Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Elijah narrowed his eyes at the young teenage girl he had ‘rescued’ from the literal house of horrors. She sat hugging her knees on a cart, her eyes bulging out of her head as she stared into the distance.

He couldn’t quite imagine what was going through her mind. The trauma, the fear, the sheer weight of having lost everything in such a brutal, senseless fashion. It was a familiar scene to Elijah. He had seen similar scenes in Iraq and Syria, where ISIS's reign of terror had left indelible scars on countless lives. Villages were destroyed, families were torn apart, and the haunting presence of slave markets where human lives were traded like commodities.

As he looked around at the burning village, Elijah saw innumerable faces overwhelmed with a sense of deep helplessness. These were not soldiers, they were just regular ol’ people trying to live their lives, and the people charged to protect them and their way of life turned out to be their worst enemy.

Fate would have it, said hostile force turned out to be the only lifeline these villagers had.

Sure the special forces team had ulterior motives, but they were still offering tangible help and compassion to those who had just faced the unimaginable. And Elijah was acutely aware of the complex dynamics at play. He had just finished treating one of the few surviving men who had been fortunate enough to have survived the attack. He had multiple fractures, lacerations, and severe bruising, but the man had avoided anything life-threatening.

Glancing over to Samson, the team's other medic who was assisting his own patient. A young boy with a stab wound and a broken leg. Elijah called out to him, "Hey, don't use any of our supplies if we don't have to. We need to keep a handle on what we go through."

When he heard Elijah's words, Samson was already digging into his advanced trauma kit when he froze. The younger and gruff-looking man froze as a scowl formed on his face. The kit contained items that would greatly assist in treating the boy's injuries, but they had to be judicious with their resources. With a mix of frustration and understanding, Samson clicked his tongue and instead, applied only the most basic form of first aid, using the very primitive and equally limited medical resources available from the village's own supplies.

Coleman narrowed his eyes and stared disapprovingly at Elijah. "It's a kid, Eli," he commented, his tone laced with a hint of reproach, knowing full well the kind of response he might receive.

Elijah, tying off a bandage on the injured man he was working on, didn’t even look up as he retorted, "Doesn't change the fact we gotta conserve what limited resources we have. Plus, we don't know how long we'll be out here." He finished securing the bandage with a precise knot and added, almost nonchalantly, "So, fuck them kids."

The team leader rolled his eyes at the stark and unapologetic response. Coleman couldn’t help but think he should have known better than saying anything. This kind of cold and calculating pragmatism had been a staple when it came to Elijah for as long as Coleman had known the borderline sociopath.

But as distasteful as it was, the medic wasn’t wrong. In his line of work, resources were always finite, and prioritizing them was part of the job, no matter how harsh it might seem.

“Ugh! Those stupid idiots!” Yana barked in annoyance as she looked around. “It’s all a mess!”

Yana's exasperation was palpable as she fluttered about the devastated village, her eyes a glowing violet hue indicative of her emotional turmoil. Her frustration seemed to stem not just from the physical destruction around her, but from something unseen, something beyond the understanding of the Special Forces team.

"What the hell are you going on about?" Elijah finally asked with a tone mixed with concern and confusion. He and Coleman shared a look, unsure of how to interpret Yana's erratic behavior.

Ignoring their queries, Yana continued her agitated monologue, seemingly addressing someone or something invisible to the human eye. "Go, stay, become a wraith, MAKE UP YOUR MIND!" she yelled impatiently.

Elijah turned back towards his GMV to see if Azeline held any answer, but the woman’s own gaze was a potent concoction of skepticism and discomfort. She side-eyed the fairy as if she was truly feeling something troubling as her brow furrowed in a silent, questioning alarm.

Several moments passed as Elijah’s gaze remained fixed on Azeline who seemed just as perplexed and disturbed by Yana's outburst as everyone else. Her own gaze searched for any sign of insight or understanding, but it was evident by her hard look and gaping mouth that she was equally at a loss.

Turning his attention back to Yana, Elijah watched for several long moments as the fairy darted about in the sky and continued to rant and rave like a crazy person. With a shake of his head and an incredulous look on his face, he muttered under his breath, "I ain't dealing with this shit right now,” before getting up and moving to his GMV.

Coleman, following closely behind, chimed in with his own thoughts. "Logic dictates we should look into whatever the psycho magic demon says, but I can't be fucked to be honest." His voice blended resignation and practicality while he sat in the passenger seat and started fiddling with the radio.

“Voyeur 1, this is Baron, over," Coleman began, keying the radio as he prepared to give a situational report to the signal intelligence unit hiding out somewhere and acting as a relay to higher command. His voice was calm and composed, but there was an undercurrent of weariness that hinted at the strain of the day's events.

"Baron, this is Voyeur 1, send your traffic, over," came the crackling response from their unit headquarters.

Coleman glanced briefly at Elijah, who was rummaging through the bags near Azeline before he continued. "Voyeur 1, we’re pivoting to unconventional warfare. We've made contact with locals and are currently assessing the situation. Encountered hostile forces employing scorched earth tactics on the civilian population. Providing immediate aid and security. Over."

“Baron, stand by.” The radio fell silent as Voyeur 1 processed the information, leaving Coleman waiting.

During this lull, Elijah took the opportunity to address the elf in the back of the vehicle "The fairy really makes you uncomfortable, doesn't she?" he asked as he still rifled through baggage.

Azeline shot a quick, scrutinizing glance at Elijah before her gaze fixated back on the still-agitated Yana, fluttering erratically in the sky. "Yes," she began, her voice carrying a weight of experience. "I've seen what these little monsters can do to people." Her expression was a complex mix of wariness and nostalgia.

The scene became a flurry of activity as they all did their best to prepare the survivors to leave the area. Bennett and another engineer were focused on fixing and reinforcing carts, ensuring they were functional enough for travel. The weapon sergeants were sorting through the mountain of salvage items, prioritizing what could be useful.

With a grunt, Elij pulled the 5-gallon jerry can from its secured location. When he looked around for help, his eyes fell on the team sergeant, Kwon, and the intelligence sergeant, Jones walking towards him.

“I’m curious.” Kwon spoke up as he reached up to help with the jerry can. "So, why'd you decide to bother with the villagers?" He asked, looking at Elijah with an inquisitive gaze

Jones, who was standing a step behind, also chimed in, "I get that making contact and ingratiating ourselves with the locals would be useful, but we could've easily done that with a village that wasn't destroyed. This one's a complete write-off."

As Elijah secured the equipment back into place, Coleman, who had been quietly listening, suddenly interjected and answered for him. "Information operations."

"Bingo," Elijah responded with a grunt as he tightened the paracord knots. He then turned back to Kwon and Jones, explaining further. "As you all know, our main directive is to Influence, disrupt, corrupt, or usurp the decision-making process of our adversaries."

Elijah continued, "By helping these villagers, we're creating a narrative. It's a strategic move. We're showing that we're not just invaders or combatants. We're allies, saviors even. This kind of goodwill can lead to more cooperation from the locals, better intel, and a more favorable view of our presence here."

With an eye twitching with impatience, Kwon spoke up once more to cut through the double speak. "Yeah, yeah, the standard information warfare bullshit. We get it, Eli. But get to the point. Why this village?" His said, demanding for a more direct answer to Jones' question.

A moment of silence enveloped the group as Elijah looked around until his eyes fell on that teenage girl he pulled out of that cabinet. "They're doing scorched earth here. Burning their own villages and harassing their own people," he explained, turning back to Kwon and Jones. "We need to be ahead of the curve in the information game. They've been caught red-handed, and we've got survivors to act as witnesses."

He paused for emphasis, ensuring his words sank in. "if we jump from village to village, town to town, we can get a handle on the narrative before this Empire or whatever they are, do.”

"Our enemy is playing dirty and being brutal to their own people in an effort to turn the local population against us. If we can get ahead of this and spin it around, it'll open a lot of doors for us and make operating in this area significantly less complicated," Coleman spoke up reinforcing Elijah’s point.

Elijah nodded in agreement. "Yep, if we take our survivors, act as saviors, and potentially intervene in any other attacks, we can make a significant impact in the information space and create a huge disconnect between the government and it’s people." He elaborated as he jumped down from the vehicle’s roof.

“Hearts and minds, gentlemen!” he finished with an annoying, tooth smirk. “Hearts and minds!”

Just as Elijah finished his statement and hopped down from the vehicle, the radio crackled back to life, interrupting the conversation. "Baron, You are authorized to proceed with your new operation. Execute as you see fit. We're cutting you loose to manage this situation on the ground. How copy?"

The team members exchanged looks, a mixture of determination and resolve in their expressions. This was it – they were being given the green light to run the operation in their own style, adapting to the unique challenges of this environment and the unconventional warfare they were engaged in.

Coleman keyed the radio, responding with a crisp acknowledgment, "Baron copies all, proceeding with the new mission as per new directives. Baron out."

Kwon and Jones exchanged a look of understanding. What Elijah and Coleman said made a lot of sense, especially with a ground invasion looming on the horizon. If they could turn a few villages and towns friendly, it would significantly simplify operations for all special forces units operating in the area.

“Not only would mapping enemy locations become trivial, but we’d also probably get quite a bit of targets of opportunity,” Elijah said as his gaze floated between the other three men. “And that’s where my next little scheme comes into play…” An evil smirk spreads across his face, causing Coleman to narrow his eyes and Kwon to shift nervously.

Jones was relatively new to the team and was the least familiar with Elijah's antics. The poor Intelligence sergeant looked on with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "What scheme?" he asked cautiously.

Elijah leaned against the GMV, his gaze sharp. "Now that we've seen they’re using a scorched earth policy, we should make it backfire spectacularly. If we start spreading these survivors out and dropping a few in each village and start a little strategic rumor-mongering, maybe greasing a few palms where necessary. Before you know it, the locals aren't just passive observers; they become active participants in undermining their own tyrannical regime."

“Peasants start to get nervous and merchants become loose-lipped in an effort to save their family and property,” Elijah said in nearly a sing-song voice as he looked up at Yana as she did her strange soul-tornado ritual again. “Then suddenly, you start getting high-value targets dropped in your lap

Kwon's expression hardened as he considered Elijah's plan. "You want to break apart an already broken community even more...?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

A scoff left Elijah’s mouth as he waved dismissively. "Oh please, as if the prospects of this community aren't already doomed." His gaze shifted to Azeline, who had been quietly observing the discussion.

"Here," Elijah continued, switching to a language the Elf could understand. "We’re talking about what to do with the survivors. What do you think the fate would be for the people of this village?" He asked, genuinely curious about her perspective.

Surprised by the question, Azeline looked back at Elijah with a raised eyebrow. After a brief pause, she spoke, her voice laced with a grim certainty. "In situations like these… They would likely become slaves.” She said indifferently looking over at the women as if they were pitiful. “At best they’d be forced into brothels or work in taverns and whore themselves.”

Elijah turned back to Kwon with a look that said ‘I told you so’ and leaned against the GMV.

However, Coleman interjected and stood up. “And I’m not going to allow that to happen.” He said definitively as he shot Elijah a scolding look. “Just because that is the norm here, does not mean we have to accept it.”

A sigh left Elijah’s mouth as he rolled his eyes.

“We’re at least going to try to get these people to a place of reasonable safety," Coleman continued, his tone firm and authoritative. "The mission comes first, but we don't have to discard people like objects."

Elijah wanted to protest as the thought of how rumors spread quickly among certain circles and professions crossed his mind, but he stopped himself. He decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. The man was rather cold and callous, but he could still read the room and people's emotions, so he thought better of rocking the boat.

"Alright, everyone, let's hurry it up!" Coleman bellowed as he clapped his. "We need to be out of here within the hour. Let's get these survivors sorted and get the hell out of here!"

A collective grumble spread throughout the team as they picked up the pace and it wasn’t long until the villagers were helped onto the carts. Despite the bleakness of their situation, there was now a glimmer of hope.

Maybe all was not lost after all.

-

Lysandra sat on a strange stool over half her height as her brow furrowed with curiosity and wonder. The tavern she was in was unlike any place she had ever seen. The ambient light flickered from small lamps scattered throughout the small building, casting shadows that danced along the walls. People were gathered in small groups, engaged in hushed conversations or laughing heartily over shared jokes. In one corner, Lysandra watched as a group was absorbed in a game that involved sticks and balls on a table.

Everything about the situation was alien. Even down to her attire. In stark contrast to the armor or loose clothing she usually wore, she found herself dressed in form-fitting clothes that were both stylish and shockingly flexible. The material hugged her body in a flattering and practical way, allowing for ease of movement.

As she turned towards what looked like a large bar, Lysandra hummed in interest as she looked at the bottles of liquor that lined the wall and her hand instinctively reached up to her left eye. She scratched at her eyepatch, an old and bad habit when she was still trying to get used to its permanent presence.

“Anythin’ I can get ya?”

Lysandra's attention was snapped back to the present as the bartender finally noticed her. A rotund, yet muscular man lumbered over. placing both hands firmly on the counter before leaning forward. The man gave her an unimpressed and annoyed look as his eyes traveled up and down, but Lysandra occasionally caught the man’s gaze flicker away every moment or so.

In the corner of the claustrophobic tavern was the group that strange stick and ball game, laughing and joking while slapping money on the table.

"Uh, yes," Lysandra responded in her heavily accented English as she glanced briefly at the assortment of bottles behind him. "I'm not quite sure. What do you recommend for someone... new to this kind of establishment?"

The bartender sucked his teeth as he looked her up and down one more time. “Prolly somethin’ light.” He said in a heavy drawl.

“Light…?” Lysandra repeated what the man had said as her sole good eye twitched. “I do believe I’m capable of doing better than 'light'.” She said in mild annoyance.

A childish grumble of a chuck left the bartender's mouth as he watched her scornful glare. “Heheheh, alright then, lady.” He said turning around and grabbing a bottle of dark brown liquid. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn ya.”

Narrowing her eye, Lysandra watched him pour the liquid into a small glass, containing two large ice cubes that clinked against the sides.

As he did so, the bartender smiled annoyingly and opened his mouth again, “I dunno, you don’t want somethin’ fruity and light?” He said snidely.

"Enough, just give me the drink!" Lysandra hissed, stabbing her finger onto the countertop.

Another petulant laugh left the man’s mouth as he handed over the glass, but his attention was suddenly diverted toward the group playing the game. "Hey!" he snapped in a deep drawl. "Cut that shit out, or both of ya are getting thrown out on ya asses!” The bartender's voice bellowed throughout the establishment.

Lysandra's gaze turned to the corner where the group played that strange game. The atmosphere had shifted from friendly competition to something more tense. One players, visibly agitated, grabbed the other by the scruff of his neck and cocked his fist back. The potential victim’s hand clenched around a fistful of money and moved his hands to protect his face when the bartender's threat caused them both to seize up and shrink away meekly.

With the situation diffused, Lysandra returned her attention to her drink and took a cautious, but still generous sip. However, once the liquid had hit her tongue and slid down her throat, she almost regretted her decision. The drink was MUCH stronger than she had anticipated and its warmth quickly spread throughout her body as her tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, and her long Elven ears bounced up and down.

It took everything she could to stop from choking and causing a scene, but she couldn’t help but be struck by the drinks complex character. The alcohol, dark and enigmatic in its essence, cascaded over her tongue like a wave of intense, smoky flavors intertwined with subtle hints of caramel and spice. It was an intricate dance of tastes, each sip revealing new layers of depth that unfolded gradually, warming her from the inside out. The burn of the alcohol was strong, yet it was tempered by a lingering sweetness that clung to her palate, making it both challenging and intriguing. This was not just a drink; it was an experience, a journey through flavors she had never encountered in her previous world.

Trying to maintain her composure, Lysandra couldn't help but feel the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in a reluctant smile.

Feeling the need to tidy up after her adventurous sip, she looked to the bartender and requested, "A napkin, or something similar, please."

The bartender, with an arrogant smirk, leaned in closer. "Having trouble there?" he teased in a condescending tone.

Lysandra shot him a glare, her good eye narrowing into a slit, but she chose not to engage any further and she waited silently to do as he was told.

With a chuckle, the bartender bent down and grabbed a fistful of napkins, placing them on the counter with a deliberate thud. "Here ya go, lil miss," he said, still smiling.

Snatching the napkins of his hand with an icy look, Lysandra delicately dabbed her lips as she stared down the smirking bartender. Even when he went off to service other customers or busy himself with other tasks, she still glared hatefully at the man as she slid the napkins into her pocket.

It took her a while, but Lysandra finally calmed down and slowly finished the rest of her liquid treat, She sat there sipping contentedly as she glanced around, observing the dynamics of this shifty and strange tavern. But it wasn’t long until she decided she had her fill of this new experience and stood up to take her leave.

As she walked out of the tavern, Lysandra felt the shift in atmosphere from the dimly lit, bustling interior to the cool, open air of the outside world. The change was refreshing, a welcome reprieve from the close confines and the intense scrutiny of the tavern's patrons.

Gaining some distance from the establishment, she turned a corner, her senses heightened by the unfamiliar surroundings. It was then, out of the corner of her good eye, she noticed something unsettling – two figures discreetly following her. It was only a momentary glimpse, but it was enough to set off the alarm bells in her mind. She tried to recall their features, piecing together their appearances in her head. Then it clicked – they were the same individuals involved in the heated game involving sticks and balls at the tavern.

Her instincts kicked in, and Lysandra quickened her pace, her hand instinctively reaching into her pocket, feeling for anything that might aid her in a confrontation. The rhythmic sound of her pursuers' footsteps grew louder, indicating they too had increased their speed.

Suddenly, she heard the rapid approach of footsteps and a voice calling out, "Miss! Miss! You forgot something!"

Lysandra's heart pounded as she weighed her options – to confront or continue evading. And coming to a snap decision, she faced the situation head-on. Turning sharply, she braced herself to confront the two men, her hand still firmly inside her pocket, ready for whatever was about to unfold.

When the two men approached, Lysandra noted a slight hesitation in their steps, but they continued to advance. The closer of the two, breathing heavily from the chase, managed to say, "Ma'am, look, you forgot this." He said looking at his friend who was reaching into his pocket.

But Lysandra noticed something strange; they were still maintaining their brisk pace.

Without hesitation, Lysandra immediately tried to yank her hand out of her pocket, but the men were faster. One of them leaped at her, attaching themselves to her arm while the other rushed her, pulling out a knife.

Lysandra stumbled back from the sudden tackle, but she was still in the fight. Her other hand shot up, grabbing the wrist of the knife-wielding assailant. She initially struggled to maintain her footing, once steadied, Lysandra pushed forward with all her might, slamming everyone, including herself, against the wall, eliciting a chorus of gasps and yelps of pain, but the men clung on tenaciously.

Bracing herself, Lysandra yanked her arm back with all her strength, causing the man hanging onto her to fly back with a scream. Now free, she finally was able to pull the gun that was resting in her pocket and aimed it directly at the face of the remaining attacker.

Her finger tightened on the trigger, but before she could act, a sudden booming voice filled the air.

“STOP SCENARIO!!”

Everyone immediately relaxed at the sound of the command, and their hands dropped to their sides.