Firstborn of the Frontier

Rage is powerful emotion.

One that's saved my skin in the moment a fair few times. The anger comes alive and sharpens your thoughts as you hyperfocus on the target or targets of your ire, and time seems to slow for a bit. You envision what you want to happen, replay it over and over again as your anger builds up into a torrent of fury that erupts into violence and bloodshed. It even helps to shield you from your doubts and repercussions of your actions, right then and there as well as after the fact. Me, I feel bad shooting bunnies, bramble elk, and chitter rats because they only doing their best to live their lives. I'd feel bad for shooting people too if not for the rage to colour my intentions and paint the world in black and white.

They made me angry, gave me good reason to kill them, so they done brung it on themselves. That's how I see it at least, the baseline for that justification I lean so heavily on.

Killing them Vanguard National thugs was cut and dry as could be, whether it be Franky, Jacob Senior, or any of them other gangsters. Them women and children though? Them groupies and wannabes? That's about as grey as it gets, but to this day, I ain't felt so much as an ounce of remorse. See, Ron didn't want no beef with me; was ready to call it even stevens after hanging a 70 grand debt around my neck. Jacob though? He wanted his pound of flesh, and Ron had to go along with because he needed his Sergeant at Arms and his gunsmith Jacob Jr.

So I get into the ring and win a fight I ain't supposed to win, and what happens? The crowd gets ugly. Not just the men who laid a beatdown on me, but them women and children too as they egged their people on. Cheered when Franky chopped my hand off, and they cheered even harder when he held my severed hand up over his head. Wasn't no one looking away, hiding their disgust, or appearing even vaguely sympathetic, so they was part and parcel of the cause, and I ain't lost a second of sleep from killing them all with a Fireball.

Say it wasn't me who got my hand chopped off though. Say it was someone else, someone I didn't know, and I seen it all go down. I'd still be angry and disgusted, but I dunno if I would've had it in me to kill them all out of hand. Not then and there, and if I had, I'd've regretted it every second since. Not because it didn't need doing. They was criminal filth who were all too happy to see the world burn so long as they was drunk or drugged up for it.

Still people though, and if it wasn't me in the middle of the crowd, I might've been inclined to say that fellow with the smart mouth maybe had it coming.

The rage though? It protects me from my empathy, because I didn't kill no people in that Vanguard National bunker there. I killed a bunch of rabid fucking animals who didn't deserve the air they was breathing. I performed a service for the Frontier putting them down, but even knowing all that, I'd've balked at the prospect of doing it the way I did if I hadn't been consumed with rage. Wouldn't have bothered to piss on them if they was on fire, but they was people all the same, and you don't go killing people en masse without justification. That's empathy for you, the only proof I got that I ain't a psychopath like so many newspaper articles suggest I might be.

Course, I don't let my anger control me. Just look at Wayne, who earned himself a Bolt several times over, but I held off because he had a badge. Conner I'm less convinced about, but my anger keeps me from feeling all too bad about doing what needed to be done. Don't mean I got no regrets, as I do wonder if there was any way I could've spared him if I'd've done things different. Probably not, seeing how he showed his true colours at the end there. Wasn't concerned about me or my missing hand, just how he was gonna cover his ass. That betrayal there hurt more than everything else he done up to that point, and the rage which stemmed from it sealed his fate.

Yeah, I do some of my best work when I'm angry. The Vanguard National slaughter. The battle in Brightpick and cleaning out the Puglianos. My standoff against a Sword Saint in the Badlands. All carried out in the throes of rage, and without that anger to sharpen my focus and fuel my resolve, then I'm not entirely sure I could've pulled it off. Say things were different. Say I take a spill down into an Abby tunnel and break my leg. Could I focus enough to throw out a Fireball in record time mere moments after the fact? Or say I'm going about my day shopping, and I got Barkskin on for whatever reason. Could I tank three Bolts to the back without passing out, then go about the rest of my day like normal? I think the best proof is the fact that I've yet to replicate my success against the Sword Saint in regular practice. While the Shortsword ain't the Rattlesnake and I'm still getting used to the new gun, I've had about 8 weeks with it and still ain't nowhere close to hitting two targets with two rapid-fire triple shots at the same range. Some of it is unfamiliarity, but how much was the anger and rage keeping me calm and focused in the moment?

A whole lot, which is why I ain't ever thought of myself having anger issues. I've got troubles keeping my temper in check sure, but that ain't so much an issue and more of a frustration. If I gotta keep my anger in check, it means whoever's angered me ain't done enough to deserve a Bolt to the chest, and I just gotta deal with it. Thing is, I thought I had a handle on it, and up until now, I mostly have, but only because I ain't ever been angered enough in a way that don't justify a killing spree.

Have now though, and I can't say I like it much. It's been the better part of a week since I spent the night in jail for risking my neck to save lives in a Harpy attack, and that anger is still burning in my chest. Feels like my heart's being squeezed from all sides and my shoulders ache from being so tense all the time. Been grinding my teeth more often of late, enough so I've had to crush up animal bones, fish scales, and pearl dust to use as a material component to Mend the damage in the mornings. Can't fix a full-on cracked tooth, because Mending don't work on the organic, but it does a fair enough job against chipped or dulled teeth and cavities so long as you get to it quick enough and keep up with the Mending.

And all that is just the physical aspects of my rage revealing itself. I can feel myself slipping whenever I think about it, how I done been disrespected, disregarded, and full on challenged by the townsfolks, but I haven't. Gotta keep reminding myself of that fact, because the temptation to do something about it is almost too much to bear. It ain't a pleasant feeling, being wronged like have with no recourse in sight. Don't much like being helpless like this, to be so angry and frustrated and just plain irritated at the world at large, to the point where I almost wish something tragic would happen so I could sit back and watch it all go down.

Which ain't right. I got no cause to be wishing harm on folks who ain't deserved it. If something should happen later on down the line, I won't lift a finger for anyone but me and mine. That ain't changed, except I been thinking about it and I got a lot of people I want to see safe. Not just Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray. There's my friends of course, like Danny, Marijke, Mr. Kalthoff, Miles, and more. Wouldn't want nothing to happen to Uncle Art and Aunty Rita, or the good doctors, nurses, and other healthcare workers at the hospital even if they badmouth me in their off time. I'd hate to see anything bad happen to Anita the grocer, Trevor the cobbler, Ms. Dawson the confectioner, or Scowling Shirley the chef at the British Pub/American Diner. Hamish the Butcher killed two men in a brawl back during the Madness, but he still a good man who I done my best to support after he been blacklisted by most of town. While Olav the drunk might not be good for much, he stepped up to help me out last year when I handled them Harpies with Errol and Sarah Jay, and Shirley says she owes him her life after he done stepped in to stop a Maddened mob from beating her to dead.

Lot of good people in New Hope. Many of whom I ain't interacted with, because in a town of thousands, there's only so much interaction I can stomach even when I'm in good standing. Don't none of them deserve any of the wickedness I been wishing upon the town in my darkest hours, and I don't much like who I am when I come out of that fugue. Feels like I'm a loaded gun with a finger sitting heavy on the trigger, just one soft poke away from going off in the hand, and I fear for anyone in my path if or when it happens.

And I worry it's more when than if. How am I supposed to resolve all this rage and hatred for a town that wronged me so? Wouldn't even be all that bad if it wasn't the town I grew up it, a town my daddy helped build from the ground up, because it's the things we love that can hurt us the most. And make no mistake. I still love New Hope, but not the town as it is. I miss the place it was before my daddy died, before I was subjected to the staggering indifference which followed in the wake of his death and post-humous discharge from the organization he'd devoted his life to. I miss the place I grew up in and called home, a town which wasn't perfect, but was mine all the same.

That town is gone though, dead and never to return. Ain't nothing to be done about it either, nothing besides mourn. There's no one to blame for it, no one to take vengeance against, no wrongs to right or injustices to balance out. All I got left to me is my rage, which I cling onto with all I'm worth because I know it's keeping me from being washed away by the deluge of despair threatening to down me beneath its roiling waves.

Ain't nothing to be done about it though, nothing besides accept things as they stand and move on. Least that's what I keep telling myself, but my rage won't let it go and keeps dragging me back to soak in the sea of despair. Keeps me tethered to it too, because while it's what keeping me afloat, it's also building up off all that pain and hurt to grow bigger and badder until it's almost a blaze out of control. Well, good thing I got plenty to keep me busy up at the quay, most of which is getting the Longhorn Belle ship shape. My catamaran was brand new when I bought it, but that don't mean it wholly fit as fiddle and good for a long trip. Gotta take care of your gear, and it'll take care of you, that's what Uncle Raleigh taught me. Even if it ain't nothing but socks or underwear, you gotta treat it right. Socks with holes won't keep you warm, no more than skivvies with streaks will protect your dignity, and the same applies to everything else. Guns, wagons, armour, and yeah, stupid fucking boats made out of wood which rots in water and is made out of trees.

That ain't fair to the Longhorn Belle, as she's as fine a vessel as any, but like I said, I might have anger issues that need dealing with. Got me a whole checklist of things to look at and problems to solve, and most of it got to do with the boat. What makes it more frustrating is how this is all unfamiliar territory. If I was heading west in the wagon, I'd know exactly what needs to be done or planned for, but with the boat, I'm learning as I go without no one to help me out. I got me some oars and paddles for navigating tricksy bends, with spares packed away just in case. Then I carved out some poles for moving through shallow waters, whether it be to push the ship along or sweep for obstructions. Next was braiding a metric butt-ton of rope in multiple materials, lengths, and thicknesses, because you can't moor with the same rope you tow with or hang a sail from. Packed some pit and tar to get me out of a jam, and added spare planks, nails, pegs, hammer, and a saw into my repair kit, alongside more canvas and oilcloth than I care to measure.

That's the vital stuff, and next comes the important things. Like fishing gear to keep us fed and happy along the way, so a rod, line, hooks, traps, and netting. A bigger first aid kit because I got more people incoming, and writing implements in case I gotta fill out any paperwork or care to do some translating in my off time. A signal horn for sounding off in fog, because my cowbell ain't gonna cut it, and a high-pitched whistle just because sometimes you really gotta drill a man's ear before he'll look up and listen. Got some mosquito netting too, because while Protection from Insects works a wonder, all it do is dissuade them six-legged varmints, who might well be tempted to take a bite all the same if you ain't moving around much, like when you fast asleep in the dead of night.

The list goes on and on, and I keep adding to it and having to rearrange things so I got room enough for food and luggage for six. Yeah, a full six, because Aunty Ray done decided that it might be best to let Chrissy have her way, which terrifies me to no end. Yeah, I know I said that it might not be too too bad, but the worst-case scenario ain't an outcome I care to imagine, and I don't know what I'd do if it ever came to pass. Don't think I could live with myself if Chrissy came to harm because of me, and any injury or discomfort she experiences on this trip will be all my fault. Only reason she's coming along is because she got it into her head that I need someone to watch my back, and truth is, I really do. It's also true that Chrissy probably ain't the best person for the job, but with the Askefjords and Elodie coming along for my first trip out west, I'm thinking I won't want to rock the boat too too much and just see what's what, so maybe bringing Chrissy along won't be all that bad.

That's the hope at least, and if things start looking south, I ain't against turning right around and heading home. Discretion is the better part of valour after all, and I done learned there are some fights best left unfought.

That said, I'm eager to get gone as quick as I can, so I put in the hours while keeping an eye on the reports coming from downriver. While it's safe enough to set sail even in the winter, I ain't experienced enough a sailor to try my hand at it. For the same reason, I'm leery of heading out right after all the ice done melted, as the Wayfarer is a fast-flowing river even in the best of times, and mid-March is far from them. Course, April ain't any better what with it being the rainy season, but I only need 5 days of fair weather to make it from the quay to the West Coast. Call it 7 so I can take my time and make it up to the Deadlands beyond, and I'm fairly confident about making the trip without overturning my catamaran.

Especially when I see that Gunnar knows a thing or two about sailing. Only got seven fingers to him, so he ain't much good at tying knots, but he knows enough to stay out of the way and even help out a bit when needed as I teach him, Harald, Astrid, and Elodie how to handle the ship. Taking on passengers is one thing, but since we gonna be on the water for a fair bit, I want them to at least know how to dock the ship if I happen to go down. Plus I gotta show them what to do in case of emergency, which includes staying low and taking shelter in that order so they don't mess up my sightlines. Ain't a one of them any use in a gunfight, though Astrid is a decent enough shot that I don't mind lending her a Squire and my double-barrelled Dresden Forzares to hang onto while we out and about.

As for Harald? I had to take his gun away from him because he can't be bothered to remember that he's got a loaded weapon in hand. First time he swept me and his sister both with a loaded Aetherarm, I came down on him hard and chewed him out for it, but then he did it again the next time around and I called it quits. He didn't take it personal though, just accepted his failings like it was nothing new and went back to reading his books while I taught his sister how to shoot. That's the thing about Harald I don't much care for. He's got himself all figured out, or at least that's what he thinks. He's good at some things and terrible at most, so he stays in his lane and don't step out, except how's he supposed to get better at something if he don't ever try to improve? Man don't do something perfect first time and chalks his failures up to lack of talent or ability, then sticks to what he knows best because it's safe.

He's still good people though. Can't no one be perfect after all, and at least he done made his mind up about what he wants to do and has set out to do it. Gotta say, I admire his resolve to build upon his daddy's legacy, one Gunnar ain't never set out to accomplish but did so all the same. Never really knew it until recently, but he's something of a hero in the Innate world, a pioneer who built the foundation of a village where anyone and everyone struggling with their Innate nature can show up and find support. Can't be easy, as even in my limited interaction with the people of Providence, I seen more than a few folks who seem a few sandwiches short of a picnic if you know what I mean.

That giant, bark-skinned treeman? His name is, I kid you not, Rowan. Official and everything, before he ate up a Barkskin Spell Core and turned the way he did. Which is bad enough, looking like a tree and all, but he also believes that he can talk to plants. Seems harmless, right? But anyone who knows anything knows that Mother Nature is a stone-cold bitch. Survival of the fittest is her whole entire existence, so don't none of her plants got anything nice to say. Oftentimes, Rowan can be found lost in a haze while leaning up against a tree or squatting next to a bush, and he's been known to mutter about invaders and interlopers trying to take his nutrients and choke him out. In the sense of growth of course, though I can see why some might feel alarmed at an eight-foot tall treeman of a neighbour who does that sort of thing.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Then there's the stripey gilled fish lady, or Meridith as she prefers. She ate a Spell Core that she hadn't Identified, because she didn't know the Cantrip and didn't have anyone she could trust to do it. So she just went for it, because learned firsthand how quickly folks forget their manners out on the wild, untamed Frontier. Turned out to be what she now believes was a Water Breathing Spell Core, which ain't exactly the best Big Spell out there. Yeah, it's Third Order, but if you diving often enough to need the Spell, you probably better off just learning the Spell rather than eating the Spell Core. Even Proggies think that way, which is why Water Breathing ain't a Spell Core you find all that often, but I suppose even Proggies gotta learn some lessons the hard way.

The good news is that even though it's a real niche Spell, Water Breathing is still Third Order. This means the Core got a lot of metaphysical juice, much more than the First Order Ablative Armour Spell Core Frowny ate. Four times more mathematically, but that ain't the point. The point is that don't no one, not even powerful Innates, get a Third Order Spell for their first, even when they eat a Third Order Spell Core. Instead, it gave her one of the nastiest Transmutation Spells around, the much maligned Inflict Wounds. Makes for a right frightening sight it does, infusing the Caster's hands with Necrotic energies that'll rot your flesh away with a touch.

Keep in mind, this is still a Transmutation Spell, not Necromancy. Ain't no such thing as Necromancy. Sure, we got Zombies, Ghouls, Vampires, Liches, and other 'traditional' Undead monsters, but those are all Abby, or Abby inhabiting a corpse, which I suppose I'll see for myself soon enough.

Getting back on track, Meredith made good use of her Inflict Wounds Spell to get out of a tight spot, but that wasn't the end of her troubles. The Spell Core she ate was just too powerful, and for some reason, she was just ill-suited for it. Spent years 'digesting' the Spell Core, for lack of a better word, and the changes escalated from a simple skin colour change to how she is now, a full-on sorta-fish person with gills and scales. Now, that might not seem all that bad, but there are a whole lot of types of fish, and she don't take after the nice ones. No, she got herself a mouthful of needle fangs that's horrific to look at, and a craving for raw flesh which she cannot get away from. Literally, as she tends to throw up anything that been cooked, as it disagrees with her modified internals.

That's why she been chased out of every place she's tried to settle down, all save Providence where Gunnar and his family welcomed her with open arms and don't make her feel like less of a person just because she got some quirks. She's a lovely person all around who knows more about Alter Self than most Spellslingers alive, so she helps Gunnar out with his research while making a living as the village baker. Doesn't eat bread herself, but makes a damn fine loaf of sourdough which is almost always sold out by the time I show up.

Then there's Mr. Elias Thornwick, Certum, the village's resident, bug-eyed Appraiser. I don't know this story for true, but I heard whispers of how his story be the most tragic of all. He didn't choose to become an Innate. He was forced into it, as in literally forced to choke down a Spell Core by men of lacking morals. So lacking that they enslaved him and forced him to work as their Diviner, first as a living Abby Detector, and later on as their own personal Appraiser once he got good enough at it. Again, I don't know how much of the story is true, but I been told that Gunnar's the one who freed him. Sold some product to them slavers and saw poor Elias' plight, so he went to them slavers' enemies and struck some sort of deal to get the man free.

And Elias Thornwick has been living in Providence ever since, doing Appraisals for Gunnar's experimental potions and selling his skills on the side. Said it before and I'll say it again. Can't underestimate anyone out here, as you don't know jack about their dark histories. Or their heroic accomplishments for that matter, because I would've never pegged Gunnar as a hero. He ain't one in the conventional sense, as I tend to think of heroes as gunfighters and Spellslingers who take on all comers and defy the odds. Don't make him any less of one though, and I get the feeling that if I'd've tried to lean on him any harder back in July, he'd've put me in my place. Maybe not right then and there, but Gunnar's got plenty of friends in high and low places, as well as a village full of Innates who'd fight and die for him.

Not because he built Providence and welcomed them into his village. No, they'd fight and die for him because he fights for them every damn day, working hard to not only come up with a way to get their human bodies back, but build them a place where they don't have to hide who they've become. That's what Harald grew up seeing, and it's clear he idolizes his daddy as much as I idolize mine, and the fact that Gunnar don't think of himself as a hero raises my measure of him that much more.

He knows how to handle himself too. Not in a fight, but he travels a fair bit and don't get shot at all that often, so he's doing something right. So long as he keeps Astrid in line, and Astrid keeps Harald from bouncing off the walls or blowing up the boat with an errant experiment, then I ain't all that worried about taking them on as a side job. Fact is, I'm pretty sure that I can get them to the Deadlands safe and sound, which is where they gonna get roadblocked by red tape leaving me free to drop them off with Chrissy, Elodie, and the border guards while I check out the Deadlands with Edward and the Protectorate Knights.

Speaking of Elodie, I dunno how I feel about bringing her along, and still ain't sure when it comes time to leave. Harald, Astrid, and Gunnar stayed the night in one of the spare houses, and Chrissy slept over in the big house with me and Aunty Ray. While she ain't set on moving out here just yet, she did come up for a bit as Momo done had her calf, a sweet bouncing boy who loves to cuddle and needs training so he don't burn the barn down. With me, Chrissy, his mama, or anyone else willing. Or unwilling as is the case with Cowie, since he ain't exactly father of the year material. He tolerates his babies, right up until he fresh out of tolerance about a year in, at which point he'll start making eyes at his daughters in heat or start butting heads with his sons. That's just how bulls be, so I accept my partner's flaws because that's the way God made him, though I do hope he gets along with his latest son since I'd hate to have to keep them in separate ranches.

Mostly because it'd be a longer walk to feed and tend to him. I'm as hard-working as anyone, but that don't mean I like to do it. Hard work is necessary, but it ain't the be all end all solution to your woes, else everyone would be pulling themselves up by their bootstraps instead of toiling away at dead end jobs. You gotta work smart too, and get lucky while you're at it, and even then there ain't no guarantee of success. That's why I ain't made no fuss about Elodie coming with, because after a long farewell between Chrissy and Aunty Ray, we set sail for Carter's to pick the green-haired girlie up and have a word with the stoic, shapeshifting man in private.

"So," I drawl, looking here, there, and everywhere except right in his eyes, which are hard as always and fixed on my face. "Almost time to ship out." Elodie is plenty excited to go on this trip, but also reluctant to leave home as evidenced by her long goodbyes with her tribesmen and Old Tux. I can tell Carter would much rather be there taking part in the teary farewells, but I just gotta know a few things. "I know Miss Amelie said I ain't under no obligation, but I want you to know that I'll do everything I can to bring her home safe and sound."

"I know," Carter replies with a nod. "That is who you are. You would sooner die in her place than return without her." He don't sound none too happy when he says it, which is odd since that seems like a big deal, but he clears it up right quick. "I would rather you avoided danger altogether so that you both returned safely."

"… Fair enough." Can't say I'll do my best to avoid trouble, seeing how the whole point of heading to the Deadlands is to look for trouble. Profitable trouble, but trouble all the same, especially if the Soulless are as tricksy as everyone says they are. Either way, I'm fixing to find out for myself firsthand, so I can't be making no promises I can't keep. Instead, I say, "Well, you know how it is. Sometimes I find trouble, and sometimes trouble finds me." Unsure how to say this next bit, I decide to just go for it and ask, "So if I should happen to run into too much trouble to handle, I'm guessin' you'll be stationed somewhere nearby right?"

Because I know Carter, and there ain't no way he would let his precious daughter run off with a wild child like myself, much less march into the Deadlands without being there to supervise every step of the way.

Rather than give me an even but affirming look, or maybe a huff of almost laughter now that he been found out, Carter grimaces. Which don't look or sound like much, but this is Carter we're talking about. He is not what you would call expressive, so when he do give something away, it usually means it's bad. "I will not be there to watch over Elodie," he says, sounding all sorts of surly about it. "My Amelie has forbidden it. This is our daughter's vision-seeking run, her journey out into the world that will mould her into the woman she will become. It is several years too late by tradition, but I balked at sending her out for reasons you can understand." Crossing his arms as he glances over at Elodie, who's hugging her mama in a cheery but also tearful goodbye, he heaves a sigh that's more than half-growl. "I cannot be there to watch over her. She must strike out on her own to seek the guidance of the Earth Mother and Sky Father, who will not speak to her while I am present. Without their guidance, she might never find her path, her place in our tribe and the world at large, and though I would happily care for her until I am old and grey, there will come a time when she must stand on her own two feet. Better sooner rather than later, or so my Amelie tells me."

All that to say I won't have the Wildshaped backup I was hoping to fall back on should the worst come to pass. Ain't nothing to say though, and Elodie saves me the trouble of coming up with anything as she bounds over and throws herself into her father's arms. "Goodbye papa," she says, sounding sad and excited at the same time. "I am leaving with Howie now, and I will not be back for many days. Weeks even maybe, because he has not said how long he will stay. I will be good and listen to Howie, unless he tells me to do something bad, even if it is for a good reason."

That puts a smile on my face, if only because of the way she says it. I ain't offended either, as Lord knows I've been living in shades of grey for awhile now. Wasn't gonna ask Elodie to whack a man or nothing either, so it's not like it puts a damper on my plans. Nor does any of the other things on Elodie's long list of do's and don'ts which she goes through one at a time while hugging her daddy tight. Carter don't say nothing either, he just smiles and hugs his daughter back as I step away to give them some time alone . Even though he ain't coming along, I wasn't really counting on his presence. Just hoping for it, because that'd give me a little more leeway to work with. Since it'll just be me, I'll just have to be on my best behaviour then and try not to start anything I can't finish all by my lonesome without getting my passengers swept up in the mess.

Which means ignoring the hit from Revolvers Rossi and pissing off the Catteneos. Not that I was planning to do it to start with, as killing an outlaw is one thing, and killing an innocent another. Granted, this Dakota Slim seems like a real piece of work, a Native gun-for-hire with a penchant for taking scalps while their previous owner is still alive. From what little I could dig up, the Feds like him for a number of grisly murders but ain't been able to make anything stick. Aside from that, there ain't much to learn about, as even Rossi's package didn't say nothing about how the man operates, just a recent picture and a map of the town where he hangs his hat.

Doesn't matter though. Even if he is criminal filth, he don't got no bounty and I ain't no hatchet man or vigilante. I done told Rossi as much when all this started, and I ain't about to let him dictate terms like I'm in his pocket. If Dakota Slim gets himself a bounty, I'll take him out with a smile on, but until such a time, he's just a normal citizen just like everybody else.

And if the Catteneo's take issue with that? Then that's their problem unless they make it mine, at which point I wouldn't mind taking them out same as I done the Puglianos. Don't got no Nahuatl Cultist to feed me info, but I bet the Zampanos would be more than happy to point me in the right direction so long as I ask nicely. Or not so nice depending on my mood, as I'm starting to feel like there ain't no point in being on my best behaviour if everyone gonna assume the worst anyways.

Soon as Elodie is done with her long farewell, and I'm done saying goodbye to Old Tux, she wipes away her tears, then bounds on over onto the boat with a big smile. She's sad to leave, but happy to go on the trip, and she wears her emotions on her sleeve as she wraps Chrissy in a big hug and says hi to the Askefjords before realizing she done left all her luggage on the dock and comes back to grab it. Snatches it right out my hand like I'm a scab stealing her work, and I raise my arms in mock surrender while Gunnar watches on with a smile and gives Carter a nod. They've met before, as it turns out Gunnar is the whole reason Carter moved down here to begin with. Couldn't get any more out of either man than that, but I do know the Askefjords know all about Elodie's Wildshaping ways, which is good because she's terrible at keeping secrets.

There's an air of excited energy as we set sail from Carter's dock and head out into Last Chance Lake, with me at the helm, Chrissy, Elodie, and Astrid hanging out by the prow, Gunnar standing up by the boom, and Harald with his red nose buried in a book in the ship's interior while keeping the caged kiccaws company. Stella, Terrance, and Frowny are joining us on this adventure, and Cowie rounds out the last of our party as he takes a seat and leans heavily against my leg to keep me company.

Ain't a bad little group I got here. Not exactly seasoned travellers, and the furthest thing from a crew you could expect, but things are much safer down river than it is along the Highway and beyond. For most, this here lake marks the end of the road, but for us, this is only the beginning. A fresh, new beginning, one full of promise and excitement both. I been down the Wayfarer a fair few times, but it's been years since I last made the trip, so I can't help but look forward to the change of pace and maybe new experiences ahead. Before we really get underway though, there are some things that gotta be said, and best to get that out of the way before we get too far.

"Huddle up," I say, once we're underway and I'm sure we ain't about to crash into no boats in the fog. Takes some doing, as Astrid's gotta run off to coax her brother out into the sun, but soon enough, I got all my passengers hanging off my every word. Well, Elodie and Astrid at least, while Gunnar stands nearby and looks vaguely bored and Chrissy stares down into the water at all the fishies swimming underneath. As for Harald, he's out here but still reading, and much as I want to take the book away and try to hold his attention, I know him well enough to know that it won't change a thing. Man could meet my eyes and nod along with every other word, and won't none of it make it through his thick skull. So long as Astrid hears it though, then that's all that matters I suppose, so we'll just have to make do.

"First off," I begin, wishing I'd've taken some time to think about what I was gonna say. "This ain't no outfit, and I ain't yer bossman or whatever, so you free to do as you please. I'll do my best to keep you safe, but if you go pickin' barfights, don't be expectin' me to bail you out." That gets a chuckle out of Gunnar, who no doubt is thinking if there gonna be bar fight, it'll probably be one I started, but the point still stands. Do as I say, not as I do, because we all seen what happens when others try to be me.

They bring a flock of Harpies down much too early and I get blamed for it because they all dead.

Gesturing at Gunnar, I continue, "I already told your daddy that he can take lead when it comes to talkin', and I'll just play the part of hired muscle. That said, if things start lookin' hairy, then I'll be taking charge, and I need to know you all gonna listen without question." Meeting Astrid's golden eyes, then Elodie's emerald green ones, I realize that if you add in Chrissy and Harald, we got more Innates than regular folk, which isn't all that strange, but not exactly commonplace either. "If I tell you to take cover, then you get low and get to shelter. Inside the cabin is best, as I got the sides reinforced with steel, but if you can't do that, then lying prone on the deck ain't a bad choice."

Mostly because it'll keep them out of my line of fire, or more importantly, our enemies.

"Which brings me to my next point," I say, giving Elodie my full attention. "I ain't gonna ask you to fight, nor do I expect you to." Turning to Astrid, I add, "Fact is, I don't really want you fightin', not even if things look real bad. Ain't either one of you trained, so don't take this the wrong way, but if you do get involved, you're more likely to be a liability than anything else, or worse, get yourself in trouble with the law." Astrid bristles to hear it, but sweet Elodie just nods along with that wide-eyed, innocent expression of hers. "So don't push yourself to do anything besides stay safe. I been ridin' solo for five years now and handled most everything life has thrown at me all by my lonesome, so don't go makin' more work for me."

"I'm not some helpless damsel in distress," Astrid snaps, all but pouting as she does. She got a real slender oval of a face with natural dark outlines around her eyes and lips that gives her a moody look, while her pout makes her look about five years younger and primed for pigtails. Adorable is what it is, not in a fetching sort of way, but the same way Cowie is adorable as he scootches under Elodie's arm for a quick cuddle while we chat.

"I know," I say, striving to sound as calm and cordial as can be. "I'm not saying you can't take care of yourself. I'm telling you to do just that. Look after yourself, your brother, and your daddy, in that order. Me, I can handle my own business, so just stay out of my way." I can already tell she ain't gonna respond well, so I hold my hand out to forestall her argument. "Even if you was Ranger trained like Tina or Sarah Jay, I'd be tellin' you the same. Ain't about your lacking skills, only your lacking experience, so just sit back and let me and your daddy handle things."

Seeing Astrid settle down, I turn to Elodie and ask, "You think you can help keep an eye on Chrissy?"

"Oui," Elodie declares, nodding so emphatically she only gotta do it once. "Mama, she say that I am to be responsible, so I will make sure Chrissy does not get into any trouble." Which is comforting to hear, but as even she speaks, our Princess is leaning over the side of the boat and trying to reach into the water, so I send a Mage Hand over to pull her back a bit. Doesn't take much muscle, just a light tug on her sleeve to remind her to stay inside of the boat, and Chrissy straightens up without further prompting. Gives me a sheepish little glance too, but I got a big smile plastered across my face, even though inwardly I'm sweating more than a little bit. "Also," Elodie adds, putting on her game face which I believe is meant to look mean, but is absolutely adorable as can be, "Mama says that if there is trouble, I am to protect Chrissy and myself, so do not worry."

Honestly, hearing that makes me worry even more. I know Elodie got a whole lot of metaphysical muscle, but her judgement is what concerns me. Last thing I need is for her to get spooked and rip the wrong man's face off, or rabbit into the woods and drag Chrissy with her until I gotta go on a wild goose chase to track them both down. "Thank you Elodie," I say, reaching out to pat her head and getting a big, bright smile in return. "Just remember. Stay low. Get to cover. And maybe throw up a Shield or Force Barrier or something." That last bit gets me a tilt of the head, like she ain't ever heard of the Spells, and truth be told, I'm not sure that she has. Miss Amelie said Elodie is stronger than I know, but she was real light on specifics, and while I know Diamondclaws got an affinity with Abjuration Spells, I'm not sure how much of that transfers over to Elodie when she's Wildshaped into one.

I didn't ask either, because that'd be a faux paus. Most folks falter at telling everyone what they can do, but First Nations are warier than most. Given their history, I'd also be wary about it seeing how the last time they showed strangers what they could do, them strangers waged war against them and drove them from their ancestral homes in an attempted genocide.

"Last thing," I conclude, looking at both girls, then Gunnar to make sure he's paying attention. "If things get real bad, I'll tell you all to scatter, and you best get to it right quick." Gunnar nods like it's only to be expected, but for the first time since we decided to set out on this trip, the gravity of the situation seems to sink in for Astrid. Again, Elodie takes things in stride and nods along while glancing at Chrissy to say she'll look after her too, and grateful as I am for the sentiment, I'm hoping it won't get that bad.

Let's be real though. I make my living along the Eastern Front, going in and out of the badlands and Coral Desert both where Independents and Outlaws alike call home. In contrast, everything down river seems easy breezy as can be, with plenty of Ranger patrols sailing up and down the Wayfarer to protect the cargo ships bringing goods and materials to Ranger HQ and the prosperous towns all around it. When you get right down to it, the Deadlands aside, everything West of New Hope is down right settled and civilized, so how tough could this trip really be?