Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Sporadic bursts of gunfire erupted across the once-quiet Lakeside suburb as the Minutemen methodically cleared the area. They moved from house to house, garage to garage, yard to yard, ending any threats they saw.

Occasionally, they would spot a curious face peering out from behind a curtain or catch the glint of a phone camera recording their progress, but they did their best to ignore the perusers. The residents were no doubt terrified by the sudden attack and seemed only to poke their heads out when the influx of armed men entered their neighborhood. The streets, however, remained largely deserted, save for the occasional Scrounger that would dart out from cover only to be promptly cut down by a hail of bullets.

As Broughan moved through the suburb, his eyes scanned around to take the carnage. The bodies that littered the streets and yards were Scroungers. This fact alone was enough to give him pause. Despite being outnumbered by the Scroungers, the Kobolds gave as good as they got. For every Kobold corpse, there were at least two dead Scroungers.

It was an impressive kill ratio, especially considering the physical disparities between the two species. Kobolds were small and wiry, built for speed and stealth rather than direct combat. But Scroungers, on the other hand, were vicious and strong. Those mangy beasts should easily be able to overpower a kobold in a straight fight, let alone disembowel one with its sharp claws and teeth.

Yet, the evidence before him told a different story. The Kobolds held their own and seemingly inflicted a terrible cost on the Scroungers in this apparent skirmish. It was a testament to their ferocity and their determination, traits that Broughan had never really associated with those scavenging little pests before.

As he pondered this new development, a sudden movement caught his eye. A Scrounger, its fur matted with blood, was trying to scurry from one bush to another, seeking cover or escape. Without hesitation, Broughan snapped his rifle towards the creature and opened fire.

The Scrounger convulsed as the bullets tore into its body, its limbs jerking in a macabre dance. Its momentum took it a few more steps before it collapsed face-first into the ground, its lifeblood seeping into the carefully manicured lawn.

Approaching the downed creature, Broughan stepped around the large bush the thing had been running towards with Marcus close on his heels. As they rounded the foliage, they were greeted by a sight that made their blood run cold. Three more Scroungers were lying in wait, and one was mere steps away from Broughan.

Without hesitation, Broughan started firing, emptying the remainder of his magazine into the horrible beast. But the Scrounger was already in motion, lunging at him with its razor-sharp claws and snapping jaws.

Meanwhile, Marcus reacted with equal swiftness, dumping the remainder of his magazine into the other two Scroungers charging towards his boss. The rapid burst of violence only lasted a few seconds as the air filled with the barks of gunfire, mingling with the screeches of the dying creatures.

But Marcus' attention was immediately drawn back to Broughan, who grappled with the Scrounger that had pounced on him. The creature was desperately thrashing and gasping after eating half a magazine's worth of rounds just before it stabbed a jagged piece of metal into Broughan's tactical gear.

Marcus ran forward, grabbing the Scrounger by its matted fur and effectively tossing the damned thing across the yard with a grunt of effort. As the little beast continued to writhe Marcus pull out his pistol and fired five more rounds into it, causing the scrounger to stiffen up and cease its struggle.

"Brou, you good!?" The dark man asked, snapping his weapon between the motionless scrounger and the two creatures sluggishly squirming on the ground.

Broughan flailed and kicked, putting some distance between himself and the corpse before patting himself down frantically. "Fuck!" he yelled, clearly shaken by the close call. "Goddamnit, man!"

"Ya, my fuckin’ plate caught it!" Broughan finally answered in anger as he paced back and forth. “God damn piece of shit!” He shouted one more time before taking a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

With the burst of adrenaline starting to dissipate, Broughan and Marcus took a moment to reload their weapons. They approached the downed Scroungers cautiously, putting a few more rounds into each of them to ensure they were truly dead before they took the time to examine the corpses a little more closely.

As they got closer, they noticed something peculiar. Besides the bullet wounds that riddled their bodies, one of the Scroungers barely showed any signs of damage other than being a little beat up. One of them, however, had an arm that was burned to a crisp. Its flesh was blackened and cracked, while another had its snout almost completely frozen solid, encased in a sheath of ice.

Broughan furrowed his brow, his mind racing. Scroungers didn't have any innate magical abilities, at least not that they had ever encountered before. These injuries, the burns, and the freezing had to have come from an external source. But what could have caused such damage?

"Brou, come take a look at this." Marcus beckoned to his boss, his voice a mix of disgust and unease.

Moving over to where Marcus stood, Broughan’s eyes followed his friend's gaze. What he saw made his stomach turn. Kobold's heads were dangling from hooks at the sides of the two Scroungers. Their lifeless eyes stared blankly into the distance. It was apparent they had been taken as trophies, grim tokens of the Scroungers' victory over their enemy.

The two men could only stare at the grisly sight for a moment as a heavy silence hung between them. "I don't think they like each other very much." Marcus spoke up with his face twisted in a mix of disgust and bewilderment.

But the questions remained. Why here? Why now? What had sparked this sudden and brutal battle?

Broughan turned to his friend with furrowed brows before looking back at the pair of heads. That had been the understatement of the year, he mused silently. The grisly trophies, the signs of magical damage, the sheer number of Scrounger corpses—it all pointed to a conflict. It gave a similar feeling to that of a gang war fighting over territory.

Gunshots continued to echo throughout the suburb as other teams encountered more pockets of resistance. Marcus's clipped-to-his-hip radio chatter painted a picture of the wider battle.

"Team 2, reporting in. Engaged another cluster of Scroungers. Count is... seven, all KIA."

"Team 4 here. We've just smoked a dozen more in the park."

Broughan couldn't help but marvel at the numbers. "Jesus," he muttered, "how many of these things are there?"

Marcus, his face grim, grabbed his radio. "Hey, Any y’all find any live Kobolds?"

There was a moment of silence, then a crackle as responses came in.

"Negative. We found a few that were already dying, but no live ones."

"Same here. Every Kobold we've seen is already dead."

An incredulous huff left Broughan as he exchanged a glance with Marcus. The implications were clear. If they were betting men, they’d put top dollar on this being an ambush on a Kobold's scavenging party. But it seemed as if these Kobolds made their attackers pay a heavy price.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life again, the voice of the pilot in the circling Bell 206 cutting through.

"Brou, 206 here. We've got a scuffle in the backyard of the house you're in front of. Our snipers can’t get a good shot on ‘em. Over."

Marcus immediately responded. "Roger that, 206. We're on it."

As Marcus put his radio away, Broughan was already moving. He whistled sharply, catching the attention of four militia members who were clearing a nearby garage. They quickly finished their task before immediately disengaging and running over to assist with whatever needed to be done.

With his impromptu team assembled, Broughan led the way toward the house the 206 had indicated. They moved swiftly but cautiously, leapfrogging each other, always keeping someone on overwatch as they approached the side yard. However, the scene before them grew grimmer and grimmer with each step. The ground was littered with the bodies of Scroungers and Kobolds, a macabre trail of breadcrumbs leading to the ongoing scuffle.

The sounds of the fight grew louder as they drew near. The snarls and hisses of the Scroungers mingled with the distinctive yips and yaps of the Kobolds, creating a discordant chorus. Beneath it, all was the constant clang and scrape of metal on metal as weapons clashed in a desperate struggle.

One of the militia members, a veteran who was too old to get a recall, took point with Brougan and Marcus right close behind. As the team peered into the backyard, a gruesome scene unfolded before their eyes. Two Scroungers and one Kobold lay dead on the ground, their bodies torn and bloodied from what must have been a vicious melee.

But the fight wasn't over. A second Kobold, wounded but alive, was straddling another Scrounger, frantically stabbing at the creature with a spear that had been snapped in half. The Kobold screamed with each thrust, a primal, desperate sound that spoke of pure survival instinct.

The Scrounger thrashed and howled, its claws raking at the Kobold, but its struggles were growing weaker. Finally, with one last, gurgling stab, the Scrounger went still.

Broughan and his team watched in stunned silence, their mouths agape. They had suspected they were in conflict since arriving at the scene, but to see their theories confirmed in real time was something else entirely. To see them fighting each other with such savagery was truly a sight to behold.

However, their gawking was interrupted as the Kobold fell back onitss rear while clutching at its own wounds. Its breath came in ragged gasps and its small body shook from pain and exhaustion. But then, as if sensing it was being watched, the Kobold turned its head.

Its eyes widened in fear as it saw the group of heavily armed humans staring at it from across the yard. For a moment, no one moved. The Kobold and the Minutemen stared at each other, unsure how to react to one another.

Then, with a yelp of fear, the Kobold shot to its feet and began limping away in a desperate bid to escape this new threat.

"Catch the little fucker!" Broughan shouted, already vaulting over the small chain link fence meant to keep in a small dog. His men were right behind him, their gear clanking away as they vaulted over themselves to catch the little bastard.

Nevertheless, the chase didn’t last long, as the Broughan caught up to the limping lizard in a matter of seconds. A panicked and pathetic yip left the Kobolds mouth as Broughan’s much heavier body slammed into it, sending them both crashing into the ground.

The Kobold yipped and yapped in horror as it squirmed with all its might, desperately trying to escape Broughan's grasp. It managed to wriggle free for a brief moment, its small, wiry frame slipping through Broughan's hands, but its freedom was short-lived.

Almost immediately, another Minuteman slammed into the Kobold, sending it careening back to the ground. What followed was a chaotic flurry of kicks, punches, and rifle butts as the Minutemen tried to subdue the poor struggling creature.

Getting back on his feet, Broughan ran over to assist, barking orders as he did so. "Hold it down!" he yelled as he pressed down on the creature's snout to prevent it from biting. "Don't let it get away!"

A whole slew of eyes from the house whose yard they were in were peering out behind curtains as the Kobold continued to resist, curling into a tight ball to protect itself from the onslaught. Meanwhile, Broughan scanned the backyard for something, anything that could help. His eyes then fell on a small sailboat that was falling apart, and without hesitation, he sprinted over to it.

Reaching the boat, Broughan quickly pulled out his knife and began sawing at the rigging with frantic urgency. In a matter of seconds, he had a length of cord in his hands.

He raced back to the struggling group, the rope clutched tightly in his fist. "Tie the little shit up!" he yelled, tossing the cord to his men.

Catching the rope, the Minutemen immediately got to work in securing the Kobold. Each person held a body part, pinning it down with their body weight as another began to tie it up like a Thanksgiving turkey. The process was tricky and was made all the more difficult by the Kobold's continued resistance as it snapped and hissed. One of the Minutemen, a burly man with a thick beard, nearly lost a finger to those razor-sharp fangs as the Kobold snapped pitch in a bite. Luckily, the man yanked his hand away just in time, but a tooth still snagged his hand, ripping open a fresh wound.

"Watch it!" Broughan warned, seeing the close call. "Someone muzzle the fuck before it takes a chunk out of one of you!"

Not leaving it to chance, the Minutemen, who were basically sitting on the lizard's chest, started unwrapping the paracord on his knife handle. The man didn’t waste any time in wrapping it around the Kobold's snout and yanking tightly, making it impossible for the Kobold to open its mouth. It was a makeshift muzzle, but it served its purpose well.

With the Kobold’s mouth now forcibly shut and its limbs hog-tied, the poor thing could only emit muffled whimpers as the Minutemen finished their work. However, it made the creature finally safe to hand as Marcus hefted the trussed-up Kobold over his shoulder with a grunt. The creature's small body dangled like a sack of potatoes as Marcus turned to Broughan with a questioning look on his face.

"What are we gonna do with this thing?" he asked, adjusting his grip on the squirming captive.

A crease ran through Broughan's forehead as he raised his eyebrow in thought and ran a hand through his hair. "I guess we’re gonna hand it over to the police or something. “He replied after a moment. "Maybe the little shit has some valuable intel they could exploit or something. I dunno. It just seemed like a good idea at the time."

Silence reigned between the team before Marcus simply shrugged and adjusted himself causing the Kobold to bounce on his shoulder. "Hey, you're the boss," he said, his tone neutral. "If you think it's worth a shot, then why not?."

Broughan nodded, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure if this was the right move. It had been an impromptu decision made in the heat of the moment. But they were in uncharted territory here anyway, so just like Marcus said… Why the hell not?

Pushing his doubts aside, Broughan beckoned to Marcus with his hand’ Gimme your radio for a minute.” He said as Marcus reached for his belt and tossed the thing over in one fluid movement.

"All teams, report status," Broughan said after catching the Radio and switch frequencies,

And one by one, the teams checked in, each reporting their sector clear. No more Scroungers, no more Kobolds. It seemed the battle, at least for now, was over.

Broughan acknowledged each report with a satisfied nod before switching back to the channel with the circling Bell 206. "206, this is Brau. You see anything up there?"

“Hold one.” The pilot's voice came back calm and professional. And after a minute or two of silence, the report came back. "Negative. Snipers are telling me that the area appears pretty much clear, over."

"Roger that," Broughan said, a hint of relief in his voice. "Maintain overwatch. We're preparing to get out of here. Over."

"Copy that, we'll keep an eye out."

With that, Broughan ended the transmission, but he pulled out his phone and began tapping away at the screen. A heavy sigh left his mouth as he navigated to his specific job in the Minutemen app and stared at the options momentarily.

Looking around him and hearing no more sounds of gunfire, Broughan gave one final tap on the big, bold letters that said COMPLETE JOB and hit the acknowledgment. Almost instantly after hitting the acknowledgment that he had indeed concluded his business in the area, his phone automatically dialed a number. An automated routing system then immediately connected his call to the joint state and federal emergency services that monitored the app.

After a few rings, a feminine voice belonging to a dispatcher spoke up. "Mr. Bitterly," the woman said calmly and professionally. “This is Dispatcher Johnson. Can you confirm that your job is complete?"

"Confirmed," Broughan said in a tired but steady tone. "And we have a plus one package with potential intel. Where do you want us to drop it off?"

There was a moment of silence as the sound of typing and hushed conversation echoed in the background. Then, the dispatcher spoke again. "Bring the package to the Downtown Precinct. They'll have a team ready to take custody. Good work out there, Mr. Bitterly."

“Yep, thanks,” Broughan grunted in acknowledgment, then ended the call. He looked around at his men, Marcus with the Kobold still slung over his shoulder. "Alright, boys," he announced as he stretched his back out.

"Let's make like a book and get the fuck out of here."