Grimoires and Gunsmoke

As the dawn broke and the sun began to paint the sky with its first light, the village of Twineward was already astir. The arrival of strangers at the gates, mounted in steel, beastless carriages, set a wave of murmurs and unease through the small community. The folk of Twineward were hardy, their lives carved from the unforgiving lands surrounding them, but the sight of such oddity just after being harassed by a group of Imperial Auxiliaries unnerved the already frazzled villagers…

"Oi, Marley! Git ye eyes on that!" shouted Burt, a burly man with arms as thick as the logs he split, pointing towards the gates where a small gathering had begun to form. "What in the blazes are they ridin' in?"

Marley, wiping the sweat from his brow with a cloth, squinted towards the newcomers. "Dunno, but they ain't from 'round here, that's for sure. Best fetch the the head and his boy Afton, I reckon."

The villagers clutched their spears and pitchforks as congregated near the gate with faces full of anxiety and fear. After a group of scoundrels from the Auxillaires took not only the supplies they needed for winter but also the blacksmith's daughter for their own sick entertainment.

More and more villagers with curiosity and concern etched deeply on their faces flooded to the gate. The word of the strangers with metal carriages spread like wildfire through Twineward. Amidst the growing crowd, the village head, Sofan, made his way to the front with his son, Afton, following closely behind.

The man was a figure of resilience hardened by years of service to both the Seraphic Empire and the local lord. Sofan liked to consider himself a warrior of some merit, and he stood tall even in his older years. His hands gripped an all-metal partisan spear as its surface gleamed in the morning light. His eyes were sharp and discerning while he scanned the landscape, trying to spot more of these newcomers.

His son, Afton, bore a striking resemblance to his father. His hands were steady as he notched a large arrow in his enchanted bow made of the antlers of an Ixtal, a massive druidic deer that had bark for skin and branches for antlers. The weapon was a family heirloom whispered to have been blessed by the spirits of the Druid's Timber themselves. The morning light caught the bow's intricate carvings, casting patterns that danced upon the stone walls of Twineward.

"These ain't like any Bandits or soldiers I've seen afore," Afton remarked, his voice carrying the heavy accent of their land. "They're... different."

Sofan nodded in agreement as he covered his brow with one hand to get a better look at the approaching band. "Aye, lad. Perhaps they're the ones that felled that Wyvern the other night," he mused, his voice resonating with a mix of caution and intrigue. "But let's not lower our guard just yet. Could be they're just another lot lookin' fer trouble."

As the defenders of Twineward watched, the strangers maneuvered their metallic, beastless, carriages into positions that drew a deep frown on Sofan's seasoned face. The precision with which they positioned themselves was not lost on him; it was a tactic reminiscent of competent commanders placing siege engines before a battle.

"Look at 'em, movin' like they be layin’ a siege," Sofan muttered under his breath, his grip on his partisan tightening. "They be already out of arrow range, but they placin' themselves where a mage would find it hard to reach and coverin' their flanks."

Afton gave his father a nervous glance, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. "There's only a few of 'em," he observed, trying to find some reassurance in their numbers. "And they don’t look so tough."

Turning to his son, Sofan’s face hardened. His boy was as hard-headed as he was self-absorbed, always quick to boast of his prowess. "Afton, remember, there were only a few of them auxiliary folks before they came out of nowhere and took Donnu's girls, and our supplies," Sofan cautioned, his tone grave. "There's a lot more to outside of them walls than what ye can see."

A scoff left Afton’s mouth as he waved away at the warning. "Ya, but them good-for-nothin's had a Wyvern. I probably coulda took Gladeheart," he said, referring to his bow, "and took it out, but I ain't want the village to be destroyed."

Sofan glowered at his son for a moment, the frustration evident on his face. "Afton, don't be a fool," he sighed deeply. "Just cause ya took down a whelping and Ixtal, that ain’t mean you can kill a full-fledge Wyvern!"

A discontented grunt left Afton’s mouth as he gave his father the side eye. Afton had always harbored a vastly different opinion compared to his old man, especially when it came to assessing his own capabilities and the weight of their ancestral legacy. The topic of his potential and prowess had been a recurring theme in their conversations, a topic that Afton felt he had more insight into than anyone else, including Sofan. After all, it was their powerful grandfather who had chosen him, not his father, to inherit the wondrous bow Gladeheart. This choice, in Afton's mind, was a clear testament to his inherent strength and destiny to rise above ordinary expectations.

But this was an argument Afton and Sofan had rehashed time and again, and each time it went nowhere. Afton perceived his father's caution as little more than projections of his own insecurities and perhaps even jealousy. The old man had been angry that Uncle Pratto had left it in Afton’s care after passing.

So, as Sofan expressed his concerns about the mysterious newcomers and their potentially hidden strength, Afton couldn’t help but roll his eyes. As he held onto his enchanted bow, each word seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Gladeheart and his skill alone was more than enough to handle any threat, be it from man or beast. In his heart, Afton believed that his over-cautious father would be the downfall of this village one day. And that was a fate He wasn’t willing to part take in. For Afton’s destiny was to be a hero of legend, not merely another villager living in squalor, hunting small game or the occasional deer.

Recognizing the familiar stubborn set of his son's jaw, Sofan heaved a weary sigh. He knew all too well the futility of trying to pierce the armor of Afton's self-assuredness with words alone. "Just... keep yer eyes sharp and Gladeheart ready," Sofan sighed, choosing to drop the argument as a lone figure started to approach. "I ain’t one to be taken by surprise.”

Afton heaved a derisive sigh and looked at his father as if the man had gone completely senile. The figure approaching was unmistakably a woman, and not just any woman, but Donnu's daughter, Rysa. For a fleeting moment, Afton entertained the thought that perhaps age had finally taken its toll, and this minor slip-up only served to reinforce Afton's belief that he was the rightful wielder of Gladeheart.

Without a word, Afton started to climb down the wall to meet the poor woman waddling forward. Sofan, on the other hand, spun around in a mix of frustration and anger. "What the hell are ye doing? Get back on the damned wall, foolish boy!" he barked.

Not even bothering to answer or even acknowledge his father, Afton continued to climb down until he landed on the ground with a thud. "If ye can't see who it is, then that ain't my problem," he finally answered back with a voice laced with what felt like disdain. "I ain't gonna listen to some blind ol' bat."

As the stubborn young man walked off, Sofan stood fuming atop the wall, clutching the shaft of his spear tightly. He knew that arguing whenever Afton had made up his mind, nothing could dissuade him, and any attempt to reason with the young man was pointless. Instead, Sofan decided it would be best to join his son at the gate. Even though the plan was idiotic, committing to a bad plan was better than no plan. He scanned the horizon one more time for signs of any other potential threats besides the strangers and their carriages before leaping off the wall himself and chasing after Afton.

While he jogged towards the gate, Sofan’s eyes caught the sight of several villagers gathering around, trying to get a better view through the gaps in the walls. The tension and curiosity were so thick in the air that one could taste it, given the recent events that had plagued Twineward. And when he walked past the gate, the sight that greeted Sofan softened the hard edges of worry that had settled around his heart.

An even larger group had formed, circling around Donnu, who was hugging his daughter, Rysa, tightly. Tears were streaming down his face as spun her around in his arms, weeping unabashedly. "Rysa! I’m so sorry my baby! I shoulda just went at 'em! Even if it meant dying, I shoulda protected you!" Donnu sobbed, his voice cracking with emotion. "Oh god, I didn't think... I never thought I'd see ye back alive!"

Rysa was also weeping as she returned her fathers hug. She buried her face into his shoulder, overwhelmed with relief of being back home. "Pa, it's… it’s okay... pa.” She choked out as she squeezed “You couldn't have done nothin’. There were too many, and they... they had that monster with ‘em."

"But I should've tried... I should've done somethin’," Donnu continued, his apologies tumbling out one after another.

"Pa, stop," Rysa insisted softly, her hands cupping his tear-streaked face, urging him to look at her. "I'm here now. I’m alive; that’s all that matters, okay?”

"Good to have ye back," Afton finally spoke up, his voice carrying a mix of relief and a lingering bitterness. "I should've done somethin' too. But—"

His father cut him off sharply, "If we'd done anythin', that Wyvern would've torched the entire village!" Sofan's voice was laden with a heavy mix of frustration and a hint of fear at the memory of the threat they had faced. "We couldn't risk it. Not for everyone."

Afton's expression soured further, his earlier bitterness turning into outright anger. "So, we just sacrifice a girl to a group of savages?" he spat out, his voice rising with each word. "Capitulatin' to those bandits does nothin' but encourage 'em! And when does it stop, huh? When they find Rysa's body? Golia's daughter next? Would ye have been satisfied if we gave them bandits all the women in the village to force themselves onto and murder before ye got the idea that resistin' is a better option!?"

The village chief and his son glared at each other with an intensity that those around them thought the two were going to come to blows. It was clear they stood on opposite ends of a divide too wide to bridge with words alone as their vastly different worldviews clashed heavily.

Before the argument could escalate further, Rysa's voice, soft yet firm, cut through the tension. "Please, I don't want any y’all gettin' hurt over me. So, please don't fight, I just want to go home to Ma’," she pleaded, her eyes moving between her Sofan and Afton. "It ain’t worth it."

Her words seemed to douse the flames of anger, at least momentarily. Sofan and Afton reluctantly turned their attention back to her even though they gave each other a scalding side eye.

"Donnu’s lil’ girl is right," Sofan finally conceded, his voice losing some of its earlier heat. "We got bigger problems than our own… squabbles.” He said bitterly as he turned his annoyed gaze to the two three strangers standing patiently in the distance. “How’d ye get back any whos? Them strangers help ya?”

Gently brought down to her feet by her father, Rysa adjusted her ripped clothing and nodded. A haunted look flashed across her face as she recounted her harrowing experience. "When one of them soldiers had their way with m… me, these strangers..." She paused, swallowing hard, the trauma evident in her quivering voice. "They swept through the camp like specters of death, killing any and all who dared oppose them with a swiftness I've only heard of in one of those scary stories Nana would tell me as a youngin’.” Rysa glanced over her shoulder and saw the two strangely dressed men standing nonchalantly with their weird weapons and shields. “They helped me, tended to my cuts and bruises, gave me some food and water before askin’ if I'd help them talk with y'all."

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling hands. "They're lookin' to trade for supplies, a roof over their head, and a reward if we could muster one." Rysa's eyes darted between the villagers gathered around, seeking understanding, perhaps even forgiveness, for bringing these ominous strangers to their doorstep.

Afton's expression softened as he listened to Rysa. The bitterness and anger momentarily subsided over to the awaiting outsiders and their mysterious intervention. “We should probably hear ‘em out.” He said, glancing at his father, expecting another argument. But instead, he found his father deep in thought as he stared hard at the newcomers.

“We ain’t got much choice.” Sofan nodded, his gaze still fixed on the strangers at the edge of their land. "I've heard tales from merchants passin' through," he began, his voice carrying the weight of his years and the wisdom that came with it. "We be at war. The empire's been fightin' with some strange folk and got their teeth kicked in. If these be those damned invaders, and they can swat a Wyvern out the sky like it were no more'n an annoyin' gnat, then we'd be fools not to grant 'em audience."

Listening to his father, Afton couldn't help but frown. The wording his father used didn’t sit with him quite as well as he liked. After all, the people who were meant to protect them from invaders and bandits had turned to savagery themselves, while these strangers had stepped in to help. "Sure, they want a reward," Afton muttered, his eyes narrowing. "But who wouldn't, after doin' all that? These auxiliary bastards never done half as much for us."

“Don’t argue with me on this, BOY.” Sofan barked sharply at his son and braced for the challenge. However, instead of retorting with the usual defiance, Afton held his father's gaze for a moment longer, then simply nodded.

The action took Sofan by surprise. Afton had always been headstrong, fueled by a fervent belief in his own judgments, especially after inheriting Gladeheart from his brother. But his son, for once in half a decade, chose another path.

What he didn’t know was Afton’s gut told him these strangers indeed had ulterior motives. however, he felt that these motives were not particularly malicious. At least the malice wasn’t towards them. His father might hark on about his unwise and foolish ways, but Afton decided it was time to let things play out to see how his father’s methods would take things.

Taken aback by the sudden and unexpected shift in Afton's demeanor, left Sofan somewhat speechless. Clearing his throat, Sofan regained his composure and turned his attention to Rysa and her father, Donnu. "Git outta here and go on home," the village chief said with a hard look in his eye. "I'll take care of them outsiders."

Still overcome with emotion, Donnu, the blacksmith, managed a nod of gratitude before he and Rysa slowly made their way through the villagers as they made way.

The folk of Twineward whispered among themselves, hushed voices full of curiosity and concern echoing as Sofan squared his shoulders, preparing to act as their delegate again. And now that he got a good look at them, the strangers stood there like Eerily. Their silhouette seemed to be broken up by whatever in the hells they were wearing, and their equipment was the likes of which Sofan nor anyone in Twineward had ever laid eyes on, carrying strange weapons that Stofan couldn’t identify for the life of him. Even their shields seemed to be made of materials odd materials, forgoing the traditional wood or metal and opting for something else entirely.

“Must be damned mages…” Sofan muttered to himself before turning to his son with a stern look. “Stay here.”

"No," Afton retorted instantly in a bored and unimpressed tone.

Sofan's head snapped towards his son, ready to unleash a torrent of a lecture, but Afton cut him off. "If they wanted to start killin' us, they wouldn't bother trickin’ some boondock village head out to murder ‘em. Plus, weren't you goin' to give Donnu leadership if ye passed?" The words hung between them, charged with Afton's challenge.

With a mouth flapping like a fish, Sofan struggled to find a response. His son was just too much at times. With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head, and moved on. He had neither the time nor the patience to bother with another asinine argument.

As they made their way toward the waiting strangers, Sofan’s mind started to race. These folk… They were unlike anything the village had ever encountered before. He had dealt with and even killed a mage before, but the way these people carried themselves… It was alien. To Sofan, they were an omen of change, and as a servant of the Empire, it was a change for the worse.

Afton took a reluctant step back and allowed his father to lead as they approached the two outsiders. The strangers' reaction was immediate and defensive; they subtly reoriented their shields toward them and adjusted the angle of their weird weapons so they were oriented toward him and his father.

"Hail, strangers!" Sofan called out, his voice firm yet cautious. He noted their defensive posture and the way they aimed their odd weapons in his direction. Wishing to avoid any misunderstandings, especially considering these men had aided Rysa, Sofan came to a halt and planted his spear into the ground. Raising his hands to show he meant no harm, he then proceeded to walk forward with deliberate, measured steps.

As he drew closer, Sofan observed that these were indeed men, albeit unlike any he had encountered. One of them was pale, with the clean-shaven appearance of a noble and piercing blue eyes that seemed to scrutinize everything around him. The other sported a short beard and a much darker tanned tone, reminiscent of the people from the southwestern island states, known for their mercenary armies and trade.

Sofan cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully, "I am Sofan, head of Twineward. We owe ye thanks for the return of our blacksmith’s daughter." His gaze shifted between the two, trying to gauge their reaction. "Ye be far from any land I know. What brings you to Twineward?"

The one with the tanned skin responded, his voice carrying an accent unfamiliar to Sofan. "We bring refugees from a hamlet a few hours or... uh," he paused, calculating the travel time in a manner they might understand, then continued, "about half a day's travel from here. Soldiers, like the ones that took the girl, attacked them and razed their homes to the ground."

Instinctively, Sofan looked back at Afton with eyes that conveyed skepticism towards the tale these outsiders wove. Afton's face, however, was expressionless, almost as if he found nothing in the stranger’s words to be surprising. They had been virtually attacked as well, after all.

The tanned man elaborated further, "We're currently looking for shelter, maybe some trade, and directions. Those soldiers have left many without a family and all of them without homes, so we’ve taken it upon ourselves to get them to some kind of safety before continuing on our journey."

“That be… very noble of ye, stranger,” Sofan responded, looking past the outsiders to see a group of huddled peasants watching their conversation expectantly.

Every single one of them looked weary and frightened yet clinging to a fragile thread of hope. Not unlike his own, these were people caught in the turmoil of a world they had little control over. It was a compelling bit of evidence supporting the story they told. “ye have come at a difficult time,” Sofan said, his voice firm and unwilling to allow a horde of people into his village in these trying times. “While Twineward usually gives whatever aid we can, we ain’t got much after dealing with our own attacks.”

The tanned man nodded in understanding before gesturing and beckoning to a select few from the group of refugees. “Hopefully, we can change your mind. We even have a few representatives that claim to know you,” he stated as the selected few shuffled forward.

Sofan's gaze intensified, scanning the faces until recognition dawned upon him. Among them, two faces stood out—faces he knew well but now marred by the harrowing experiences they must have endured. Gone was the vibrancy and gentleness of life that Sofan remembered; in its place was a haunting expression that spoke volumes of the horrors they had faced.

And as they opened their mouth to speak of their experiences, any chance turning away these refugees and avoiding these strangers disappeared. Even if he didn’t like it, or it lead to their demise, Twineward’s core tenant was never to turn away those from a sister village.