Firstborn of the Frontier

Sheriffs Stymied as Foreign Gunman Strikes Again.

Another Body, Another Bounty: Frontier Justice, or Gang Warfare?

Trail of Corpses Grows Alongside Hidden Costs of Vigilante Action.

Outlaw or Executioner? Questions Raised Regarding Foreign Action on American Soil.

Butcher of the Badlands turns Rimepeak into Warzone

Time was winter was a slow and uneventful season, but this year, business has been booming.

Part of it is the fact that I get a little stir crazy up in the quay all by my lonesome, which is why I've taken to travelling so much and scrapbooking newspaper articles about me. Been a busy six weeks since I gunned down Harlan Pike in Silver Summit, and in that time I've cashed in nine more times and put a clean $935 in my pocket. Which ain't a small sum, as that's 78% of a year's salary for your average 'unskilled' labourer in 11.5% of the time. Still feels like a drop in the bucket compared to what I thought I'd be making though. Most my bounties were at the bare minimum of $50, folks who earned themselves a date with the hangman but wasn't worth the cost of chasing down. Crow-Eye Boone, Buzzard Kane, Red Jackal O'Rourke, their nomme de guerre reflected their low status in the criminal world, and low priority for law enforcement.

Can't everyone be a juicy target like Gilbert Haywards and his Stagecoach Killers. When bounties get that high, even your fellow criminals will be mighty tempted to turn you in, and there ain't no honour among thieves and killers. That's why I had to go all the way up to Pleasant Dunes to bag that bounty, so it's slim pickings round these parts. Still, fifty dollars is fifty dollars, so I ain't complaining much.

Not about the payouts at least, as it ain't a bad score for one day's work, especially since I've thus far avoided being jailed again. Mostly by not sticking around long enough for a Sheriff to arrest me, but Thomas Keane of the Rimepeak Post seems like he on a crusade to get me clapped in chains. Dunno what I ever done to him, but his headlines have been getting real ugly real fast. Like the most recent addition to my scrapbook, one dedicated just for articles written by him. Since when was I the Butcher of the Badlands? And how is that a bad thing? Ain't nothing out there except Abby, so folks ought to be grateful for my work out there. Recently though, he found out about how I was around when them mercs got all ate up by Abby just before Christmas. Wrote an article that don't come outright and blame me for it, but does note that it's odd how I was there and didn't do nothing about it.

Don't say what he expected me to do either. Die alongside them I suppose, as those were some hardcore mercs to be hunting through the Christmas break. As for turning Rimepeak into a Warzone? That's a stretch. While I've upped the body count a considerable amount, I'd wager overall crime has plummeted as a result as them rats abandon ship to get gone from my sights, but ain't no one said nothing about that, especially not Thomas 'Faultfinder' Keane.

Heaving a sigh, I pull up his latest article regarding my most recent exploits to see how many facts Tom got wrong or plain twisted to put me in the worst light. At the same time, I review what actually went down in memory just in case I get dinged for this, as it was a bit of a shitshow all told. Was a cold Thursday night when I arrived at Frostrock. Dark clouds overhead obscured the twin red moons to cast the stone brick walls in an eerie crimson glow. Retaining walls meant to keep a slope in place, built like a small staircase meant for a giant. Tall enough to keep most Abby out unless they good climbers, but Levitate got me up and over each 'step' easily enough. Had to be Levitate, not Spider Climb, because the retaining wall got Alarm Wards laid across them to notify the guards if anyone or anything comes a hopping up the wall, and I didn't want no one knowing I was there until I was good and ready. Made the trip to Frostrock twice before in pursuit of this bounty, but both times, I found my target dug in and ready for a fight and beat a hasty retreat.

So someone in the guards was tipping him off, and I don't much like a fair fight. Hence the need to sneak into town, which technically is a crime, but one they gotta prove I committed. Not like you gotta sign in at the gates or nothing, and the fact that no guards can remember seeing me come through ain't enough to prove illegal entry. Which is pretty much trespassing, except instead of a person's house, it's a government border or checkpoint.

Cameras at each gate would've done the trick, but crooked Sheriffs tend to cut corners wherever they can to pad their own pockets, so I was safe on that account. Besides, even if I was caught, the penalty for illegal entry is a slap on the wrist so long as I ain't caught smuggling or whatever, so I figured it was well worth the risk to take down Jeb 'Ironjaw' McGraw, a freelance hatchet man known not for a metal mouth prosthetic, which would've been pretty awesome, but rather for chowing down on choice bits of his victims.

Which is less cool, but still kinda… well, to use the popular vernacular I picked up from Astrid while teaching her how to Script, fey.

Appreciation for nicknames aside, Ironjaw McGraw had a $250 price on his head, which was why I'd gone back to Frostrock for the third time. High-priced outlaws like him have been few and far between, so I was eager to take him down. My two prior trips didn't pay off but proved plenty fruitful, as I done already scouted out the best ways into town and over to the warehouse on Foundry Row which Ironjaw McGraw calls home. Man sleeps in a corner office on the second floor with a great view of the bustling streets below, though all you'd really see is the warehouse across the way and whole convoys of wagons carrying raw ore and smelted metal to and from the foundries the street is named for.

Like I said though, both times before, my target was tipped off to my arrival, which meant his blinds were down and his gun ready while peeking out from behind his blinds to see if he could spot me coming. This was after a lengthy inspection from the guards which I figured was because of all the heat I was packing, but then I spotted some gangsters getting into position all around me and decided it was time to leave. On my second visit, I got stopped for inspection again, but rather than act casual, I hoofed it over to Foundry Row just in time to see the blinds come down. Walked away right then and there, because while Ironjaw McGraw worked for the highest bidder, he also had ties to the Silver Rats, an outfit who runs the foundries on Foundry Row to skim profits and fence stolen materials. Had to assume that's who had the guards in their pockets and was tipping my target off, and I didn't want to get drawn into a firefight when the troops came a calling.

So I hatched me a plan to sneak in unseen, and it worked like a charm. One Levitate Spell got me up over the wall and onto the roofs, where I charted a upper-storey route over to Foundry Row under the cover of darkness. Got me onto the warehouse across the way from Ironjaw McGraw's office apartment unseen, and spotted him in the window about 20 meters away. Man was stood facing the street while sauteing something in a skillet over the stovetop. Had himself an apron and everything, as well as a genuine crystal goblet filled with red wine on hand too, from which he took small sips out of while having himself a grand old time adding herbs and spices to his meal and looking all chef-like while he does it.

Or he did, right up until I put a Bolt through his face with the tried-and-true Ranger Repeater. Just a 22, but still plenty capable of punching through a glass window to kill whatever's behind it, so the lever-action carbine got plenty of legs on it yet. More to the point is I got the kill on camera, with a clear view of the target's face before blowing his brains out the back of his head, which meant it was time I got gone before the Silver Rats came a scurrying out to see what's what.

Clean, simple, and easy as can be really. No fuss, no muss, no endangered bystanders or much collateral damage besides the window and office interior. Which I can't be held accountable for, seeing how they had a wanted outlaw renting the place, meaning it's on the owner for taking on an illegal tenant. Either way, all I had to do was retrace my steps across the rooftops, cast Jump to get me across to and over the walls, then Featherfall down to the burrow I dug out to keep Cowie and kiccaws warm and cozy while they waited.

Least that's how it would've gone if not for one minor speedbump. As luck would have it, the spot on the wall I came up over was across the street from another gang hideout. Feels like you can't throw a rock on Rimepeak without hitting one gangster or another, and this hideout was occupied by some low-level outfit I ain't ever heard of. Silas Cutter had most certainly heard of me however, and seeing how he had a price on his head, he was feeling understandably nervous about my recent comings and goings. To make matters worse, the man having a drink and a smoke while looking out the window when he spotted me Levitate up over the walls and over to a nearby rooftop. Course he got it in his head that I was there to collect on his fifty-dollar bargain bin bounty and called up his buddies for help. Five fellas came a rushing to his defense, and they all dug in while I took out Ironjaw McGraw a few streets over.

Which like I said, was about 15 minutes away, meaning it'd be a half hour before I showed up again. During this interlude, Silas and friends saw fit to fortify themselves with liquid and powdered courage, enough so that when I showed up about a half hour later and stopped on a rooftop some three buildings away to cast Jump, they didn't even question why I showed up so far away while standing in plain view before opening up with their guns.

A Bolt whizzing by your head is a terrifying sound to behold. When someone shoots, there's usually a bang which I hear often enough to not get shook. If the shooting is close, but not directly at you, then sometimes you even hear the hiss of the Bolt cutting through the air. If that Bolt is hurtling towards you though? You hear a snap to go along with that hiss, a sharp crack of air that makes you start no matter how many times you hear it. Me, I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard that snap, and literally Jumped across the way, as I just done finished casting my Spell and was making ready to do just that.

Terrible move really, and could've been the end of Howie Zhu if Silas and his boys weren't so juiced up they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Fact is, they was so sauced, they didn't even notice I'd jumped and kept shooting at the house I was stood on, with a fair few going through second story windows and eliciting screams from the folks inside. So instead of doing the smart thing and bailing over the wall like I planned, I sprinted across the wall as quick as I could and made it into cover just moments before my then unknown assailants spotted me.

"Qink's on the wall!" A voice bellows, and I spot a shadow lean out to look before someone else reaches out to drag him in. "Over the – "

"Stay in cover, idiot," another voice snarls, before raising his voice into a shout. "You ain't gonna take old Silas without a fight, Qink! I'll cut you good and wear your yellow skin like a mask!"

Charming fella, this Silas Cutter, but from what I can tell, he was all talk. Didn't know it at the time of course, so I responded accordingly by putting six shots through the window with my Shortsword. It don't hiss like the Rattlesnake, just pings like a carnival plinker every time the hammer comes down on a cartridge. Course, it also shoots out a Silenced Bolt, which ain't all that silent, not like most folks think a Silenced Aetherarm would be. It's more of a tinny bark accompanied by the ring of the hammer, a Pak-Ting, Pak-Ting, Pak-Ting that don't get my heart singing like the Rattlesnake would. Still does the job though, which in this case means keeping my assailants from shooting back as I advance upon them. Didn't want to use the houses as cover seeing how Silas and co. didn't seem all too fussed about collateral damage, so I figured I ought to end this quick as I can.

Had Longstrider going to cover ground quick as I advanced upon the house, and threw in a few bounding leaps like I seen Carter do while fighting against Abby. He did it much more gracefully that I did, with large, bounding strides while I just hopped and skipped about, but it got me where I was going. Made it to the side of the target house in the span of six, well spaced shots. Peering through the window, I didn't see no one lurking in wait, so I conjured up a Shield, used it to punch through the glass, and hopped right on into the house for some CQC. Knowing they was on the second floor, I opened up on the ceiling with both Judges, aiming round about where I last seen them. Even though there was a chance of collateral, I figured that if they kept their wives or babies in the same room they was prepping for a firefight, then that's on them.

The Armour Penetrating Blastpistols chewed up the floorboards and ceiling beams like a hungry chitter-rat in spring, and screams sounded out like music to my ears. I kept right on shooting though, with my upcasted Mage Hands alternating between one Judge and the other while I reloaded my Shortsword and opened up a hole in the ceiling big enough for a dead body to fall through. Meant my opponents could see me too, and they got to shooting through said hole as well, but I had them outgunned good and well with the Judges. By they time they clicked empty, there wasn't no one shooting back no more, and I took my time heading up the stairs with Shortsword in one hand and a Judge in the other so I got a free Mage Hand to reload it.

Wasn't needed as it turns out, because when I peeked up through the bannisters and into the room, I spotted a bunch of bodies and one Silas Cutter dragging his bloodied form across the floor while literally frothing at the mouth. "Won't take me alive," he growls, having traded his pistol for a big honking knife which I can only imagine is how he got his name. Unless his last name is actually Cutter, which now that I think about it, is an actual possibility. Never did think to ask, because I simply put a Bolt through his chest and cleared the rest of the house. Soon as I was sure I got all the shooters, I headed out to check on the neighbours and see if anyone needed medical attention. No casualties, but two folks got hurt, one who was having a drink on his balcony, and another who got hit with glass shards when a Bolt went clean through his window even though his house wasn't all that close to where I was stood.

So yeah. Technically I got into a bit of a firefight in Frostrock, and it did get hairy for a bit. Thing is, Tom Keene wrote it up like I done burst into the house spoiling for a fight, and Silas and his ilk were just fighting back. All speculative of course, while putting out a call for Frostrock's Sheriff to explain why I wasn't arrested and charged. Whole thing was a performative front-page hit-piece meant to manufacture outrage and sell papers, because two days later, the Rimepeak Post published another article on page 18 with a statement from said Sheriff explaining exactly why I wasn't arrested, as I had video proof that I was shot at first and only retaliated in kind at an outlaw with a price on his head.

A statement given on the day of the incident mind you, with plenty of time for Tom to put that same statement in his article, except he didn't because then there'd be no reason for his readers to be upset at me. Most of whom probably wouldn't see the buried article that exonerated me, meaning in their minds, I'm a reckless, feckless, Qin killer who don't care about no one or nothing. Wrote about the injured bystanders, but didn't say nothing about me providing first aid, or how I split Silas' $50 between the two households that took damage to help with their medical and repair bills. Nah, Tom Keene knew the facts, but also knows it's all the rage to hate on the Qin, so he's made it his mission to make folks hate me all the more to get papers flying off the newsstands.

He ain't the only one, but most other journalists at least try to appear objective. Tom don't, but he treads the fine line between opinion and libel very well and never oversteps, while still managing to paint me in the worst light. Others have seen how well it works and are starting to follow suit, but I figure the outspoken haters are far outnumbered by my silent supporters. Been getting a steady stream of mail here at the quay from folks sick of seeing wanted outlaws strolling about in broad daylight without so much as a care in the world. Fact is, I'm getting so many sob stories I've learned to skim through them, because ain't nothing worse than getting all worked up about a kill and learning he just a common criminal, not a wanted outlaw with a bounty on his head.

A distinction most can't seem to grasp, even though it's built right into the words. A criminal is someone whose broken a few laws but is still beholden to them, whereas an outlaw is just that. Outside the law. Someone so heinous that a judge has decreed them unfit for society, meaning any Tom, Dick, or Harry could beat them to death in the streets and the law won't do nothing about it. If the Puglianos were outlaws good and proper, then I could proudly proclaim I was the one who done them in. They was only criminals though, so still citizens in the eyes of the Federal Government, and therefore not mine to kill.

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So only the worst of the worst are ever declared outlaws. Gotta kill more than a fair few folks before a Judge will sign off on it, though killing women and kids tends to get you fast tracked towards it. Means that among other things, there ain't actually all that many outlaws hanging out and about Rimepeak, and I'm pretty sure Ironjaw McGraw and Silas Cutter were among the last still sticking around. The rest are either dead or nowhere to be found, having either run off for greener pastures or gone to ground for the winter. Either way, it's been slim pickings since my escapades in Frostrock last week, and I haven't found a proper target for this coming weekend.

That's why I'm scrapbooking articles on a Friday night instead of prepping for a fight. Aunty Ray used to do this when the articles were nicer, but I ain't so sure she's keen on clipping these particular articles here. Not sure I want to keep them either, but it's a piece of my history in print, so I might as well preserve it for my twilight years when I can look back on this tumultuous time in my history and either laugh or cry. Been trying to do the right thing, keep the fighting contained as best I can, but if Tom Keane and others like him don't like me shooting outlaws within town limits, then maybe they ought to focus their ire on the folks who keep letting them outlaws in. That's all I'm saying really, but I can't help but wince to think what Uncle Art or Uncle Teddy might think of what I'm doing.

Ain't nothing to do but keep on keeping on, as I ain't had many opportunities to be a good man. Or really do much of anything at all besides tinker with my gear and guns and train my Spells and skills. Add in regular maintenance, and most of my time is booked, with the rest spent teaching Frowny how to behave so he'll pass his MCCE. That's the Magical Creature Compliance Exam, which Cowie passed with flying colours seeing how he greeted the examiner with a warm nuzzle and a sweet cuddle, but Frowny is more liable to try and peck your fingers off. He's getting better at not attacking everything that moves or lashing out whenever he's feeling hungry, sleepy, playful, or just plain bored, but he still got a long ways to go.

If only I could swap Stella in for the MCCE, then I wouldn't have to worry about a thing. Would've worked too if Frowny's Innate Brand didn't make his feathers look so shiny and metallic, because even I have trouble telling the kiccaws apart at times. He really stands out now, especially since he's gotten comfortable enough to invade my personal space whenever he pleases, like he does here and now by hopping right up onto the workbench to demand attention. Which he gets, because he didn't spend the last fifteen minutes pecking my ankles like he usually would. Sweet Stella and a couple other kiccaws see this as an invitation for a group cuddle, and soon my desk is flooded with kiccaws all 'kiik' ing and 'caw'ing for their fair share of scritches.

Well deserved scritches, as they been keeping me sane out here on the quay. Cowie helps, but he been spending more time with his ladies when we home, especially since Momo is due to give birth any day now. Still don't know what I'll do with the new calf, but I ain't all that bothered about it. If I can't think of nothing else, Chrissy could use a furry friend to call her own, and Aunty Ray would be more than happy to train him or her up.

Speaking of which, it's round about time for my thrice weekly check-in with Aunty Ray, so I put my scrapbook aside and have myself a big old stretch as I stand. My shoulder's feeling good as new now, and it's a real relief to give it my all without worrying about the pain, or using Red Sun balm every hour on the hour when the hurt gets real bad. Granted, it's only my shoulder that's stopped hurting, and my right hand still hurts something fierce every now and then. Even though it ain't nothing but a wood frame and brass gears in the here and now, I can swear I feel the blood moving about as I raise my arms to the ceiling and bend my left fingers back with a satisfying series of pops.

Displeased with the lack of attention, Frowny takes it upon himself to hop up and down on the desk while fluttering his nubby little wings to get right in my face. It sounds cute, but it's more impressive than anything else, as the little guy got some real hops. All the kiccaws can jump two to three feet easily, which is pretty impressive for a bunch of tiny birds who average about six inches tall. And wide, when they puff up their feathers, while Frowny is about eight and half inches tall now, and wider when he wants to be. Started out as one of the smaller kiccaws in the flock too, but now he's the biggest by far, though it ain't all mass.

Holding out my hand for him to land on, I give his belly the softest of brushes with the back of my finger and watch as a puff of feathers flake right on off. Not real feathers, but ones made of Ecto, as evidenced by how them flakes melt away before they hit the floor. That right there is the Ablative part of Ablative Armour, giving the little Magical Kiccaw a second set of feathers to keep him safe and warm I suppose. It ain't all that effective, less so than the base Spell ought to be, but that's because he's still working out how to use his Innate Spell. This extra padding here ain't a Spell per se, just an unconscious expression of Magic that he's doing without really meaning to. It just happens, like blinking or breathing, and I can't wait to see how big he'll get when he casts the Spell a fair few times in succession.

With a whole flock of kiccaws on my heels, I head on back to the big house which still don't feel much like home to me. Truth is, I'm open to selling the place to anyone who wants it, but while Levi's gotten plenty of interest, no one's made a hard offer just yet. Mostly because it's still winter and folks don't like travelling around when there's a foot of snow on the ground, or feel all that eager to take a 12-hour trip and camp out overnight just to see a house they might want to buy. Add in all the negative press I been getting in the papers and the very real concern of criminals retaliating against me, and it looks like it'll be a while before I get any new neighbours.

Not that I mind, as I rather like the quiet life up here. Sure it's a little lonely and I'm prone to going stir crazy, but I can handle that. Got a weekly card game over at Clayton's every Monday night, and I been up and down the mountain plenty these last few weeks learning the trails and best paths up. Down is much easier, as I simply jump off the closest cliff and use Featherfall whenever it looks like I'm about to hit the ground. Or side of the mountain as it were, at which point I gotta cast Levitation to get me the rest of the way down safely, but I gotta say, there ain't nothing like hurtling down the side of a mountain at terminal velocity before landing soft and gentle as can be.

As expected, Aunty Ray is ready and waiting at the Radio when I check in 10 minutes early. Even though a powered Radio gives her a headache, she leaves it on while she does her leatherwork just so she can be absolutely sure she don't miss our little talks. Don't seem like much, but it puts a smile on my face to know I'm loved, one that grows even wider to hear her voice. We never talk about anything all that important, since you never know who might be listening, but she still always has plenty to say, and I pay attention as best I can while sitting in my recliner with a lap full of kiccaws.

"I got someone here who wants to ask you something," Aunty Ray says, after a lengthy, one-sided discourse on that gossipy busybody Elise's latest business venture. Scented candles as it were, and while Aunty Ray don't sound all that impressed, I wouldn't turn my nose up to a bacon scented candle.

Ain't Elise who pops on though. Instead, it's Chrissy, who don't speak with the proper protocols but still got a Callsign all the same. "Hi Howie," she says, her voice barely more than whisper as she pushes through the Magical feedback that she and Aunty Ray both suffer from to have a chat with me. "Sleepover?"

…Right. I promised to invite them up when I got things settled up here at the quay, and that was two months ago. Sure, Tina and Chrissy came up to visit with the rest of the boots, but I done forgot to invite Aunty Ray, and now she's weaponizing Chrissy against me. "You know what? That sounds like a great idea," I say, my mind racing a mile a minute as I try to come up with some excuse to delay things until I'm absolutely sure I got all my ducks in a row. I come up empty though, so the best I can offer is, "How about next weekend?"

"Tomorrow," Chrissy replies, sounding adamant as can be despite not changing her tone one bit.

"Wouldn't next weekend be better? Then you can stay the whole weekend, instead of just coming up for one night."

"…Both."

That's on me. I should've said this weekend wasn't good, and next weekend would be better, but since I didn't, she'll be upset if I say that now. Mostly because it'll sound like I'm making up excuses, which I am, so I heave a loud sigh off the air and accept my due. "Alright Princess. I'll come pick you up tomorrow."

"Okay Howie."

That's all she says before handing the mic over to her Mama, who chimes in with the proper protocol to discuss the details. She's got it all planned out to a T, meaning she was intent on making this trip regardless of my wishes, and I can't help but smile to hear it. I guess they was worried I'd weasel out if they let me know too far in advance, but truth is, while I'm a little concerned about security up here in the quay, I'm confident I can keep them safe as can be should trouble come a knocking during their visit. Not to mention how an impromptu trip like this is probably safer than one planned out well in advanced, as it gives time to my enemies to prep for the fight.

Course, the downside is that this ambush leaves me next to no time to prep, which means I spend the next few hours cleaning the house and making it look lived in, as opposed to a roof and four walls to keep the snow off my head while I sleep. Easier said than done of course, but I set myself up like I been sleeping in Kevin's old room while leaving the master bedroom for Aunty Ray and Hailey's room for Tina. Chances are, Chrissy will end up snuggling up next to me on the couch anyways, which is why I spend the better part of a half hour casting Prestidigitation on the cushions to get the smell of woodsmoke and body sweat out of the leather.

I know I said I'd eat better and cook more often, but hunter's stew really strikes that balance between good enough to eat and minimum effort required to make it. Least I've been baking proper bread to go with it instead of subsisting off of hardtack drowned in enough stew to make it somewhat soft. That said, I could always start meal prepping and leaving ready to eat meals in the Freeze-Box, but food never tastes the same after it's been frozen. Either way, I get to cooking up something proper to eat tonight that'll look good as leftovers come tomorrow, because you can bet your bottom dollar Aunty Ray will raid my fridge and make snap judgements off of what's inside. Won't be too far off from the truth either, because she knows me well, but I gotta at least try to trick her into thinking I'm eating and living better than I do.

Don't get it twisted. I've stepped things up a fair bit from before Christmas. I'm eating with utensils, and even doing it at a table instead of my workbench or the recliner. I've got myself a pillow and blanket to use while sleeping on the recliner, and I've even been taking off my jacket and gunbelt before going to bed. Taking regular showers too, instead of just freshening up with Prestidigitation and only washing up when absolutely necessary, and I've even been using soap. Not shampoo, because I don't see why I gotta use a different type of soap for the hair on my head, but not on hair that grows anywhere else. Or conditioner, but that's probably a Qin thing, as my hair is just naturally silky smooth and straight as can be, whereas Tina's or Danny's hair would curl and tangle without proper treatment. Not Chrissy though, as her silver locks got something special to them and don't take to curls even with a heated iron, but that ain't neither here nor there.

All of which is progress, but I can't be telling that to Aunty Ray. Even though she probably already knows, I don't want to admit how bad things got before our near disastrous trip out into the badlands. Some things you just don't talk about. You move past them, act like they never happened, and hope the worst is behind you, because that's what men do.

Despite the hasty nature of this impromptu visit and all the extra work it brings me, I don't begrudge it one bit. Fact is it's been six weeks since I seen Tina and Chrissy, and eight since I seen Aunty Ray, which is a long stretch even for me. Wanted to put off visiting New Hope for as long as I could, which was why I had Tina buy me enough supplies to fill two Floating Disc sleds after our big party. Not because I can't bear to see the town no more, but because I hate the unending waves of restless anxiety that assail me from all sides when I'm there. Time was, them walls would never fail to put a smile on my face, but now I'm sweating at the prospect of tying off at the docks to pick the family up without so much as stepping foot on solid ground.

A trip I make all the same after too little sleep, as I gotta get up bright and early to pick everyone up at 8am. Aunty Ray tried to convince Chrissy that a lunchtime pick-up would be better, but the Princess was adamant on spending the whole day with me. I don't mind the early hours though, especially if it means having a picnic breakfast made by Aunty Ray.

Course I gotta deal with the dock guards first, who prove surprisingly amenable when I Radio and state my business. Don't got no guns pointed in my direction as I pull up and tie off, though a few glaring faces look as if they'd like to, and they don't insist on coming aboard for no reason. Instead, they leave me be for the most part while I wait for the family, who show up right on time with far too much food and luggage for a one-night trip. I don't say as much though, just smile and help load their things onto the Longhorn Belle, which is the name I settled on for my ship. Got it stenciled onto the side and everything, with a set of bull's horns on the bow and a cowbell attached for good measure. Earns me an eyeroll from Tina and Aunty Ray both because they ain't big on puns, while Chrissy don't really get it, but she do love the bell which she chimes off with while I'm pulling out of the docks.

Soon as we're underway and I can spare the attention, I head on over to Chrissy and cast a Cantrip to sign, "Hi there Princess." Arcane Sign Language is a tricksy thing to explain. On the surface, it looks like I'm projecting a bunch of runes, sigils, or icons above the palm of my hand, and that's more or less what it is. Thing is, the shape of whatever I'm projecting ain't the be all end all of the language. There's a whole bunch of subtle nuances to keep in mind when crafting them shapes, because they're not analogues to letters or words. Instead, each icon is more like a concept rather than an actual full-on word, while the hand movement that accompanies the icon provides the context.

For example, there's an established icon meant to represent fire, which to me looks like an ugly fork without a handle. Three points and a rounded base, with red being the typical colour you'd use. Make circles with your palms behind the icon and you get 'warm, while making circles with your palms over the flame gives you 'cook'. There's a whole lot more to it, but that's the general gist, and I've found that it works wonders when communicating with Chrissy. The Cantrip itself draws her attention into the present, allowing her to focus on the hand gestures that accompany it and grasp what I'm trying to say, or just listen to what I say without having to make sure she's paying attention before hand.

What's more, she loves using Arcane Sign Language to talk, so much that she tends to 'speak' much too quickly for almost anyone to follow. A barrage of symbols and have movements blaze by as she replies, "Hi Howie I missed you happy to see you again Mama and Tina happy too." That's all I catch, as I don't got much practice 'reading' Arcane Sign Language since I got no one to practice with, so I got a whole lot of learning ahead of me.

"Easy there Princess," I say out loud, earning me a mildly aggrieved wide-eyed look from my sweet sorta sister because I ain't ever interrupted her before. Apologizing as best I can in Arcane Sign Language, I ask her to slow things down because I'm still learning. Or at least, that's what I thought I signed, only for Tina to burst out into giggles from beside me.

"You just said 'you're still fermenting," Tina says, before showing me the proper sign for 'learning'. Says a lot about how quickly she picked it up considering she had a full Ranger's workload for the last six weeks, including a week-long stint in a watchtower which she's been complaining endlessly about. Despite all that, she gets to signing away like she was born to it and conversing with Chrissy in a manner I only ever dreamed about.

It's still fairly simplistic stuff, things I can usually infer like how she's having fun on the boat ride, the bell has a pretty chime, and the sky is very pretty, but you gotta remember, these are still early hours yet. It's not that Chrissy never has any deep and introspective thoughts, but that she's still learning how to communicate said thoughts, and it's easier to start with the simple ones first. She knows how to talk, and can parrot people flawlessly when she cares to. When it comes to speaking her mind though, this is more or less a first, as she ain't ever really communicated with us on a level like this before.

Suppose I owe Jinfeng big for making the suggestion. Then again, I could say we're even considering she was the one who pointed Ao Tian and fatty in my general direction, even if it wasn't on purpose. Does make me wonder who she's got in her life that's Aether Touched like Chrissy. Ubiquitous as Innates might be among the Qin, I doubt this sort of insight into how they think is common knowledge among the masses. If it was, my daddy would've suggested something like this a decade ago, but he never said nothing about Arcane Sign Language. Aunty Ray knew about it, but even she didn't really consider how it might apply to Chrissy's situation, meaning Jinfeng's got some firsthand knowledge on the inner thoughts of an Aether-Touched Innate.

A sibling maybe? Can't be her parents, as she's an orphan. Wouldn't be a ward of the General if she had a parent to care for her, now wouldn't she?

Whatever the reason, Jinfeng's suggestion is already paying dividends when it comes to Chrissy, and we spend a good bit of the boat ride going back and forth with Arcane Sign Language. It ain't smooth or easy as real conversation, but it's good practice, and I'm looking forward to the day when we can go back and forth as easily as talking with Tina.

Around the halfway mark home, a sea lion pops out of the water to land up on deck as Elodie is wont to do. Looks all adorable in her furry aquatic form as she flaps her flippers and marches around deck in obvious excitement, with her little watertight shoulder bag strapped around her slim torso adding an extra bit of whimsy to her animal antics. Course it's only practical, as the shoulder bag has a set of clothes she can change into when she goes back to human form, which comes in handy when she refuses to leave the boat after hearing that we're having a sleepover at the quay. Unable to bring myself to send her home, I plot a course for Carter's dock only for Aunty Ray to say, "I already talked to him, and he said Elodie could come along to play."

To which Elodie's sea lion head bobs along in adamant agreement, leaving me to scratch my head and wondering how they arranged all of this without telling me first.

No matter though, as the more the merrier, and I'll protect Elodie same as I would Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray. The silly green-haired girlie has really grown on me in the short time we've known each other, and I can't help but see her as a third sorta sister. Plus, with Elodie around, Aunty Ray might not go off the handle when I finally tell her about my plans to head west come spring to check out the Deadlands.

Got it all planned out and everything. Mapped the route and drawn up a list of what I'll need to make, buy, and bring along with. Been dreading this conversation though, because I don't really know how long I'll stay. Sure, it ain't all that far, what with Ranger HQ being a 5-day boat ride away, and another three days of sailing to the Deadlands. Thing is, once I'm in, I'm probably gonna be there for a good little bit, maybe even a whole half year. Granted, it really depends on how welcoming Edward Elton and the British Protectorate are and how much help they care to provide on getting me into the Deadlands. They're pretty much my only hope too, because I don't see the Rangers, the Chevaliers, or the Catholic Knight's Templar doing me any favours when I show up unannounced.

Which ain't entirely true. I wrote to Edward saying I was thinking about heading up for a visit and sent letters to his handlers too. Only Edward replied though, saying I was most welcome and they was all looking forward to my visit, so that's nice. He didn't say much else, but my own research showed that the Deadlands ain't like the badlands, meaning you can't just mosey on in whenever you like. You gotta get a license and set an appointment to go in to hunt, which apparently is hard to get. The Brits love them their licenses, and there's also a quarantine period for anyone coming out of the Deadlands to make sure it ain't their cold, dead corpse possessed by no Soulless Abby.

Yeah. That's a thing with the Soulless, who far as I can tell are the inspiration for every spooky ghost, shambling zombie, and most other horror flick favourites. Should be a fun time, fighting a fresh batch of Abby that ain't Ferals or Gobbos, and profitable too considering they tend to have the highest concentrations of Spell Cores among all types of Abby.

Makes them the most dangerous too, so I could see why Aunty Ray might be none too happy to hear that I'll be heading that way. That's why I been putting this conversation off, but this here is about the best opportunity I'll get. First we have long day of fun and games, with a picnic breakfast, a hot grilled lunch, and a home cooked meal made by yours truly to butter her up as best I can before breaking the bad news.

Time was I'd feel mighty stifled having to do this, almost like I gotta ask for permission to go where I please. These days though? I'm just happy to have someone who cares, and if she really pushes back on the subject, then I might even consider putting the trip off for a few weeks or months until she'll fully assured. Dunno what I'd do around these parts, as I got no stomach for trading after making close to a thousand dollars hunting outlaws over the winter. Won't last though, as pickings are already getting slim now that word is out, so I'll have to travel abroad for better opportunities, and north and south are kinda closed off what with the tensions to the latter and my history with the former.

No matter though. Family comes first, so I'll figure it out as I go. Who knows? Maybe Aunty Ray will be totally on board with me heading out west to broaden my horizons and wish me well with a smile and a hug.

And maybe pigs will fly.