over my things to make sure ain't none of it been sabotaged. Easy enough to do with Appraisal, as I am so familiar with my weapons I could tell if the weight was off by even half a gram like if someone shaved down a hammer or blocked up the barrel. Well, I can tell with the Ranger Repeater at least. The Whumper and Model 10 are getting there, but I haven't been diligent as I ought to be with Appraisal, and it'll be a while yet before I get used to the Shortsword. To cover my bases, I do a few dryfire drills to make sure it sounds right, but I'm pretty sure they didn't do nothing to my weapons.

If so, it would've been smarter just to hand them over without all the fuss. Might not have checked, even though I most certainly would've, because I ain't feeling all that trusting of late.

Once I've checked everything twice, I sling a few Spells to make ready for the fight. Mage Armour, Mage Hands, Hearing Protection, and Detect Magic are the important ones, and I cast Longstrider from my boot because I intend to get gone quick as a bunny. Then, because I'm beyond caring about appearances and don't want to take no chances, I pull out two little charms I only recently made to help with my Spellslinging. The first is a small silver pendant. Nothing fancy, as it's just a round metal disc that's been crudely hammered around a moonstone that also been glued in. I ain't one for wearing necklaces, but I ain't about to get no piercing either, so it's a necklace or nothing. Once the leather braid is around my neck, I press the pendant against my skin underneath my shirt and Intone, "Aut Cum Scuto, Aut In Scuto."

The chant to Shield as it were, which is a tricksy Spell I ain't got the hang of quite yet. That's why I rarely ever use it, even after I handed over my Shield Bracer to Tina. I got a suite of Spells I'm comfortable with, so this is stepping outside of my comfort zone, but I'll need every edge I can get out there if I got an ambush waiting for me. That's where the second charm comes into play, which is another Spell that I ain't all that used to just yet. Running my fingers over the crude metal work, I purse my lips at my lacking skills, but this here was the best of a bad bunch, so I suppose it'll have to do.

Ain't a large charm, as the metal itself is smaller than the tip of my pinky. Cast in crude iron, it got the makings of a metal breastplate if you squint real hard and look at it from the right angle. Then again, it might just be me, as I know what it's supposed to look like so my mind helps fill in the blanks. Still good enough, and even though I feel a little silly, I Intone the chant I picked out of this Spell I only recently got to practicing, because Lord knows I've had enough close calls to last me several lifetimes.

"Lorica – Ex – Nihilo — adesto!"

Which translates to, "Armour from nothing, appear!" Saw it in a show once, and young Howie thought it was the bee knees, while older, wiser, more self-conscious Howie feels like a fool saying the words while striking a 'heroic' pose. Stage heroic, not actually heroic, with both arms curled up to show off my skinny biceps while standing with feet shoulder width apart, as it's been carved into my subconscious mind that this is how the Conjure Armour Spell has gotta be, and it'll take a whole lot more work to get it done differently. Since there ain't no point, I just went along with it, though I imagine I'll change my mind the first time I cast the Spell in front of an audience.

That said, it feels pretty nifty to look down and seen my body covered in matte steel armour. The multi-segmented breastplate sits neatly over my armoured plate carrier before slipping under my belt like a dress shirt. My legs are also slightly armoured, but the effect is more subtle as the Spell manifests as knee and shin guards as well as extra plating on my boots. Course, none of the armour is actually steel, as it's just Ecto that looks the part, so it don't affect my movements at all, nor does it stretch my duster any despite adding all that extra volume to me.

There are downsides of course. Namely that I focused all the defensive magics on my torso, and left my head, hands, and most of my legs uncovered. I tried to get something done with gauntlets, but as far as I can tell, that added complexity takes up far more of the Spell's available potential that is worth the effort. Especially if I want to keep my fingers nimble as can be, so if I want my hands protected, I'll have to get real good with the Spell, or just buy myself a gauntlet. Already got plans to add a hard inner lining to my Stetson to protect my head, but I ain't looking forward to walking around with an extra five pounds atop my head.

That said, between my Conjured Armour, Shield, and the rest of my Spells, gear, and guns, I feel like I'm ready to take on a whole army of gangsters if need be. On my way out, I spot the anti-magic manacles Sheriff Lessler done left behind on the ground, and on a whim, I stuff them into my duster pocket because you can't just buy a set wherever you please. To cover up the clink of chains as I walk, I put a little extra oomph in my steps as I stomp down the hallway and into the Sheriff's Office proper. Really sells the effect of the armour, and when I emerge, every eye in the room is watching me close I head on over for a word with Mr. Tillman and Levi who's stood ready and waiting with my papers and animals.

I like Levi, because he done rigged baby Cowie up with a little impromptu saddle, complete with a basket wrapped in a thick to create a makeshift shelter the kiccaws can hide in. How a man treats animals says a lot about him, and this much is enough to tell me Levi is a good man worth working with. "Thank you," I say, accepting the sheaf of papers before patting Cowie's head and trying my best to look cool and unbothered while the birds surge on out to noisily demand their fair share of attention too. Including Frowny, who gets to pecking at my Conjured Armour so hard I'm worried he gonna hurt himself. Reaching into a pouch for some treats, I hold them out for the birds to share while handing the papers over to Mr. Tillman. "You know anyone good for real estate law?"

"I'll pass these along as soon as I'm back in town," Mr. Tillman replies, putting the papers in his briefcase without so much as a glance. "If that is all?"

Holding out a hand to keep him from walking off, I say, "Might be you want to hang back for fifteen minutes or half an hour. Give me a head start as it were." Wouldn't want him getting caught in the crossfire, and I give Levi a look to tell him to do the same. "I'll mail the papers back to you when I'm done with them," I say, and despite it all, he gives me a cheery smile like that's the best news he's heard all week.

"Oh before you go," Levi says, reaching into his jacket to pull out a card. "I reached out to my contacts, who have assured me that this is the best Appraiser who suits your needs. You might even be familiar with him, as he lives in a settlement close to yours." A glance at the card only provides me with a name, one I ain't familiar with, but when Levi gets to giving me directions, I quickly pick up on where it is.

"I know the place," I say, as it's Gunnar's village plain as day. "Providence is what they call it. Thanks for the assist." Giving both men a smile, I take a breath, exhale, then say, "Well then gentlemen. Until next time."

I don't pay no one else any mind as I turn about face and head straight out the front doors without flinching. Ain't easy that, not when I'm expecting a whole bunch of Bolts to the face, but the only thing waiting to greet me is the cold winter air and overcast afternoon sunlight. Then and only then do I signal for Cowie to follow after, and he ambles on out before waiting for me to move ahead just a bit. Stays on my 7, not exactly behind me, but close enough I can cover him with my Shield if need be. Truth is, I'm starting to see the problem with defensive Spells, in that all of the best ones require Concentration. Using Shield means I can't throw up a Force Barrier, Warding Wind, Barkskin, or whatnot. While Shield ain't the best of the bunch, it is the most versatile, and I can drink a potion for Barkskin if need be.

Assuming Sheriff Lessler didn't tamper with that. I never did check the wax seal, as I didn't think to, so here's hoping that don't cost me something later on down the line.

Already said that Silver Summit ain't exactly a bustling metropolis, but today, it's more like a necropolis. Eerie to see a town where people live be so devoid of life, no doubt because they done sensed something's up. Sure, it's same as it was when I snagged me a Pike over on Liberty Row, but that's the seedy part of town. This right here is what passes for the main thoroughfare, one that ought to be bustling with traffic. Should be all manner of types coming and going, whether it be deliveries of coal, charcoal and Aether to fuel the smelters, messengers running bids and orders from one shipping company or another, or just folks who keep the town going while the miners are all out at work.

Ain't none of that here today, and while it makes things easier, that don't make it any less creepy. Even the kiccaws have picked up on the vibe and have fallen silent, with Frowny standing front and centre in their basket nest to shield his flock like he knows he's tougher than the average bird. Then again, might be he does know, because when you cast a Spell like Ablative Armour or Conjure Armour on yourself, you get a sense of how much protection it offers you. Really differs from Force Barrier which is just an invisible pane that blocks Bolts until it doesn't, and there's no real way of knowing how much punishment the Barrier can take besides good old-fashioned experience.

My Conjured Armour on the other hand? I get the sense that it can stop a basic Bolt, in that it's possible. Not likely though, as 6 times out of 10, the Bolt will just punch through the Ecto masquerading as steel and hit me like a punch to the gut. Probably won't puncture nothing due to how Bolt works, seeing how it dissipates against the first target struck and anything else is just transference of Force. My best guess is that if I take a hit on the armour, I'd go down with a flesh wound and stay down for a bit as I catch my breath, or until whoever done shot me comes over to finish the job.

Which is still better than going without. Add in my Shield and Mage Armour though? Then I might be able to shake off a hit so long as it don't get me anywhere sensitive like the stomach or heart. Won't be pleasant, but I could probably fight through it. As for Frowny's Ablative Armour? A soft, bolstering pet on his head tears through a layer of hardened feathers and earns me a revenge peck for ruining his defenses. To be fair, he only just learned the Spell a few days ago, so he's still figuring it out, and struggling to understand his limits as he fights to stay awake after blowing through all his available Aether.

No matter though. I wasn't planning on taking shelter behind him if things get hot, not now and not ever. All's I want is for him to be the best birdy he can be, and maybe learn Fly so I can get me a means of transportation that runs on birdseed when him and his future babies are all trained up.

As for me, I can handle my own business.

Ambushes are tricksy, because even if you know it's coming, it don't matter if you don't also know when and where. With almost three days of prep time, they could be dug in anywhere from here to the quay by now, but I doubt it. Nah, the Whiskey Knives were small time drug dealers who weren't even strong enough to be the only game in town. Now that they lost their leader, I doubt they're even capable of hatching any long-term schemes much less carrying them out. If they're lying in wait, they'll either hit me here in town on my way out, or on the only road leading in and out of town.

Course, I don't need no road to get down the mountain, so my only concern is getting out of town in one piece. Once I'm past those gates, I can be on my merry way and home free before dinner, but something tells me it won't be so easy. See, them Whiskey Knives were working out of a bar sat across the street from the rivals, so not only were they small potates, they didn't have no stones either. That means that even though Mr. Tillman said most criminals strive to keep violence off the streets during daylight hours, in my experience, I disagree on the reasons. See, if them criminals understood the concept of ensuring a satisfactory customer experience and worked hard to provide that, well I daresay they wouldn't be criminals to begin with. Ain't hard to find work on the Frontier after all, as even a labourer like Gordie can make enough to provide for a family.

No, criminals don't turn to a life of crime for lack of options. Nor is it for the profits, which much like in the civilian sector, gets mostly swallowed up by the bosses and bribes. No, people commit crimes because it's easier than being a fine, upstanding citizen, which means most criminals lack spine. That same lack of spine is why they limit themselves inside of town. They tell themselves it's only smart business, keeping the heat off of their backs, but seeing how bent that Sheriff Leffler was, you know criminals pretty much run this town.

So why do they behave during daylight hours? Because they're cowards at the end of their rope, and if they screw up at being a criminal, then at best, they're looking at months or maybe years of hard labour in a prison camp.

That why I doubt them Whiskey Knives be lying in wait out of town. Lazy bunch of underachievers like them wouldn't last ten minutes on the road or five in ditch waiting for me to mosey on by. I'm guessing they got plans to hit me right here in town, and having counted out the minutes it took Sheriff Lessler to go get me my guns, I got an inkling of whereabouts my would-be killers are lying in way. There are three major intersections between the Sheriff's Office and the southern gates, but only one is a five-minute walk away. To keep safe, I send Cowie down an alley to wait and see if I get shot at the first intersection, and only wave him over after I'm safely through. If they're gonna hit me in town, it'll be at an intersection, as cowards like this won't want to leave nothing to chance. They'll cover every angle they can, and the easiest way to do that is to put shooters in every corner window of intersection.

Now ideally, they'd stay in cover and have one, innocuous look out keeping watch who'll alert the rest when they see me. Course, organized crime is typically an oxymoron as most criminals are anything but organized. They do tend to be morons though, like the five I clock peeking out from behind window curtains as I approach the second intersection. I don't see no faces of course, as I don't got Eagle Eye going. Don't need it to spot the curtains moving though, Or the fact that the windows are all open despite it being the tail end of winter and cold enough to see my breath.

They ain't even being sneaky about it, just lifting the curtains to show their whole face while watching the streets. It's like these idiots don't realize I can see said curtains. All they see is a wall of darkness framed in light, and their tiny pea brains ain't ever considered what it might look like from the other side.

This is almost sad really. I'm used to a better class of criminal, whether it be Vanguard National or the Puglianos, and these Whiskey Dicks ain't it. The worst part is I can't even go in guns blazing, because they technically ain't broken no laws by lying in wait with weapons. Any fool can guess their intent, but I get the feeling that if I open fire first, the United Federation of American States is gonna throw the book at me. Instead, I do something I don't do often. I stop short of the intersection and cut into an alleyway instead.

Got my Shield up, my Armour Conjoured, my guns armed, and Cores Primed, so it's a little disappointing to just walk away, but ain't no profit to be had in gunfights with small time crooks. Even if I reclaim their guns for Levi to sell, it'd be a loss after paying my lawyer's bills, so better to live and let live or some other bullshit like that.

Alas man proposes, and Heaven disposes, as I come out the other end of the alley to spot a trio of tatted gangsters having themselves a smoke and drink to calm their nerves. Well-armed gangsters, whose eyes go wide as soon as they spot me and scramble to draw right after. Even then I gotta do the right thing and make an effort to de-escalate, though I waste no time beating them on the draw while saying, "Don't."

Two freeze up, but one raises his gun, and the Shortsword spits death at him in a single Bolt. The man is dead before his lifeless body hits the ground five feet from where his buddies are still standing, sent sailing off thanks to the Toppling Metamagic the original designer tacked on just because it was cheap, easy, and a whole lot of fun. Least, that's what I suspect, but ain't no one ever told me otherwise, so that's the story I'mma stick with. Can't help but smirk to see it, because while a man just died, he did so in pretty comical fashion.

Was the wrong move though, because even cowardly criminals got lines they don't cross. "You killed Kenny!" The left man screeches, raising his weapon with a face twisted in rage and disbelief. "You sonova – "

Don't get anything else out as his gun come up far enough for my tastes, and his corpse Kenny's in a pile on the side of the street. The third man don't go for his gun and instead stands there with piss running down his leg, but I got bigger problems to worry about. The rest of them Whiskey Knives done heard the scuffle and are coming to investigate, so I signal for Cowie to find cover as I hop, skip, and cast Jump to leap across the side street and into cover behind another stack of boxes.

Just in time to spot a head pop out of the second story window of the building Kenney and friends were posted against. "He killed Cartman and Kenny," the survivor yells, pointing in my direction with gun still holstered, which means he's off limits as a target. "Ran across the street over there!"

The second story shooter got himself a rifle, and he points it in my general direction which I'd say is good enough for me, so I pop him from where I stand. Say what you will about the Shortsword's shortcomings, but it's still more than good enough for your everyday shooter. I'm just particular is all, and more than a little sour over losing my daddy's gun. Unwilling to endanger civilians any more than I already have, I stay where I am instead of moving out and about to look for better cover and a better angle. A mistake in hindsight, but the Whiskey Knives don't make me pay for it as another head appears in the window with weapon pointed at me once more, though from the way he looking left and right, he don't know where I am. The survivor on the street yells out and points so more, and I'd say that's reason enough to open fire on the rifleman in the window again.

And again with the third shooter, in almost the exact same fashion.

Now that's five dead in five shots, but when no face appears in the window, I narrow my eyes at piss-pants in the street while trying to figure out if he counts as an accomplice by now. In my book, he more than earned himself that final Bolt, but the Federal Justice system do be a tricksy beast. Erring on the side of caution, I hold off on killing him only to hear a bunch of gun shots sounding off on the main street. Shots not being fired at me mind you, ones overlaid shouts and screams of a short and bloody conflict.

Curious that, and after a bit of back and forth while I reload, curiosity wins out and I come out of cover with a revolver in each hand and a Judge in each Mage Hand. As for piss-pants, he done and gone rabbited when the real fighting started, so I don't pay him no mind. Instead, I use my Jump to pop up into the second story window, but not all the way in just in case there still someone inside. Instead, I perch up on the windowsill so I can beat a hasty retreat, but other than the pile of corpses I done shot sitting on the other side of the room, there ain't no one and nothing to be found.

Padding over to the window overlooking the main road, I don't make the same mistake as the Whiskey Knives and move the blinds aside. Instead, I lean up against the wall and peek out through the gap without touching the curtains, where I spot the Pick Peckers clearing out what's left of the Whiskey Knives. Seems their rivalry was a heated one, and they seen this as a golden opportunity to settle old scores as they drive their miners' picks into the skulls of their one-time foes.

Now this might sound hypocritical coming from a guy who just smiled at the sight of sending two bodies flying with Toppling, but my stomach curdles to see these criminals run wild like they do. Me, I kill plenty, but only with proper justification. Bounty hunting ain't just about the money. It's about cleaning up the Frontier by taking out the worst humanity has to offer. Outlaws are just that. Outside of the laws, meaning the evidence of their horrific crimes was so insurmountable, a Federal Judge done stripped them of all the rights and protections afforded to every citizen, landholder, traveller, and yes, criminal.

That's why they outlaws after all, which makes them fair game. The Whiskey Knives? They ain't outlaws, just small-time crooks, and the Pick Peckers are much the same. Only difference is they saw an opportunity to run wild, but here and now, I'mma disavow them of that notion.

Putting my revolvers away, I grab the Whumper and use Thaumaturgy to make myself heard. "To any and all criminals engaged wanton murder, throw down your weapons and interlock your fingers behind your head, or you will be shot."

And just like magic, them Pick Peckers who were oh so gleefully running down their foes all stop in their tracks and look to their leader for assurance. Makes me sick it does, because they here to kill because they think they can use me as their justification, the justification behind which they hide as they kill to their dark heart's content. They here to do me a favour maybe, or just settle old scores while I play the distraction, but I ain't about to be used like that. As for their leader, he got the look of a right proper villain, all bald and goateed like he is. My warning ain't done spooked him though, as he smiles and stands out in the street with arms raised in a placating gesture.

"Woah, woah, woah," he shouts, his voice all rough and gravelly from a lifetime of smoking. "Easy there killer. We're on your side. Saw some criminals lying in wait and came to lend a hand like the good citizens were are."

His boys all have a good chuckle at that, and it burns me to hear it. The whole world thinks I'm scum like them, so might be it's time to show them different. I'm something much, much worse.

"Wrong," I declare, because I ain't ever been on the same side as scum like him. "Now get your guns on the ground and hands behind your head, or I will open fire."

Must be something in my tone, because them Pick Peckers get to looking real antsy as the smart ones move into cover. Their leader don't back down though, because he can't afford to look weak in the public eye. "You're making a mistake," he growls, looking here, there, and everywhere for me while moving into a doorway where I still got a direct line on him. "We got mutual friends you see, the same ones who sent you here."

"Didn't no one send me." The rage packed into my reply surprises even me, because while I thought it wouldn't matter much if folks thought I was tight with the Catteneos, it turns out I care quite a bite. That's all it took to embolden these small-time drug dealers after all, and now they killing in the streets like crazed animals. That I will not stand for, so I make my stance clear. "Three days ago, I shot Harlan Pike because he was an outlaw with a price on his head. Just business is all, open and shut. Then, I done shot thirteen more men because they refused to stand down and fetch the Sheriff. Today, I killed another five men because they done drew on me in what I can only assume was a misguided attempt to avenge their former leader. Got no price on their heads though, so I'm happy to live and let live long as they keep their weapons holstered."

And now we get to the crux of the issue, the Pick Peckers thinking we the same. "As for the rest of you? I don't know you. I didn't ask for your help. I don't need your help, and I don't trust your intentions. All I seen is you killing men in the streets, and as a law-abiding, freeholding landowner of the United Federation of American States, it is my civic duty to put an end to it. Now, you can either surrender and let the Sheriff sort this all out, or you can make your peace, because this here is your third and final warning. Guns on the ground. Hands on your head. Or I will open fire."

Most them Pick Peckers are shaking in the boots now, because they still don't got no idea where I am. Course, they ain't done nothing to find out besides rubberneck around, which only goes to show the quality of criminal I'm up against. Bottom of the fucking barrel, and they think they can ride my coattails to do as they please?

Course, the leader of the Pick Peckers ain't just cocky, he's dumb too. "He's bluffing," he snarls, running a hand over his bald, sweaty head as I draw a bead on him with the Whumper. "He won't do shit. The Catteneos will carve him to pieces if he lays a hand on us."

Which is a challenge I just can't pass up. All it takes is a gentle press of the trigger and my Blastgun makes its distinctive metallic thwump as it sends a solid bar of kinetic Force straight through the man's chest. No need for headshots with a Compressed Whumper, as it'll drop a man through most protective Spells and gear both, while the Pick Pecker's leader ain't got neither. Falls in a spray of blood like a puppet with its strings cut, and even though I've revealed my position, I ain't in no rush to move. Instead, I speak into the silence once the echoes of my Whumper fade out. "Y'all seem to be under some misconceptions, so let me clear things up here and now. I ain't no two-bit thug or attack dog. I ain't no gangster hitman or crazed murderer. Three days ago, I was a bounty hunter, and today, I'm a concerned citizen who ain't about to let you and yours run rampant in the streets. Fact is, I'm so concerned about public safety that if anyone anywhere knows anything about an outlaw they'd like taken care of, send word my way with a name and a place and I'll see what I can do."

Doubt the Catteneo's are gonna be happy about how this went down, so I probably won't get much work from them moving forward. Might as well put the word out while I'm here and declare open season on outlaws, because I'd like a right proper bumper crop before heading out west.

Feeling charitable, I hold off on opening fire again to give the rest one last chance. "So once more from the top. Guns down. Hands behind your heads. Or may God have mercy on your souls, because I am fresh out."

With the death of their leader, the fight done drained from the remaining Pick Peckers, but rather than surrender to my custody, they all rabbit off like the cowards they are. I ain't none too fussed about it, because it ain't like I'm equipped to take prisoners. Instead, I heave a sigh and wait a few minutes only to realize Sheriff Lessler ain't gonna show up. Ain't no choice but to head out, collect Cowie and the kiccaws, and trudge on back to the Sheriff's Office to report what done happened.

Don't much care for how things played out, but me being me, I don't see any other way things could've gone. I'm walking a fine line here, one that got a foot in both worlds, and like the Sheriff said, sooner or later, I might well slip and fall. Got no choice though, because this here is the only path I got, as one side don't want me, and I ain't about to fall to the other. Alls I can do is blaze my own trail forward and see what the future has in store.

Probably the inside of a jail cell for another night or two, but at least this time my lawyer's already here.