Grimoires and Gunsmoke

The darkness of light loomed over Aldenshore as Vyrrasha glowered hatefully at the reports she was handed by her retainers and war council.

The Seraph Dragonkin’s snout clenched tighter with each word she read, her draconic pupils narrowing into slits as she digested the gravity of the information laid out before her. The magically imbued parchment crackled under the tension of her grip, the spell protecting it threatening to shatter. For her, as a Duchess of the Empire, these were not just words; they were a harbinger of potential doom, a shadowed path that could lead to ruin if she tread carelessly.

She could usually dismiss reports of skirmishes and minor losses with a cold, calculated detachment, but not now. Now, every syllable bore weight. Every stroke of ink could be the difference between life and death. Vyrrasha was no stranger to the deadly dance of power, but this... this was different.

At first, Vyrrasha thought her supposed Emperor had ever so carefully placed her in a position to blunt the main thrust of the Otherworlders in a bid to defame and discredit her. But on closer inspection and verification of the Otherworlder's capabilities, it was all too apparent he was trying to kill her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was a lethal whisper that cut through the tense air of the chamber. "Tharivol," she addressed one of her generals, a Dark Elven man, "they’re everywhere like a plague, aren't they?" She asked as superheated primal fire leaked from her snout and snarling maw.

Tharivol's dark eyes darted away, his usual composed demeanor faltering under her intense gaze. "Y-Yes, Mistress," he admitted with a deep and respectful bow. "These otherworlders, they... they strike swiftly and fade into the night, leaving turmoil in their wake."

Vyrrasha's tail lashed out, sweeping a stack of maps from the table in a display of frustration. "Everywhere we believe ourselves secure, they prove us wrong," she hissed, the fire within her threatening to burst forth. "Command centers compromised, supply lines in disarray, our commanders fall one by one to their invisible blades... Even the troops, our soldiers, now sleep with one eye open, fearing the night's embrace."

Tharivol's hand clenched at his side, his own frustration mirroring his queen's. "Their methods are... not too dissimilar to the methods of the Tauri," he conceded, struggling to maintain his composure as his eyes darted to the dark grey-skinned Tauri Savage in the corner of the chambers. "And the fear they sow is potent among the other lord's men, Mistress."

The fury within Vyrrasha only seemed to grow after hearing Tharivol's words. It was a smoldering anger that seemed to heat the very air around her and cause her council to flinch as more flames erupted from her mouth and nostrils. "Damn you, Varian..." she cursed through gritted teeth, the name of the Emperor searing the room with its bitterness. "I hope the hells take you to the deepest, coldest pit they can find and lock you away for all eternity..."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, her council and retainers exchanging nervous glances, not daring to utter a word. To speak out during such a display of wrath was to risk a fiery end.

Several long, agonizing minutes passed as Vyrrasha sat upon her throne. Her head rested lightly in one hand as her fingers covered her eyes as if to shield her from the world's treachery. Her chest heaved with each breath, the embers of her anger glowing hot beneath her feathers.

Finally, with a deep, controlled inhale, the Duchess composed herself, and the flames subsided. She realized every minute, every second counted, and she could not afford to brood. Not now, not when every move could lead to her demise. "I want every dragon and every Wyvern accounted for," she commanded with an authoritative and measured tone. "I want every man or beast who is even capable of even FEELING mana to be put under my command."

Suddenly, Vyrrasha stood up and strode toward the table where a detailed magical projection of the lands lay displayed. The room balked at her order, and a human commander, garbed in the regal uniform of his rank, dared to speak, his voice a mixture of caution and concern. "Mistress, the lords and ladies of the war group would never—"

"THEN KILL THEM!" Vyrrasha's shout was a shockwave that rattled the chamber, her draconic fury causing a puff of flames to burst forth and send the human reeling from the intense heat and cringe.

The room was plunged into a frightened silence, each member of the council fully aware of the stakes. Vyrrasha's eyes, now shimmering with an inner fire, swept across the faces of her advisors, her generals, her retainers—each one avoiding her gaze, knowing full well she was completely serious.

She leaned over the projection, her face piercing a mountain and her claws clamping down on the representation of the rift. "We are at WAR!" She growled fiercely. "And war requires discipline, obedience, and sacrifice! If the lords and ladies continue to play their petty games of power and refuse to see the threat these otherworlders pose, if they cannot unite under one banner for the sake of our very existence, then they are no better than traitors!"

Vyrrasha's voice thundered through the chamber, resonating with the authority of a commander preparing for an all-out siege. "Be they peasant or count, if ANY refuse to fall in line under a unified command, then they are to be slain on the spot!" Her eyes scanned the room, capturing the expressions of shock and fear on every face present. The gravity of her command hung heavy in the air; there was not a hint of double speak or sarcasm in the Dragoness's words.

"Tharivol, Morith, Erend, Silvar, you four are to bring with you ALL of my greatest mages and warriors at first light and see to it they’re all brought in line," Vyrrasha continued, her voice as cold and hard as the stone walls surrounding them. "You have my full authority as Duchess to execute any who refuse, political blowback be damned! If I must slaughter half of the nobility and become an enemy of every house, then so be it!”

"If I am to be cosigned to my grave by this inbred cur of an Emperor," she bellowed, the fire in her belly igniting once more, sending waves of heat throughout the room, "then I shall do so kicking and screaming, dragging as many of those fop bastards and hellspawned otherworlders with me!"

“Shall I start conscripting the local population and Freelancers, mistress?” Morvalen, the Human commander, asked as he bowed deeply.

Kicking the slag clumped on the stone floor to the side and out of the way, Vyrrasha’s gaze never left the magical projection that illuminated the chamber with an ethereal glow. Her snout twisted in disgust at the suggestion, "No, the mundane will be useless in this fight, and the sellswords are too unreliable. I need discipline and obedience, not warm bodies!" She sneered. "The lords and ladies brought plenty enough fodder to blunt whatever those creatures will throw at us initially."

As the Duchess spread her taloned hands on the table, she leaned forward so her imposing figure loomed even larger over the map. Her eyes, now aflame with a predatory intensity, were fixed on the glowing representation of the rift.

"We must treat their aerial threat as if it far exceeds those reported from the initial expedition," she declared, her voice cutting through the heavy air like a knife. "We must become clever and vicious." The darkness of her feathers seemed to absorb the light around her, casting her in a silhouette that was both majestic and terrifying.

Her advisors were a collection of some of the most formidable minds and warriors in the empire, and they all stood frozen. The mere notion of losing air superiority was unthinkable, yet Vyrrasha's implications were clear—they needed to prepare for the worst. The concept of merely contested airspace was unsettling enough, but to be wholly outmatched was a scenario they hadn't dared to contemplate.

"Due to our ‘Emperor’s’ most gracious allocation of qualified personnel, beasts, and dragons, we must adopt a more asymmetrical approach," Vyrrasha continued, her voice turned more thoughtful as her eyes darted across the map, focusing on the vast, dense forests stretching between the rift and Aldenshore. "But only once we have acquired as many living mages as we can."

As she began pacing back and forth, her movements were calculated, each step measured with the precision of a predator. "Analyses and reports on how these beings can somehow detect and even see things from impossibly far distances…" she explained, coming to a stop. "We need to mitigate this advantage."

The room listened intently as their Duchess closed her eyes and retreated back into her own mind. Several long minutes seemed to float by as they anxiously waited for her next instructions. And just when someone opened their mouth to ask if there was anything else she’d like done, Vyrrasha’s eyes suddenly shot open.

"Anke, while we wait for these mages, go to every town and gather as many enchanters and artificers as you can and have them start weaving illusions and decoy enchantments.." Vyrrasha turned to one of her most trusted war mages, a pale-skinned and blonde-haired High Elf man she had retained for centuries. "Once the mages arrive, I need you to start teaching them Golemancy."

"And Sestri," the Duchess finally addressed the leader of her Tauri savages, “I don’t care what you do, but..." Another hateful look spread across her face. “Put a stop to these DAMNED RAIDS!”

-

As the days went by, Coleman meticulously refined Elijah's strategy and made operational changes that were a lot more palatable for an international force. Elijah's schemes often bordered on the brilliant but said schemes required a firm hand to guide and temper them from their fringe or unhinged nature to functional and actionable.

Elijah was wildly unpredictable, and he teetered on being sociopathic. Coleman often found himself in a curious position, both admiring and exhausted by Elijah's antics. It was no wonder he never progressed any further than his current position as simply ‘a medic’. Even though Elijah had the mind and skill sets to become a team leader himself, or even a tier 1 operator, he was always constantly peered out of selection by cadre.

While not quite a loose cannon, Elijah was still incredibly hard to control, especially when he thought he was right. His instincts were sharp, and he was deviously clever to the point where he was often two steps ahead of everyone else, but his whimsical nature was both a strength and a liability. At times, Elijah would suggest plans so outlandish and daring that they skirted the edges of recklessness. Yet, more often than not, they worked, often leaving Coleman in a state of reluctant awe.

“You deserve that fucking fairy…” Coleman sighed exhaustedly ass he walked towards a massive snaking river where Elijah had been supposedly last seen with a group of villagers doing laundry.

The team had been saying the idiot had been chatting up one of the local girls for the past couple of days. Most of the villagers had already returned besides the two in question and Coleman thought it’d be best he’d give his medic a stern talking to before he got any cute ideas.

As he trudged down the rough and patchy dirt road, Coleman couldn’t help but continue his grumbling, "They're basically the same person… Just when I think I've got one under control, the other goes off rail..." He finished, pinching the bridge of his nose

But if the idea of having to tard wrangle Elijah and his demented fairy was bad, a third wheel decided to enter the mix. The FNG — the Fucking New Guy — a term the ODA had settled on calling their newly minted Engineer, Bennett, had been spending far too much time with Elijah. Not only was he adopting the medic's habits, but Bennett was also starting to pick up more unconventional and, practically speaking, insane tactical acumen.

Letting out a heavy breath, Coleman started to near the river and noticed a singular basket full of rough linens sitting just to the side of the road. He was about to open his mouth and shout for his medic when a sudden movement caught his attention. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, stood up and crested over the river bank with cheeks flushed a deep red.

The woman cleared her throat and adjusted her knee-high dress while massaging her abdomen as if it were sore. But as Coleman processed the situation, he also saw Elijah’s form popping up as the man hastily clamped his belt closed.

….

Coleman's face became an unreadable mask as he stared deadpan at the two, his eyes conveying both a lack of amusement and a lack of surprise. “Are you fuckin’ serious?” He abruptly spoke up.

The village girl let out a squeak in terror as she snapped around and stared at Coleman like a deer in the headlights. Upon realizing who it was, the villager’s expression went from terror to deep embarrassment as she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. After the brief moment of shock, she then averted her gaze, murmured an apology, and quickly trotted away through the underbrush towards the village.

For the moment, Elijah remained frozen in place, but unlike the village girl, he held Coleman's gaze as they both became locked in an impromptu staring contest that neither seemed willing to lose. It was a battle of wills, an unspoken challenge between two soldiers who knew each other far too long and far too well.

The tension was thick enough that one would have been able to cut it with a knife, and as the seconds ticked by, Elijah's eyes began to dart around, searching for any possible escape route. But sensing his subordinate's instinct to flee, Coleman’s eyes narrowed as he spoke up with a monotone voice that carried an unmistakable edge of seriousness. "I'll shoot you in the dick if you run.”

Elijah's eyes snapped back to Coleman, as he tried to discern whether to take that threat seriously or not. It was a ludicrous statement, yet coming from Coleman, there was a certain gravity to it. Elijah knew the man was capable of making good on his threats in the most unexpected ways.

The standoff continued for a moment longer before Elijah let out a resigned sigh, conceding defeat as he raised his hand. “Bro, chill. I’m, uh. Gathering intelligence and building rapport.” He said, trying to use his silver tongue to get out of the shit he stepped into.

Coleman's head flinched back, and his eyes fluttered for a moment as if he was assaulted with an impossibly heavy wave of mental damage in the form of stupidity. “Rap- RAPPORT!?” He shouted back incredulously as he held his dead. “OH! OH YOU’RE BUILDING RAPPORT!” With a contemptuous laugh that echoed slightly through the grove, he gestured broadly around him as if presenting Elijah's absurd justification to an invisible audience. "Ahahah, how rude of me!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Then, pressing his fingertips to his chest as though pointing to himself, Coleman continued, his tone thick with mock apology. "I thought... you were fucking a local, I totally didn't realize you were building RAPPORT." The word 'rapport' was enunciated with a heavy dose of irony.

Flopping his hand down to his side with a loud smack against his thigh, Coleman spoke a mock apology as he pouted his face. "I'm so sorry, Eli. How could I EVER get those two mixed up!" The excuse was so absurd that even the birds seemed to pause in their singing.

Elijah, for his part, managed to keep a straight face, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if fighting back a grin. “Hey man, look.” He shrugged, keeping his tone convincingly unsure. “These guys get up to some crazy shit. If we want to probably engage in what I’d like to call Village Re-Orientation Operations–” Elijah was soon interrupted by a stick flying towards his face, which he managed to dodge barely. “Yo chill!”

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!” Coleman bellowed as picked up an even larger one and chucked it as his medic at full force. “You think you’re gonna gaslight me!? You think you’re fuckin’ smart!?”

This idiot had crossed a lot of lines, and Coleman had put up with a lot of Elijah’s bullshit, but this was by far the stupidest thing he’d had the displeasure of dealing with, and his patience was worn thin. Fueled by righteous fury in the face of Elijah's antics, the team leader had escalated to hurling not just sticks and verbal barbs but also whatever he could lay his hands on in the environment. Elijah, for his part, danced around with a nimbleness that belied his usually laid-back demeanor, each dodge accompanied by a plea for reason.

In an act of uncontrolled rage, Coleman grabbed a branch as thick as one’s arm and jumped over the bushes to beat him with it. “What if you get her pregnant!? What if Brass finds out!? What if you get fucking SPACE AIDS!”

"Dude, relax! I used protection!" Elijah called out from behind a large rock, attempting to bring some sense of rationality to the bizarre situation. This declaration brought Coleman to an abrupt halt as his expression morphed from one of fury into utter bafflement.

"WHAT!?" Coleman exclaimed, the incredulity in his voice cutting through the tension. "What does that EVEN MEAN!?"

Seizing the moment of pause, Elijah’s head popped out from his makeshift cover, "You really think I'd come to a place with elves and cat girls without taking an industrial pack of condoms?" he quipped, his tone light but earnest. "Like, come on. Let’s be real."

The absurdity of the statement, combined with the sincerity with which Elijah delivered it, seemed to make Coleman feel like he was going to burst a blood vessel. However, his menace of a subordinate wasn’t done there.

Before Coleman could recover from the initial shock and gather his wits to launch another tirade, Elijah quickly shifted the conversation, hoping to distract his enraged team leader with potentially useful information.

"Besides! I actually managed to get a tip on where some tax-collecting noble dickhead and his horde of food is stashed!" Elijah said, putting up his hands in surrender. “We can hit ‘em and snatch it!” he finished, backing up a little, hoping that would sate Coleman’s anger.

Coleman stood there, branch in hand, narrowing his eyes at his medic before tossing it to the ground and pointing at him. “This isn’t over…” He growled ominously before gesturing for Elijah to follow.