Firstborn of the Frontier

"Randy, we gotta go."

"The hell we do!" Snapping out of pure reflex, Randy's lip curled into a snarl as he tore his eyes away from the Firstborn's gaze and saw his spineless friends looking all scared and uncertain. "They're just Harpies. A flock of flying rats," he said, bracing against the invisible Force Barrier behind him to get back onto his feet, only for the Spell to unravel at the worst possible moment and send him tumbling back onto the cobblestone streets.

The qink did it on purpose. It had to be. That slant eyed fuck just knew Randy was braced against the Force Barrier and stopped Concentrating on the Spell just for shits and giggles. What an asshole. And that shit about not remembering Randy's name? That was bullshit. You don't forget the name of someone who pointed their gun at you, and he could still remember the Firstborn's tone when he said it. "Best aim for the head," he said, looking up with flecks of Dave's blood splashed across his face while tapping his armoured plate carrier. "I'm wearing armoured plates, and that Squire there don't shoot more than once a second. You pull that trigger, and you don't kill me? Then you can damn well be sure I'mma kill you, Randy."

Spit his name out like a slur he did, looking down on him for no reason at all. They didn't know each other all that well, hadn't had more than an introduction really, but Randy didn't care much for the Firstborn anyways. He was more interested in that tasty piece Noora who was head over heels for the scrawny little shit. Even with plates and a duster, he looked skinny as a twig, so much so it was hard to say where his clothes ended and chest began. Wasn't no point in shooting him though, not then and there. He was unarmed, and while Dave was a guard, any fool could see it was a bad move on his part to draw on the Firstborn. There was no… what was the term for it? Probably cause? No, legal justification. That. They covered it in Basic, and while the guards had different rules of engagement from the Rangers, it was clear Dave had been in the wrong.

And was still breathing, so Randy lowered his gun and let Noora take it away. The bitch. She'd been ready to fight for the Firstborn even though he was a feral fucking dog who only brought death and suffering to everyone around him. That's why the town Exiled him, because he was a fucking Qink savage who killed whoever crossed his path, and he'd been ready to kill Randy right then and there.

Today too. He had that same look when he grabbed Randy by the face, a wild bloodthirst that shimmered in his beady brown eyes, ones that looked at Randy and saw nothing but dead meat. Fucking psychopath, that's what he was, a killer without remorse, and the fact that they let him walk these streets unchained and unsupervised made Randy sick to his stomach. That Qink thought he was all hot shit just because he knew how to kill Abby, but he wasn't the only one. Randy and his buddies had all gone through Basic too, and even though none of them got offers for full-on Ranger training, they could handle a couple Harpies.

Too impulsive they said, when he demanded to know why he was being washed out a week before graduating. Can't stay calm under pressure and doesn't listen to orders. They didn't know shit. Randy was Ranger material through and through, and he'd show them. Pushing himself back to his feet, he said, "We got this. We'll take out these Harpies and be hailed as heroes. They went over this in Basic, remember?" Using a video of the Firstborn no less, when he took on a full flock last year with only two wash outs and four townies to help. Well, Randy was here with seven of his friends, all of who passed Basic, so they could handle this no sweat.

Least they should've, if his buddies weren't all slow in the head. None of them remembered what they were supposed to do, so Randy took control and gave them orders. "Rick, you're on the rifle with me. We'll draw them down and I'll Web them up. Eric and Trent, get in cover somewhere close to cover us with your Blastguns. The rest of you, spread out on both sides of the street so you can catch them in a crossfire once they're all caught and stuck."

Easy as 1-2-3. The Firstborn was nothing special, just a fool in a big hat with more and better guns than your average shooter. That's the truth of it, and today, Randy would show it for fact. He had all sorts of job offers, being a Second Order Spellslinger like he was, but he didn't want to guard no caravans. He'd handle these Harpies, get his name and face in the pictures, and the next batch of boots would be watching his video instead of the Firstborn's. They'd give him a name too, like… Rawhide Randy. No, Randall. Rawhide Randall, the quickest shot west of the Divide, that's what they'd say about him. He'd practiced his draw a thousand times in front of the mirror at home, and he'd gun those Harpies down in droves as soon as they were within range. Then the Rangers would rethink their decision not to take him on, and he'd be Ranger Randall, with a badge and everything that came with it. The power, the respect, the money. This was just the start of it, the first day of the rest of his life.

All he had to do was kill a few Harpies.

Or more than a few maybe, as he glanced up at the dark cloud of winged Abby who'd closed the distrance a whole lot faster than he thought they could. They were already in rifle range, so if he didn't act soon, someone else might swoop in to steal his thunder. It'd be easy as pie, because them Harpies weren't nothing more than ugly children with wings instead of arms and talons instead of toes. Winged Gobbos pretty much, so he raised his rifle to his shoulder, aimed down his iron sights, and took a shot. The boom-snap of his rifle set his ears to ringing, and he cursed under his breath as he cast Hearing Protection. Didn't see any corpse falling out of the sky, but he worked the bolt to chamber a new round and took aim again. The people on the streets were all yelling and screaming, which made it really hard to focus and spoiled his aim when he took his second shot.

Scowling at the crowd all around him, he wanted to yell at them to pipe down and get out of the way, but that wouldn't play well with the video. Instead, he chambered another round and raised his rifle just in time to see a Harpy fall out of the sky. "I got one!" Rick yelled, whooping for joy before taking another shot and downing a second Harpy. "Now we're cooking with Aether!"

"Yeah, good for you," Randy said, exhaling as he put the backwater hillbilly out of mind. Rick grew up in the woods where he had to hunt to put fresh meat on his table, so he was a pretty decent shot with a rifle. Terrible at everything else though, and whined all the time, so Randy could see why the Rangers didn't want him. Whatever. Randy was a pretty good shot too, and his rifle was a Fireforge 2210, cutting edge tech unlike Rick's shabby Taz 98. Sure the other man's rifle was more accurate, but it lacked the stopping power of the Fireforge which could bring down an Orc in a single shot.

A Harpy too, as he scored his first kill and let out a whoop of celebration. He shot again, and got another kill, only to scowl as he racked the bolt and found his clip empty. Five shots spent all too quickly, and just as he was getting in the groove. Reaching for a clip on his belt, he glanced up at the flock of Harpies and froze in place when he saw how damned close they were, diving down on his position with a chorus of squawks. Ugly little bird fuckers were fast, flapping up a storm to pick up as much speed as possible. The Web Spell, he had to cast it now, so Randy dropped his clip and rummaged through his pouch for the wad of spiderweb he knew was in there. It was folded up in a wad of wax paper he'd seen just this morning, but he couldn't feel it and the Harpies were getting real damn close.

Dropping his rifle to let it hang on the sling, Randy tore his eyes away from the flock and threw open his pouch to look for the wad of spiderweb, tossing out bits and bobs until he finally found what he needed. Pulling the sticky mass out from the wax paper, he tried to discard it only to find it was stuck fast to his fingers, with most of the web still inside. No matter. He was touching it, and that's all that mattered, so he exhaled to calm his nerves, grabbed his Widen Metamagic Rod off his belt, went over the chant in his head, then turned to his target, the steel poles jutting out the sides of the pillars that lined every major street in New Hope.

"Captura – Hostem," he intoned, just as the Harpies overhead were tucking their wings to dive down from on high. "Retine – Tela!" Capture the Foe, Restrain with the Web, that's what the chant meant, and Randy cast his Second Order Spell perfectly, stretching it out between four poles right over top of his head. Wasn't perfect coverage, as they said it was best to stand closer to the back of your web to catch Harpies swooping down on you from the front, but it was close enough to not matter.

Or at least that's what he thought, until he realized he'd thrown the Web up far too early in spite of that Harpy speed. He'd forgotten that part, to time it to pop up just before they hit, because Harpies weren't just fast. They were keen-eyed and highly maneuverable too, even at top speeds, and Randy's stomach dropped as he watched the Harpies stop well short of his Web and swoop down to street level on either side of his Spell.

A street where Randy and his friends were now trapped on, alongside a bunch of civilians who had yet to find cover in one of the nearby stores. The Harpy closet to Randy grinned and bared its dark-stained fangs as its beady eyes bore a hole through him, giving him the same look the Firstborn had. It wasn't seeing a living, breathing Randy. No, it was looking at a dead man as it relished the butchery and bloodshed to come, a slaughter it kicked off by letting loose with an unholy screech.

In reply, the crowd screamed as one as chaos broke out and Randy turned to run while wondering how things had gone so wrong. A calm, quiet voice in the back of his head gave him the answer, told him that he'd forgotten the most important part of the plan. Wait until the streets were clear before bringing the Harpies down on top of you, because otherwise, you won't have clear lines of fire.

Too little, too late, for the Harpies were already upon them, and Randy had nowhere left to run.

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

The booming shot of a rifle rings out from behind, and I curse the shooter for a fool. "Too soon," I growl, glancing back towards the source of the sound while picking up my pace. Barely been a minute since the sirens sounded, so most people were still out in the streets. Didn't everyone like to take cover in the closest building, because not all buildings were equal. Sure, every shop on the main thoroughfare has got Aberrtin-reinforced glass windows and steel framed doors, but that don't hold true for the rest of the town. Even then, there are certain shops that just barely meet standards, and others that have been fortified above and beyond what's expected, and that's where folks like to hunker down. The bank, the jewellery stores, and Mr. Kalthoff's gunstore to name a few, while me and Chrissy were headed for Mrs. Dawson's Chicago Style Confectionary Store.

Not because it's particularly defensible. It ain't the worst, but it ain't the best. I just figured we could have some ice cream or something while we waited things out.

Beggars can't be choosers though, so I make a beeline for the closest door as soon I hear some fool kick things off much too early. One which is locked tight, so I pound on the door thrice while trying to look up at the skies. Can't see much, as the sidewalks are covered in awnings, but I can hear the distant screeches growing not so distant right quick. Tearing my eyes away from the skies, I pound on the door again and peer inside, only to see some scared townies all standing around tables of merchandise like mindless fools and refusing to look up. Cowards one and all, but yelling will only bring unwanted attention, so I snarl and bring Chrissy with me to the next door over and pound on that. This time, I look in as I do, I see some gent move towards the door, only to stop in his tracks when he sees who it is. The son of a bitch backs away like he seen the Devil himself standing outside and shakes his head, like he thinks I'm the reason the sirens are sounding.

Rather than stand around and argue, I pull Chrissy along to get as far from the fighting as possible, because I hear screaming coming from behind and know there gonna be a crowd of runners coming soon enough. Right on cue, screams sound out from much too close behind, and I glance back to see a crowd of panicked faces rounding the corner some 75 meters away, with a flock of flapping Harpies right on their six. My heart drops to see it, because this is turning into a real Charlie Foxtrot, with no one doing things right. Not the fools who shot too early, the gawkers who stuck around while they did, and the selfish assholes refusing to open up their doors while panicked runners pound on their doors in desperation.

Well… now that the Harpies are here, I can sorta understand it. Don't mean I agree, because they still heartless cowards who'd rather watch people die than lift a finger to help, but I get it. Not everyone can face their fears and go toe to toe with Abby, so they bury their heads in the sand and tell themselves lies like, "There wasn't nothing I could've done."

Ain't true for me though, and I don't much like lying to myself, so I point at a door and say, "Cowie, crack it open!" Smart bull that he is, my partner does a little hop, a big pivot, then kicks back with both hind legs to smash the reinforced door open without shattering it completely. The bent frame don't look like it gonna close properly, but it'll do in a pinch so long as it's barred. Grabbing my hatchet, I stride in with my Shield raised and glower at the fools taking cover in the clothing store who didn't do nothing to help anyone out. Once I'm sure they ain't gonna shoot, I pull Chrissy in and face her directly to Sign and say, "Can you cast an Illusion to make it look like the door is closed and locked? No, just hide the door, make it all look like solid wall."

She can do the first, but Harpies be dumb enough to pound on doors regardless, to say nothing of panicked people. Some of whom are running in to take shelter while those who were here mutter and cry about how I done killed them all, but I shut their bellyaching out and look to Cowie. "Protect Chrissy," I say, because even though I can ignore the complaints, I can't shut out the screams and shrieks from victims and Harpies alike, no matter how much I want to.

No, I don't want to shut those screams out. I'm not a man who buries his head in the sand, and I ain't gonna hide in here with these fools while people die outside. Not if I can do something about it.

As I turn to leave, I get caught on Chrissy who's still clinging to my sleeve. Turning to reassure her, I'm met with a worried gaze that's wholly in the present, one that's looking at me in and nothing else. She ain't scared for her safety; no, her only concern is mine, because she knows good and well what I mean to do. "No guns," she says, just to hammer home what I already know, that she's more aware of what's going on than most give her credit for. She knows good and well I can handle some Harpies, as she didn't make no fuss last year, but now she also knows I don't got no weapons, making it that much more dangerous for me.

"Don't you worry about a thing," I say, giving her a smile and wink while enjoying this rare expression even if it's a worried one. "I don't need no guns to handle them Harpies." Freeing my sleeve from her grasp, I give her nose to tap with my Wildshaped Hand and say, "Love you lots," to Chrissy and Cowie both before finally turning to stride out the shop.

Closing the bent and cracked steel door behind me, I draw upon the Longstrider Spell stored in my boot as the Illusion closes in around me. Hopping to right quick to keep the Illusion from being spotted, I run out into the middle of the road while closing out all thoughts and worries about Chrissy. Can't sit in there and watch people die in droves, so I can't afford to be distracted by her presence there. Just gotta hope for the best and pray her Illusion holds and that the folks inside are smart enough to barricade the door. Should've told them to do as much, but there ain't no time to double back because I'm already in the thick of it. The Harpies ain't made it this far, but there are too many people out here, all running willy-nilly in the open instead of staying under the eaves which were built specifically to keep Harpies and other Abby on the open streets. Won't stop them from killing someone on the sidewalk, but it limits their avenues of approach, meaning they will typically go after easier targets instead of trying to run or fly in the tight confines.

So my best move here is to give them an easy target and distract them from the rest. Seeing how the crowded streets ain't an option, that only leaves the roof. Angling my Shield to give myself a boost, I jump and use it as a platform to jump a second time before grabbing the edge of the eaves. One hand is all I got to spare since I'm still holding my hatchet, but it's my stronger Wildshaped Hand that hurts something fierce as I feel the rough wood and steel sheets bit deep into my 'skin'. No matter though, because I got the handhold, my Shield underneath provides the footing needed to pull myself up. Soon as I'm up, I get to running again, only this time, my boots hammer home onto solid wood and thick steel underfoot. These eaves were built to not only provide cover, but as an alternate avenue of travel if there be Abby in the streets. Let's shooters take position up here and rain Bolts down from above, which don't work too too well against flying Harpies, especially when you don't got no guns to shoot with. Or Big Spells to wreak havoc, to say nothing of my severely limited options in my list of wholly legal prepared Spells.

So with nothing else for it, I Conjure up a Spiritual Weapon as I run, a big old lumber axe that still feels the most familiar to me. While the floating spectral axe takes shape beside me, my Mage Hands reach under my right sleeve to work a clip and free a length of corded steel cable coiled around my wrist and forearm, one that serves multiple purposes as extra heatsink, armour, and emergency whip.

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One handaxe, one magical Spiritual Axe, and a steel cable of a whip that don't got a weight on the end because that would make it a weapon and therefore Illegal to carry. Mr. Tillman even suggested I go as far as to not carry a spare weight I could clip on, because that could be construed as intent to turn said cable into a weapon. Figured I could scavenge something easily, but ain't nothing to use up here on the eaves, so I gotta make do. Hardly what I'd consider heavily armed, and while my Shield is decent enough when it comes to protection, I'd much prefer to use Conjure Armour too, but there ain't no time. The crowd is at my feet and the Harpies not far behind, slaughtering the stragglers with what can only be called malevolent glee as they skewer body after body with their taloned toes. Running headlong towards them, I reach for a Cantrip I rarely ever use, but one I seen Tina and Clayton use to good effect. "Hey Ugly!" I Intone, directing the full force of my Vicious Mockery at the largest and ugliest Harpy I can see. "You ain't nothin' but a duck with delusions of grandeur!"

Not my best insult, but it's not like Abby can understand me. The Cantrip translates my ire well enough though, and while it don't do much in the way of Mental Damage, the real juice comes from the fact that the attack grabs the Harpy's attention good and well. Not as well as if I'd used a First Order Taunt, and it only affects the one instead of the whole crowd like with Challenging Shout, but that's why I picked out the biggest one. When Harpies get all worked up like they are, they'll kill anything in sight unless ordered to go after one target in particular, and the bigger the Harpy, the higher up they sit in the hierarchy. So when Big Ugly opens up his fanged mouth and squawks up a big fuss over my Vicious Mockery, I become public enemy number one just like I'd hoped.

A smaller Harper is quickest on the draw and soars up to skewer me, but my steel cable is ready and waiting to strike it down with a snap and a crack. Don't even need no Living Whip Cantrip to do it, as the cable is heavy and short enough to move like a flexible club. Letting out a whoop as I run back towards the source of the shots, ones which have died down alongside the shooters in an effort try to draw as many Harpies away and give them runners a fighting chance. Fuckers don't deserve my help, not them or the cowards hiding inside the stores on either side of the street and refuse to open up their doors to let people in, but I saw trouble a coming and I just acted. I just can't help it. I see something, I do something, and today, that means taking on a flock of Harpies in hand to hand.

Which is a whole lot harder than it sounds, as I find out for myself. For one, a whip is a terrible close combat weapon as you need a lot or time and room to make good use of it. You can't just wave it around, you gotta draw it back, throw it forward, and account for the lag time between where you aiming and how long it take the tip of your whip to get there. In the end, the whip don't whip, and I just flail my steel cable about with minimal effect a few times to keep them Abby at bay. Not to say no effect, as even without the crack of the whip, I can put enough force into the cable to shift a Harpy in flight. Won't kill it without a lucky hit, but moving it out of my path or diverting its taloned lunge is easy enough as I run along the rooftops and deeper into the flock.

Once there are enough Harpies gathered around, I unleash the Living Whip Cantrip I just been waiting to unleash. "Serpite – Ligate – Flagellum!" I Intone, raising my right arm overhead and twirling the cable in a big loop as the Cantrip takes effect, propelling the whip faster than I can pull it like it got a life of its own. The limp noodle of a cable stretches and stiffens until I might as well be twirling a solid steel staff, one that snaps talons and breaks bones as I spin it right round like a record right round and smash every Harpy in reach. Then the Cantrip plays itself out and I'm left with a flaccid cable once again, with two and a half seconds to go before I can use it again. Not bad as far as refractory periods go, but it feels like a lifetime exposed up on this rooftop without a gun in hand.

To make matters worse, them Harpies are proper blooded and bothered, whipped up into a feeding frenzy with no concern at all for their self-preservation. All they see is a challenger for their prize, the feast of corpses on the streets below which they have yet to wholly partake in. Don't need no more Vicious Mockeries to get their attention now, because as the only living target in sight, they're all locked in and spoiling to tear me limb from limb.

So far, so good, though I admit that my plan kind of falls flat here. Run in, get their attention, and kill them all, that's how I figured this would go, and while I've succeeded in steps one and two, step three is proving to be a real doozy as I duck, dodge, and dive to avoid a swooping Harpy that almost skewers me clean through. Already said that falling is a death sentence in most fights, and it holds true here, so I tuck, roll, and come back up to my feet without losing much of any speed as I continue my mad dash into the thick of things.

Gotta keep moving, because if I slow or stop, them Harpies will swarm me from all sides and that'll be all she wrote. Even running like I am, I gotta keep my Shield up and ready to divert any dive bombers just enough for me to eke on by. Soon as I can cast the Cantrip again, I use Living Whip to send my steel cable darting out at the closet Harpy like a striking snake. Misses the head on strike as the Harpy swoops aside, but a little quick thinking lets me use the remainder of the Cantrip to wrap my weapon around its wing. Caught good and well, I pivot about while running and use my body like a fulcrum as I spin my captive Abby about like a shotput. Only get a full rotation and maybe another half before the cable unfurls and sends the Harpy hurtling away into the air, but I hit at least five others in the process and must've broke a fair few bones.

Not to mention the arm of my unwilling assistant, and the sight of it succumbing to gravity puts a smile on my face. Or rather it would've if I wasn't already grinning from ear to ear. I don't get it sometimes. I got no lost love for this town, no patience for the townies who don't know their ass from their elbows, and no reason to risk my neck for any of them. Thing is, as soon as saw people in trouble, everything changed. They wasn't the idiots I don't care to put up with, or the townies who Exiled me after skipping town on the Mindspire. They was just normal, everyday folk who needed my help, and I was moving to provide it without so much as a second thought.

Wasn't because I wanted to save them. Not really. I just saw there was something I could do, something I wanted to do, and I done did it. Helps that I'm enjoying myself so much, as I knew I would. Fact is, I'm having more fun than usual, because while fighting in melee is still stupid if you got a good ranged option, I can't deny how satisfying it be. There's a visceral feedback you just don't get from shooting something dead, not even in close range. Every strike of my whip takes as much effort I can muster, and I get to channel all the rage and adrenaline into it. Then there's the tactile sensation of carving through flesh and rebounding off bone as I fight my way clear through the flock. The meaty thunk of my hatchet in the face of a Harpy, the grotesque squelch of another getting carved up by my Spiritual Axe, the satisfying ting of my spectral blue Shield as I deflect yet another thrusting strike. It's a world of sensations I knew were out there, but it all blends together into a frantic percussive melody that sets my heart to singing.

And my body to sweating as I realize I ain't built for this. I can march with the best of them, but this is a whole different sort of beast, a fast, frenetic pace of fighting that has got me panting right quick. Even though I ain't been at it for long, my arms are feeling heavier than usual and my legs like rubber, so much so I'm afraid to stop running for fear of just collapsing in place. Pushed myself too hard too fast and I just ain't used to it, but now ain't the time or place for a quick breather. Nothing to do but go onwards and upwards as I run, jump, and slide about the rooftops amidst a flock of screeching Harpies.

"Serpite," I Intone, making ready for another cast of Living Whip as I bring the steel cable around, only to stop myself short as I catch a whole lot of drag. Not enough to pull me down, but slows me plenty as I glance back and spot a Harpy with both talons latched onto my whip while flapping its wings in a frantic effort to haul me away. I'm a bit too fast and too heavy for its slim and slender build though, as my gaunt frame is packed with corded muscle that puts me at a buck thirty-five without so much as an ounce of fat. Still a Lightweight in terms of boxing, but I can punch well above my weight class when I want to.

Unfortunately, this ain't the boxing ring, so I gots more than one opponent against me. While the Harpy drags back on my cable, a second grapples my Shield with talons and fangs, leaving a third free to come up in front of me and line up its strike. While it does that, I toss my hatchet straight up to twirl right by my head before reaching up to grab the handle, shifting my grip from the midsection of the haft to the knob down low. Bit fancy is what that is, but it's faster than raising the hatchet up and letting my fingers slide down before launching it at my foe. Which is what I do, with a quick one-two snap that sends the blade hurtling end over end and striking the Harpy butt first. Not great, but the solid wood haft has got some heft to it and dazes my target. Its legs drop and my shoulder goes down as I dive right at it like an offensive lineman at an unprotected QB.

With one Harpy in front of me, another beside me, and third dragged along for the ride, I soar up into the air and right off the roof. Rather than the Featherfall stored in my other boot, I push a Spell through my Metamagic Bead Bracelet to Eschew Materials as I Intone, "Ad – Astra – Saltu!"

To the stars, with a leap.

Don't ask me how the Spell works, because Transmutation be the School of Magic that bends the most laws of physics. Don't break them, but works around them in ways even experts struggle to understand much less explain. All's I can tell you is what it does, even though it seems self explanatory. The Spell is called Jump, and that's what it does. More specifically, it lets you jump up to three times higher than normal, so if you got a two-foot vertical, you can go up to six with the Spell. Even better, the Spell lets you do that safely, meaning you won't get hurt by the six-foot drop. What goes up, must come down, that's what Newton taught us all, and the Jump Spell lets you do both without hurting yourself.

Now granted, the awnings in New Hope measure closer to nine feet high, but I figure can survive a three-foot drop.

In the calm moments before I shoulder tackle a Harpy to the cobblestone streets, it occurs to me that physics is probably slightly more complex than I'm making it out to be, but it's too late for regrets now. All that's left is to tuck my head, grit my teeth, and ride the recoil as I bounce off the main thoroughfare and hurt my shoulder something fierce doing it. The Harpy I tackled helped cushion the blow at the cost of its ribs and spine, and the sudden stop of my Shield which is anchored to my flank slingshots the Harpy clawing at it into the ground too. Last but not least is the Harpy caught on my fishing line, who gets a first-hand lesson in another one of Newton's Laws. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, so even though I stopped when I hit the ground, my cable keeps going, and the Harpy clinging grimly to the other end refuses to let go even after it splatters and bounces off the stone street.

"Whoo!" I shout as I roll to my feet, ironically feeling more alive than usual while so very close to death. I don't stand around and celebrate though, as I get to moving quick as I can, dropping the cable and moving towards a body on the side of the street clutching a Blastgun that could come in real handy right about now. Checking the double barrelled Blastgun while my other Mage Hand grabs the ammo pouch off the unfortunate casualty, I move and reload while taking stock of what happened. The body is one of that rat-faced fucks friends, so I can more or less figure out what went down. They figured they could handle the Harpies and went about it in all the wrong ways, and now I gotta clean up their mess.

Least I enjoy this sort of cleaning, unlike the mopping, scrubbing, and sweeping sort. Not one to waste a Spell, I get to bounding off down the street once I got the gun and ammo both, but I still gotta reload it. This breech-loading Blastgun is similar enough to my Forzares though, so it don't take long to puzzle it out as I snap the barrel shut atop two fresh shells before spinning about mid-jump to give my pursuers the first barrel. The gun's got a satisfying metallic roar and a kick to match, so even though the shells are half-packed and the Metamagics bare bones, the resulting hail of kinetic shard still cuts through the Harpies like a hot knife through butter.

Then I land on the stones and decide I'm done running for today.

I set off the second barrel soon as there a crowd big enough to warrant it, while upcasting my Mage Hands to Third Order. Flipping the gun around in my grip, I grab the too-warm barrel with both hands and swing it like a baseball bat. Can't help but wince as it cracks a Harpy square in the face, because even though this ain't my Aetherarm, this ain't no real way to treat a workhorse like this Blastgun either. Ain't nothing for it though, and I let out another whoop as I raise my Shield and drive it forward into another Harpy's face. As it drops out of the sky, I gather my feet beneath me and leap up high as I can to avoid yet another charging thrust, before coming right down atop the dazed Abby with both boots to stomp it flat.

Now there's some of that visceral feedback I was talking about. Ain't never pulped an Abby underfoot before, and I gotta say, I don't hate it.

Giving the Blastgun bat a flourish, I swing for the fences to keep the Harpies back, then giving them a Blast with the Aetherarm I sent my Mage Hands to fetch. Really glad it was loaded, because I would've been in trouble if it wasn't as I use this time to reload the Blastgun in my hands and let my Mage Hands cover me with what might well be an empty weapon. The Harpies do be wary though, flitting left and right or hovering up high, so instead of shooting, I hold them at bay with the threat of a Blast or a poke from my Spiritual Weapon while my Mage Hands reload too, but I'm racing against the clock here. There's too many Harpies coming from too many different angles, as they ain't been herded right or restricted by a Web Spell overhead. To make matters worse, I left my hatchet and steel cable behind, so I got four shots and that's it once them Harpies charge in.

A lesser man might lose out to the pressure, but I use this lull to catch my breath while standing in place. Would love to back off, but the second I do, they'll see it as weakness and come for my head. Deep breathes get my wind back right quick, and then a clever Harpy gives out a challenging screech. One taken up by its comrades as them ugly, child-faced bird things succumb to their bloodlust and come swooping in talons first.

Boom-Boom goes the Blastguns, clearing out a good portion of the front runners, then the second barrel from both weapons clear out some more. Not all of them however, including the one that set this all off, as it screamed out and hung back for just this opportunity. This one is smart enough to count, which makes it a genius by Feral standards, and now it knows I got no Blasts left to me. Leading the second wave, it comes at me hard and fast only to meet the barrel of my Blastgun thrown at it like a javelin with force enough to break bones, but there are plenty more Harpies still yet to fight.

And fight I do, anchoring my Shield to my forearm while directing my Spiritual Weapon with my right hand, almost like I'm holding it in place. Didn't know I could do that, but in the heat of the moment, it just felt right. Axe and shield, a combination so natural and normal, it's almost no different from chopping wood or punching with bare knuckles. Not saying I'm fighting like a pro, as I'm making plenty of mistakes. Not enough for the Harpies to capitalize on though as I sidestep their piercing thrusts and ward off their chomping jaws long enough for me to remember I got one more weapon left to me.

Namely my hand itself. Not just the Wildshaped Hand, but the foundation it's built upon as I leave the Spiritual Weapon to do its thing as I punch the closest Harpy in the face and run the Script to activate the newest contraption I done stuffed into my prosthetic, a cattle-prod juiced up to the gills that delivers enough volts to light up the Harpy inside and out. Make no mistake. I didn't just slap a cattle-prod into my hand and call it good. No, I carefully considered how to safely deliver all that Electric damage without having it blow back on me. Suffice it to say that I now got two electrodes that can poke out of my knuckles, with plenty of insulation to ensure the Volts only travel one way. Problem is, I didn't really think about how that would change when my Automaton Prosthetic is sheathed in Ectoplasmic hand, one that for all intents and purposes is the same as my original flesh and blood hand, only superior in almost every way.

Including conductivity it would appear, as I share half the load with my target and shock myself something fierce. My whole body tenses up and spasms out of control before the failsafe kicks in and the unattended Script automatically ends and cuts off the flow of Aether to the cattle prod. Both me and my target are reeling from the shock, but I recover first and punch it with the rim of my Shield before it can gather its wits. That's about the last of the juice I got it seems, as I'm left panting and heaving in the aftermath. Didn't no one ever tell me swinging your arms all about would be so damned tiring, and there are far too many Harpies still left to clear out with a single double-barreled Blastgun wielded by my Mage Hands.

At least I still got my Spiritual Weapon, which gives a little twirl before bisecting a Harpy from crown to stern. Not sure if the flourishes are built right into the Spell, but it's a right fancy bit of handiwork it is, and I do so love to see it. Leaping back to buy me some time and space, I go over my options as the freshly loaded Blastgun lets loose with yet another hail of kinetic shards, but the effect is less than stellar. Still shred a couple, but nowhere near enough as they done learned to steer clear of the gun whenever it's pointed at them. Which is pretty basic stuff, but usually, I'm quick enough on the trigger to catch them anyways. Same can't be said for the Mage Hands, as I ain't used to the long, unwieldy barrel on this standard Blastgun, so it takes a bit of doing to make sure everything's lined up right.

Ain't nothing for it except to use the Blastgun as a bluff, pointing it this way and that to get them Harpies to bobbing and weaving all about, too scared to approach but too bloodthirsty to run away from tired prey. Can't hide the fact that I'm all out of juice, as I'm sweating and heaving like a man dying of thirst. Alls I can do is fight for every second and bring down a few more with me. Ferals, they ain't the smartest of the lot, but they got good instincts, so they know I'm ready to go down swinging and see no reason why they should risk their hides when they so close to the prize. There are no more fly by's or wild thrusts as they dart in and out to test my defenses while watching the Blastgun close. Wouldn't surprise me if they also knew I only have the one shot left, so I make ready to be swarmed by the rest while waiting for an opportunity to inflict the most damage I can with all that I got left.

And then it might be all she wrote, which might not be such a bad end. Go down fighting for the town me and my daddy helped build. Don't love it anymore, and can't stand the people, but I still believe in the message the town is named for. New Hope. That's what every person on the Frontier needs. We been through hard times and face some real steep odds, but so long as we have hope, then we got everything we need. That's what I've been missing out on. Hope. I've just been chugging along for the sake of what I still got, but I've had precious little hope for the future. Even this trip I been planning out west is more for a lack of better options than anything else, as I can't go north or south, and can't be twiddling my thumbs all year at the quay.

Doubt it'll amount to much of anything, but what else am I supposed to do?

This. I want to do this. I want to fight Abby and save people. Not because I care about them, but because it's what I was born to do, what my daddy wanted for me. To bring hope to the people of the Frontier and show them that the next generation of heroes was already here. For a brief, shining moment maybe, as my shining star been plummeting down for some time now, and looks ready to come to a crashing halt right quick. Death at the hands of Harpies. How fucking embarrassing. If I had the Rattlesnake or Shortsword on me, I could clean them up easily by alternating between the pistol and Blastgun, but with only the one Aetherarm to me and next to no offensive Spells to scare the flock off, my options have dwindled away to one.

Go out in a blaze of glory.

So I let out of roar of challenge as I give Abby the last barrel before grabbing it like a club and charging right into the fray. Gotta say, swatting a Harpy out the air with only one hand is satisfying as can be, and I'm glad I get to experience it before the end. Then I experience it again as I club another, and again, and again, and again as I fight for my life amidst a flurry of wings, fangs, and talons aplenty, shouting and laughing all the while because I get to go out doing what I love.

Would have preferred if I was surrounded by Trolls, Bugbears, Razorscythes, Dreadmaws, or some tougher, scarier Abby. Getting got by Harpies is like getting got by Gobbos. It happens more often than you'd think, but it just don't feel all that respectable, you know what I mean?

Just as the press of Harpies grows too thick to fight against, the world ignites in a blaze of fire. Panic overwhelms me as I dive and roll in a frantic effort to escape, only to realize too late that there ain't no heat. Coming back to my feet with a bent and battered Blastgun, I watch the bulk of the Harpies drop over dead from a blaze that sprung up outta nowhere, while Cowie lets loose with a bellowing moo and sets a handful of scattered flyers ablaze. He's a good twenty meters away though, so it wasn't him who saved my bacon, but Chrissy who's sat up on his back hugging a poofed up Frowny looking thrice his regular size thanks to the stacks of Ablative Armour he got over his round, birdy frame. My partner got the horns out too, and he takes it slow and steady as he moves up the street, watching every which way for possible threats as he tries to heed my orders while doing exactly what Chrissy tells him to. Should've known as much, because even though he loves me to bits, he won't ever say no to her or Aunty Ray. Got a soft spot for the fairer sex, and I can't say I blame him for it. Nor can I take issue with Chrissy coming back, because even though her refusal to heed my directions could prove troublesome later on down the road, I can't deny that she done pulled my chestnuts out of the fire today.

Don't know what it is that's going through her head as she studies me close, but as soon as Cowie brings her in, Chrissy slides down from his back and walks on over to my battered and bloodied self. "Dangerous," she says, unable to sign while clutching the oversized Frowny to her chest, and it breaks my heart to see her white knuckled grip on her own wrist give away how scared she really is. "I come with." Nodding like the decision is made, Chrissy sets Frowny back on top of Cowie and stops to watch him pose with wings outstretched. In his mind, it makes him look fierce and intimidating, but I'm pretty sure all it does is set any predators up for disappointment, as there ain't all that much meat on them kiccaw bones.

Warrants a pat form Chrissy though, before she shuffles over to my side and does the same for me. Even Cowie comes over for a snuffle and plaintive moo, which tells me all I need to know. "Well," I drawl, glancing over at the giant pile of Harpies she done took out with a single Phantasmal Force and the remainder of the flock flapping back east with their tails between their legs, "Thanks for the assist, Princess."

Then I lean against Cowie, close my eyes to rest, and things get fuzzy for a bit.