Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Elijah was hunched over, resting his head on his arms as he watched a veritable horde of villagers help the refugees through the gate. Men and women, young and old, rallied together in a wholesome display of solidarity and compassion.

At least it should have been.

Sure, the people of this were extending their hands in hospitality, pulling together resources to support these refugees, but Elijah couldn't help but feel a twinge of skepticism. His mind flashed back to his experience during Hurricane Katrina, where the outpouring of aid and support often came with strings attached. For every warm bowl of soup provided, there seemed to be an expectation, a debt incurred, never official or even verbally spoken, but still palpably present. It was a harsh reminder that in the world he came from, assistance rarely came without conditions.

In the wake of the disaster, communities often rallied together, but the initial surge of goodwill could sometimes morph into resentment or expectation of repayment once the immediate crisis faded. Elijah wondered if this village would also eventually come to view these refugees not just as victims in need but as debts to be repaid or even new assets to exploit. After all, resources were finite, and adding new mouths to feed, especially in this quasi-medieval setting where scarcity was a constant threat, could strain even the most generous community's goodwill.

Moreover, Elijah was uncertain about this world's stance on the vulnerable, particularly women and children. From what he’d seen so far, the impression he got wasn’t exactly what one would call positive. If one went by Earth’s historical context, he could assume their futures were pretty bleak, regardless of what Coleman and the rest of the team wanted to do. Women and children often bore the brunt of societal upheavals and were usually forced by coercion or debt into more… intimate professions.

Elijah would like to detach himself from the situation, dust off his hands, and say this just wasn't their problem. However, a nagging sense in the back of his mind told him Coleman wouldn't stand for such a ‘Machiavellian’ approach or whatever buzzword he’d think up at the time. However, Elijah liked to think of himself as a Pragmatist or a Realist. Each decision had pros and cons, benefits, and demerits that could have very lethal consequences.

The question then became: What were they going to do with these refugees? Where would they go now? Where would they sleep? How would they eat? How would all of this be financed? And, most important of all, how could they manage to do all of this while still being able to operate and continue their primary objective?

Everyone loved getting caught up in the ideals and morality; they never stopped to ask if there was a place and time for any of that. It’s one thing to be presented with a problem like having a group of vulnerable people with the means and ends to do something about it, but they had neither. The ODA was far behind enemy lines, using minimal resources and very minimal personnel with little to no hopes of escape should they be compromised.

A groan of frustration left Eljah’s mouth as he dug deeper and deeper, using every ounce of his mind to find a way to come out on top. He needed to come up with some kind of win, or else they were unimaginably fucked. The immediate logistical challenges of shelter, food, and not getting their throats slit at night were enough of an issue. But when it came to the longer-term questions of operational security, sustainability, and execution of their mission were even more complex.

“Bro, what the hell…” Elijah whined as he lethargically rubbed his eyes.

Turning his eyes to his team, Elijah watched as Lister and Bennett were off poking at the Wyvern's corpse, pretending to pull security, while Kwon and Schwarz pushed a poorly maintained cart. The entire ODA, save for him and a few others, were off mingling with the locals or keeping themselves busy in some fashion. Even his team leader, Coleman, was off speaking with the village head and his son, acting as a diplomatic representative.

A sudden yank of his hair finally brought Elijah out of his brooding and caused him to rear up to his full height in the turret finally. “What is upsetting my human!?” She barked cheekily. “Human, inform your master why you are upset, and I shall fix it!”

“Fuckin’...!” Elijah winced as he glared up at the fairy who had both feet planted on his forehead, holding onto two fists full of hair to keep her anchored as she leaned forward. “Can you maybe NOT do that?” He sneered.

Unphased by Elijah’s discomfort, Yana simply fluttered her wings in what could only be described as a fairy's equivalent of a shrug. "But I must know," she insisted, her voice a mix of genuine concern and mischievous curiosity. "How else can I assist my human if he does not share his troubles?"

“Is it the stupid Elf? Is it your incessant need to constantly move around? Is it the stupid dirty mortals and their stupid dirty huts?” Yana started to shotgun off potential reasons while swinging side to side, still pulling at his hair. “Should I zap ‘em?”

Already sick of her shit, Elijah shot his hand to snatch the little menace off his head, but he found that Yana was infinitely faster. The fairy zipped up into the sky with a triumphant laugh. Glaring up at her, Elijah barked, "Yana, you can't just zap dudes all willy-nilly! We're trying to keep a low profile here and not create problems unnecessarily!” He narrowed his eyes and glared at his patron. “We need to find the right people to zap, and the right people to turn to our side."

Yana stuck her tongue out at her human before snapping her head to the side in a harrumph, clearly not taking any of his shenanigans. Meanwhile, Elijah grumbled to himself before leaning against the back of the turret and heaving a kind of deep and heavy sight that only the kind people who were at the end of their ropes made.

As the last group of refugees finally made their way inside, Elijah wondered what in hell he was going to do with this mess. Completely stumped, he decided to take a shot and ask his cosmic hitchhiker for any ounce of wisdom. Looking up, Elijah watched as Yana continued to hover above him with an impish grin.

"You had worshipers or some shit,” Elijah randomly blurted out, giving her an exhausted look. “What do you think we should do with this shit show? What do you think I should do with these people to make it easier to move around without babysitting them?"

“First of all, RUDE!” Yana shot back with her hands on her hips as she twirled around. “I HAVE worshipers! Not had!” She corrected but paused for a moment as she actually considered the question. "Well… Mortal problems require mortal solutions," the goddess finally said, landing on the edge of the mounted heavy machine gun’s barrel, swinging her feet in a carefree manner. "But, if you ask this great one, then this great one’s suggestion is just to take over the village."

Elijah's initial reaction was an instinctive scoff as he threw up his hands. "Yeah, no. That's not an option. I can't just take over some bumfuck village and—" He began to dismiss the fairy's outlandish suggestion, already regretting he had even bothered to ask this psychopath’s opinion. However, mid-retort, Elijah froze. His mind raced a mile a minute, and his brows furrowed as the dots started to connect.

This wasn't a bad idea... There were some major flaws and pitfalls he’d had to work out like that act there was some obvious contention the village head had for the ODA team and the refugees, but that could be worked out. The majority of the villagers were vastly more accommodating and accepting than their leader, especially after Elijah and the team returned the girl.

He could leverage that goodwill…

Turning the idea over in his mind, Elijah recognized the opportunity lying beneath the surface of Yana's seemingly absurd suggestion. If they could position themselves as protectors or if need be, take over the leadership position entirely. This would not only secure the innumerable special operations teams a base of operations but also provide some kind of support for the local population since they were still relatively close to the rift. This could facilitate their primary mission, provide a measure of safety, and give them a pool of local resources to draw upon.

A twinkle shone in Elijah’s eye as his thoughts went back to that blacksmith’s daughter. The genuine gratitude and goodwill they had earned for returning her could be the perfect foundation to build on. They just had to do something about this grabby, middle-aged man who seemed to stare at them suspiciously… Elijah’s gaze then drifted over to Coleman and the village head having a back-and-forth.

“Hey, Azeline,” Elijah called out, hoping for some insight from a local or at least to bounce some ideas off of her. However, there was no response. He tried again, a bit louder this time, "Azeline?" Still, nothing. Confused, Elijah looked down to find Azeline with her head lolling to the side, her mouth agape, and a large flow of drool flowing down her face as she found the deep embrace of sleep.

Irritated and somewhat amused at the sight, Elijah gave her shoulder a rough kick. "Hey, Aze! Wake up, goddamnit!" he barked.

Azeline's reaction was immediate. She flailed around violently, nearly tumbling out of the vehicle before she caught herself. She whipped her head towards Elijah and shot him a look that could curdle milk. "WHAT!?" she snarled, clearly not appreciative of being roused in such a manner. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, YOU GODS DAMNED ASSHOLE!?”

An amused and mischievous look spread across Elijah’s face as he huffed continuously in amusement. “Heheheh, well… I got some questions I need to ask you.”

A bitter look formed on Azeline’s face as she swatted away Elijah's boot in outrage. "Why the hell would I answer anything you ask after that!?" she barked, balling her hand into a fist.

Elijah, unfazed and perhaps a bit emboldened by her reaction, looked up at Yana with exaggerated, mock innocence and said in a childish voice as if he were tattling on Azeline, "Yanaaa, she's not helping me."

Yana's tiny head suddenly popped into the turret, looking down at Azeline with an annoyed and incredulous expression. "Hah!?" she exclaimed, clearly taken aback by the scene unfolding below her.

“Guh…” Azeline flinched as her jaw tightened and her fierce looked waivered. For a moment she had completely forgotten about the existence of this damned Fae and was subsequetnly caught off guard. But just as Yana was about to let loose a few choice words of her own, Azeline shouted out first with a voice laced with exasperation, "Fine, fine, fine! What in the hells are your questions!?"

A mischievous and pompous grin was spread across Elijah’s face when he clapped his hands together. “Wonderful!” He shouted in glee before clearing his throat. "Alright, now that I've got your attention... I've been thinking…” His finger danced together as his expression turn contemplative. “So We've got these refugees and this village, right? And soooo… I may have found an opportunity here, but it's delicate.”

Azeline placed a hand to head and started rubbing it to assuage the headache away that was forming. She was close to just turning around and chucking the nearest object at the man, but the omnipresent glare of his patron prevented her from taking any action.

“As our local expert, what is your take on how to… let’s say…” Elijah paused for a moment, trying to figure out the right word in this strange language to express what he was trying to achieve. “Take over this village in a less-than-hostile way.”

Staring at the man as if he was stupid, Azeline remained quiet for a few long moments before responding with a mixture of disbelief and sarcasm, "Just say you're taking over...?" She narrowed her eyes and lightly shook her head as if to say that this was the most obvious solution. Continuing with a tone of incredulity, she added, "And if they resist, you kill the village head and anyone else who says otherwise. What kind of stupid question is that?"

“No, no, no. Just, no.” Elijah pressed both hands to the bridge of his nose before throwing his head back slightly. “I’m not trying to kill them or force them. I’m trying to umm….” His hands started rolling as he tried to think of the words. “Coerce? No. Pressure? No. Manipulate?” He then snapped his fingers and pointed at Azeline before continuing, “Manipulate! I’m trying to manipulate them into listening to us instead of their leader!”

The annoyed look on Azeline’s face softened a bit as she crossed her arms and tapped her finger on her bicep. “Hmmmm… I think I know what you’re trying to get at, but…” She hummed in interest as she began to collect her thoughts before speaking. "I haven't been a serf or a peasant since I was a child, so I'm not overly familiar with their current wants and needs," she confessed. "However, I have experience with taking over villages abandoned by their lords when I was a shield maiden. As far as I know, you've already done quite a bit by saving and returning one of their own. But, these refugees are going to quickly weigh on them and become a burden if left as is."

Elijah started to stroke his beard thoughtfully as he listened. The issue of the refugees was indeed pressing, and their presence could potentially strain their relationship with the villagers if not handled correctly. The main issues were going to be food and shelter, and seeing that the majority of the survivors were women and children, they couldn’t exactly be put to manual labor like military-aged men.

"They’ll eventually have to be relocated," Azeline concluded with a sigh, but her eyes sharpened as she looked over to the eastern horizon. "However… There’s quite a sizable town not too far away from here. Maybe you could get a trade caravan going under your protection. This village is out in the middle of nowhere, so any chance they could get an armed escort, they’ll jump at it.”

That bit of information seemed to light up Elijah’s face. "Okay, okay!” He nearly shouted as he looked over at Coleman, who was finally making his way over. “We could do a few favors, help around with the villagers, and ingratiate ourselves to them. If the village chief or whatever doesn’t like us, he’ll still be undermined by our favorable outlook, and then we could work on turning them against him," Elijah mused, his mind racing with possibilities.

“And if all else fails, you could…” Azeline smiled evilly and slid her hand across her throat. “Do some leadership changes behind the scenes during the Caravan escort.”

Just as Elijah and Azeline were getting into the meat of their nefarious plotting, Coleman arrived, catching the tail end of their cackling madness. The look on his face was one of disgust as he surveyed the scene before him. Elijah, still brimming with the glee of their scheming, barely noticed Coleman's approach until it was too late.

"Great... now there's two of them," Coleman muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting between Elijah and Azeline. The disdain was palpable in his voice as he spoke up, "Do I even want to know?"

“Probably not.” The two troublemakers said at the same time.

-

“Ryffka.” A voice called out in the periphery of Ryffka’s consciousness.

But the words quickly disappeared as quickly as they came, as deafening and horrifying snaps and hisses of projectiles resounded all around him. Ryffka found himself running through what seemed like an endless field of Kapen Grass as he ran for his life.

Ryffka's heart pounded in his chest wildly as terror gripped his mind. He cursed himself repeatedly, regretting trying to play it smart and join the Auxiliaries for some "valuable" experience before venturing into the independent and treacherous world of being a Freelancer. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he screamed between labored breaths, the reality of his situation crashing down on him with every step he took through the dense grass that seemed to grip around his legs as if trying to slow him down.

The sounds of the strange and terrifying weapons pursued him relentlessly. Each snap and hiss was a promise of death if he dared to slow his pace. The projectiles struck the ground closer and closer, throwing up clumps of earth and snapping thick blades of grass with each impact. The idea that just moments ago, he had been considering this stint with the Auxiliaries as a mere stepping stone in his career seemed laughably naive now.

“Ryffka, wake up.” The voice called again, more urgently this time. It was a familiar voice, one that he recognized even in his panicked state. But the grip of fear was strong, and he struggled to break free from the terror’s unyielding hold.

With burning lungs, Ryffka pushed his legs to the limit as he made his flight. Ryffka's mind raced, searching desperately for a plan, any plan, to escape this nightmare. He had always prided himself on his ability to think on his feet, but he found himself in a seemingly impossible position.

Desperation started to set in as Ryffka realized just how hopeless his situation was. He was no proper mage with formal training, adorned with an arsenal of powerful spells at his disposal. No, he was merely some random lucky idiot who had learned to read at an early age and had been even luckier to get his hands on a beginner's spellbook. That modest achievement, which had once filled him with pride, now seemed insignificant in the face of the overwhelming force pursuing him.

He knew for a fact that he was outclassed in every conceivable way by these unknown beings, and his end seemed that it wasn’t just a possibility but an inevitability. The advanced magic or — whatever it was that his pursuers wielded — was like nothing he had ever encountered or read about. Each burst of cacophonous barking from their strange weapons was a stark reminder of his impending doom.

And just as this grim acceptance settled over him, a misstep sealed his fate. The thick tendrils of the Kapen Grass finally ensnared him. With a sudden jerk, his legs were yanked back by the usually inert crop, sending him face-first into the unforgiving earth below. An involuntary "oof" escaped his lips as he made contact, the ground knocking the breath from his lungs.

Dazed and confused as to why inanimate grass would usually trap him, Ryffka's eyes went wide with fear as the sound of two heavy thunks resounded just behind him. Turning around, he found two fist-sized orbs slowly rolling his way. A sense of dread and horror filled him as Ryffka opened his mouth to scream, but before a sound could come out, a thundering smack and searing hot pain coursed through his face.

“Wake up; you damned feathered idiot!” Talarion sneered as Ryffka shot up, holding his face with panicked eyes.

Ryffka's face spun around wildly, trying to make sense of his surroundings as his mind reeled from the sudden shift in reality. The last thing he remembered was the terrifying pursuit through the grass, but now he found himself bouncing rhythmically in the back of a carriage. The jostling was disorienting, and for a moment, he could not reconcile how he'd gone from a flight for his life to this.

Talarion's glare was sharp as he let out an exasperated sigh. "We're here," Talarion said, nonchalantly gesturing ahead.

Following the direction of Talarion's hand, Ryffka gazed out of the carriage to see a town built on top of a hill unfolding before them. It was almost impossibly picturesque, with quaint stone houses adorned with creeping vines and blooming flowers. The rooftops were a blend of earthy tones, and the streets were filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life, yet a tranquil harmony seemed to permeate the air.

For a moment, Ryffka simply sat there, taking it all in before a deep and heavy sigh left his mouth. They finally arrived at the town of Glennsworth, and hopefully, the events leading up to this point would turn into a distant nightmare. However, Ryffka knew trying to forget the horrors of how the otherworlders waged war would be impossible, but the town's allure did a lot to soothe his frayed nerves.

“Thank the gods…” Ryffka finally muttered out after flopping back down into the bed of the carriage.

As the lines of stress dissipated on Ryffka’s delicate features, Talarion couldn’t help but roll his eyes. "Yes, thank the gods,” Talarion shouted, gesturing grandly to the sky as they rumbled through the gates of Glennsworth. “Because it was the gods that dragged your sorry dehydrated ass across endless fields of garbage!” Talarion retorted sarcastically with a dry chuckle.

Ryffka looked up at him with an impish smile creeping onto his lips. "I suppose. I owe you a word of thanks." He shot back as his arms went behind his head and his eyes closed. “I would also suppose we could consider ourselves even since I dragged you out of that nightmare in the fort.”

Talarion huffed in feigned annoyance as he leaned against the wall and waved off Ryffka's remark with a wave of his hand. "Ya, whatever. I’m just glad we’re away from those damned demons.” He continued with audible relief in his voice. “It almost felt like we were being chased.”

“Right? It was as if those otherworldly hellspawns were unsatisfied with the fact they hadn’t struck down every soul in that damnable place and dedicated themselves to finishing the job...” Ryffka said in disgust as he let out an exhausted sigh.

Flipping his eyes over his shoulder and looking at the hilltop covered in buildings, Ryffka seemed to murmur to himself rather than to Talarion. "But what's next?"

"We find a way to make ourselves some money here and start gathering supplies," Talarion replied, leaning forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. "We have skills, and this town could use someone of our... talents. We horde as much crap as we can and then high tail it to Aldenshore."

Bringing his hand to his smooth chin, Ryffka considered Talarion's words with a smirk. "Hmmmmmm…" he hummed in interest as he thought this could be another opportunity to gain some experience as a newly budding Freelancer. "I like the sound of that. Plus, we should have some time to relax and spread our wings out before those… things… show up again.”

"Yeah, we'll lay low, gather what we can, and prepare for the road ahead," Talarion agreed, his eyes scanning the marketplace's vibrant stalls and chattering townsfolk. "I doubt they’ll attack somewhere so populated."

Ryffka chuckled lightly and sat up once more, allowing the tension to finally seep out of his shoulders as he watched a group of children chasing each other around a fountain.