Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Shaw sat alone in the dimly lit room, a black bag over his head, his breath comin' in short, sharp gasps. The rough fabric scratched at his face, and the musty smell filled his nostrils with each labored breath. His mind raced, a whirlwind of paranoid thoughts and narcissistic delusions crashin' against the inside of his skull like a tempest.

"They all set me up...," he muttered to himself, his voice muffled by the bag. "Eira, and the Count... they're all plotted to sell me to these damned monsters. They couldn’t stand the thought of someone of low birth, risin’ above they station."

He rocked back and forth, the motion a futile attempt to self-soothe. But the thoughts wouldn't leave him alone. They swirled and churned, feeding his ego and his fear in equal measure.

"They be jealous of me, of my success. They know I'm better than 'em, they know that I'm destined for greatness. That's why they're tryin' to sabotage me, to keep me in my place."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, the sound tinged with a manic edge. "The Count, he saw it too. Saw my potential, my worth. That's why they killed 'im.” Shaw’s voice started shaking as he suddenly switched to the third person. “Couldn't risk him elevatin' me further, couldn't bear the thought of a lowborn like me outshinin' 'em."

Shaw's breath grew more ragged, his heart poundin' in his chest. The air inside the bag was stiflin', but he hardly noticed. His mind was consumed by the perceived slights and conspiracies he'd woven around himself like a cocoon.

"And Eira, that vile wretch. She's always looked down on ‘im, always treated ‘im like he was beneath her. But he sees through her now. See the jealousy, the resentment. She knows he be a threat to her precious status quo."

He then strained against his bonds, the ropes biting into his skin. In a moment of desperation, he channeled some of his mana into his muscles, hoping to break free. The ropes went completely taut, creaking and groaning from the immense strain. A few strands snapped and pulled at the edges, giving him a glimmer of hope.

But it was short-lived. The exertion proved too much, and Shaw let out a gasp as his mana reserves depleted, leaving him even weaker than before. He slumped back, the ropes still holdin' strong despite his efforts.

"They think they can just sell me to outsiders and be done with it," he muttered, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "Like I'm some kinda livestock to be traded and bartered."

His mind raced, tryin' to make sense of the horrors he'd witnessed. That creature, that tiny beast with the flaming hair and violet eyes. Shaw couldn’t help be feel a shiver down his spine when he remembered how the damned thing conjured foul magicks that went beyond his comprehension. He could feel his mana literally burning away like fat in a flame.

"What unholy alliance have those monsters made?" he wondered aloud, his voice tremblin'. "To command a beast like that... it ain't natural. It ain't right."

He shuddered at the memory of the creature's manic laughter, the searing pain of its torment. It was like nothin' he'd ever experienced before, a level of agony he didn't even know existed.

"Is this what they've been hidin'?" he raved, his words comin' faster and more frantic. "Is this the secret they've been keepin' from us all along? Demons and devils, creatures of the pit, all in league with the nobles and the mages?"

Shaw's breath grew ragged as his mind raced, putting the pieces together in a frenzied, paranoid rush. "Eira... the Count... they must have known," he muttered, his voice rising in pitch with each word. "They must be working with these monsters, they summoned them here!"

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, sending his heart rate skyrocketing. He began to hyperventilate, the black bag over his head growing damp with sweat and tears. "I have to tell someone," he gasped, his words coming out in short, sharp bursts. "I have to get out of here and warn them... the entire Wyvern wing, they're traitors! They're all traitors!"

The urgency of his mission consumed him, driving him to a fever pitch. He had to get to the Empire, had to reveal the treachery that had taken root within its very heart. With a renewed vigor, Shaw strained against his bindings once more, channeling every ounce of strength and mana he had left into the effort.

The ropes creaked and groaned, the fibers stretching to their limit. Shaw's muscles bulged, his veins standing out in stark relief against his skin. He gritted his teeth, the taste of blood filling his mouth as he bit down hard, pushing himself beyond the brink of exhaustion.

But it was no use. The bindings held fast, unyielding in the face of his desperate struggle. Shaw collapsed back, his chest heaving, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his exertion.

Meanwhile, in another room, Elijah, Azeline, and a few other operators gathered around a rugged laptop. The device showed a live feed from Shaw's makeshift cell, the high resolution showed the prisoner's every move and picked up every word he muttered.

They watched in silence as Shaw raved and ranted, his words a jumbled mess of paranoia and desperation. Elijah's brow furrowed as he listened, trying to make sense of the prisoner's fragmented thoughts.

"He's losing it," Azeline murmured, her voice tinged with a mix of pity and revulsion.

“What’s he going on about?” A human intelligence operator from the fabled Intelligence Support Activity asked in English as peaked over at Elijah.

A deep, rumbling breath left Elijah's lips as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of Shaw's paranoid ramblings into a coherent picture.

Lowering his head and scratching, Elijah began to explain his understanding of the prisoner's words. "Okay, so from what I can gather, this guy seems to think there's some kind of conspiracy going on… maybe. He's talking about counts, someone named Eira, wyverns, and traitors."

With their faces etched with an intense concentration, the Activity operator and the SASR team members leaned in as they listened to Elijah's analysis.

Ian, the SASR operator who had been present during Shaw's capture, spoke up. "Cunt mentioned the Count's death. That seems to be a key point. Like it was some kind of trigger for all this."

Elijah nodded, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, and then there's this Eira character. The way Shaw talks about her, it's like they’re involved somehow. Maybe they’re a part of this conspiracy he's raving about."

One of The Activity operators, a rather skinny and lean man with sharp eyes, chimed in. "And the wyverns. But aren’t they war beasts or beasts of burden or something? Maybe this Eira person is a commander or tamer or some shit."

With a hand running down his face, Elijah wracked his brain for any kind of logic in all of this nonsense. “Dude keeps going on about needing to warn someone. I think he said the Empire, something? I think he’s convinced that there are traitors within its ranks."

The group fell silent for a moment, each of them turning the pieces over in their minds in an attempt to make sense of the incomprehensible.

“So do you all think we should we approach this?” Ian asked as he looked at the other operators.

As the group pondered Ian's question, a sense of uncertainty settled over the room. They exchanged glances, each of them trying to come up with a plan of action, but it was clear that they were grasping at straws.

"Look, problem is," Ian spoke, breaking the silence, "we don't have any real context or personal knowledge on the cunt to work with here. We're outsiders, trying to make sense of a world we barely understand."

The HUMINT specialist nodded, his expression pensive. "He’s right. We're flying blind here. We don't know the significance of this count other than the obvious, or who Eira is, or what the hell wyverns have to do with anything."

As frustration started to build up, Elijah leaned back in his chair and balanced it on two legs. "And the more this guy raves, the less sense it all makes. We're trying to piece together a puzzle with most of the pieces missing."

As time went on and Shaw's ramblings grew more incoherent and it became increasingly apparent that any information they were going to glean from him was likely to be unreliable at best or complete nonsense at worst.

Elijah scratched at his beard while his mind worked overtime to find a way forward. He glanced at the Activity's HUMINT specialist. "What if we play into it?" he suggested in a low and thoughtful voice. "Roll with his paranoia, feed into it. Make him think we're the bad guys he thinks we are, and his friends sold him out.”

The HUMINT specialist raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the idea. "That’s…" he mused. “An interesting idea… It might make him slip up and say something we can actually use."

“Ya, we could also play the long con and cut him loose,” Elijah suggested, putting his hands behind his head. “Make him point fingers at his own people and kick the hornet's nest from within. He might just get his head chopped off or… cause some internal issues and start making friends suspicious of each other.”

A concerned look spread across The HUMINT specialist's face, and his brow furrowed as he considered Elijah's suggestion. The idea of playing into Shaw's paranoia, of making him believe that his own people had betrayed him, was intriguing, but cutting him loose is another issue. "Hold on," the specialist said, holding up a hand. "Let's think about this. If we go down this road, we risk this blowing up in our faces. What's to stop him from running straight to his superiors and spilling everything he knows about our FOB and operation?"

Elijah leaned forward. "We make sure he doesn't know anything concrete. We feed him just enough to make him paranoid but not enough to give away our actual positions or plans."

But the specialist wasn't convinced. "Even if we're careful, this guy's unstable, he’s definitely going to fly off the handle and start yapping about our positions."

Ian chimed in, his heavy Australian accent thick with concern. "Too right, mate. We're already concentrated in this bloody village and haven't secured another spot. It's a right risky move."

He leaned back, his expression grim. "We're already takin' casualties with these new tactics they're using. Wyverns and dragons, hiding in the forest, acting as quick-reaction forces. The last thing we need is this bloke ratting out our position. Next thing we know, we'll have a pack of those scaly dicksuckers breathing down our necks."

Elijah held up his hands, trying to placate their concerns. "I hear you, I do. But think about it - they already have a general idea of our area of operations. We're spread out enough that they don't have a precise fix on where we are."

He paused, his mind racing. "So what if we take him somewhere else before we cut him loose? Somewhere far enough away that even if he does talk, it won't lead them right to our doorstep."

The HUMINT specialist considered this, his expression thoughtful. “That could work if we're smart about it and choose the location carefully. Aren’t you guys going on a trade caravan to another town or some shit?"

A thoughtful look crossed over everyone's face as The HUMINT specialist's words hung in the air. “Why don’t go with you and break off from the main convoy.” He continued. “Take him to the middle of fuckin nowhere.

Ian nodded, catching on quickly. "And you could make the bastard think he broke free on his own. Loosen his restraints a bit, let him bolt, and think he's made a clean getaway."

“Slip a squawker somewhere on him for good measure,” Elijah added, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.

“Now you’re thinking.” The HUMINT specialist leaned forward. "And while he's running, we put the fear of whatever fucking god they believe in into him. Go full cyclic over his head and let loose and AT4 or two behind him."

Elijah grinned, the pieces of the plan falling into place in his mind. "He'll be so focused on running, on staying one step ahead of his imagined pursuers, that he won't even think to question how he got free or where he is in the first place."

"Alright, let's see where this leads us, aye?" Ian said with a grin as he got up and headed for the door with Elijah and the Activity Operator in tow.

Azeline on the other hand, had been watching the prisoner's body language on the magic devices display intensely. While the men spoke in a language she'd never heard before, her gaze had never wavered from Shaw's struggling form.

As the operators made for the door, Azeline suddenly stepped in front of them, blocking their path. She looked directly at Elijah with a serious expression. "I should go in first," she firmly spoke with her arm extended to prevent the men from going past her.

The men exchanged confused glances, but it was Ian who spoke up. "What?" he asked in a confused tone. “Why?”

A moment of silence passed as Azeline's eyes flicked back to the screen. "He's a mana user, and he's about to break free of his bonds. Let me talk to him first and handle him if he tries anything cute, then we can continue from there."

Skepticism floated across each of the operator's faces as they processed this new information. Elijah frowned, and his brow furrowed in thought. While he trusted Azeline's knowledge and experience, the idea of sending her in alone didn't sit well with him.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. "There's five of us. Even if he's a mana user, how could he possibly overpower us all?"

“Ya, and with all due respect…” The Activity Operator spoke, looking at Azeline’s muscular yet still very feminine form up and down. “But that's a grown-ass man in there. A pretty fucking big one too.”

There was an unspoken dynamic at play - the operators, as trained and capable as they were, were all trained and well-built men. The thought of sending Azeline in to face a potentially dangerous prisoner alone went against their instincts and sensibilities.

Azeline let out an amused huff and crossed her arms. “Aw. That’s precious.” A cheeky smile spread across her face as her gaze swept between the humans. “It’s quite a while someone has treated me like a proper lady!”

Elijah opened his mouth to add in on the fact that he didn’t like the idea. But he caught himself. The common sense of their world didn’t apply here, and Azeline was no ordinary woman. She was a seasoned mercenary, well-versed in the ways of this world and its dangers. If she said she could handle it, he had to trust her judgment.

"Nah," he said, finally raising a hand and turning to the others. "We should trust her. She's a local merc; she knows what she's doing."

Ian and the Activity operator gave each other an uncertain look. They didn’t quite agree with the assessment, but they still deferred to Elijah's lead, seeing as he was the woman’s Handler. "Alright," Ian said, stepping aside. "If you say you got it, you got it."

Azeline's smile widened, and she gave Elijah a playful wink. "While I do feel somewhat insulted that you think so low of me," she said, her voice tinged with mirth, "I'm still glad you see me as a woman."

The Activity operator jerked his head towards the others, signaling for them to follow. Ian looked to one of his team members and gave a quick nod. "Josh, keep an eye on the feed, will ya? Radio us if we need to intervene."

The team member nodded, his eyes already glued to the screen displaying Shaw's cell.

Ian, Elijah, and the Activity operator followed after Azeline as they pulled their pistols out and racked back the slide to ensure rounds were chambered. They posted themselves outside the door, ready to enter at a moment's notice as Azeline sauntered and reached for the door handle. She paused and glanced back over her shoulder for a quick moment and said, "But don't worry, boys. I'll be gentle with him." before sauntering in with swaying hips.

Shaw's head snapped up to see Azeline’s figure enter the room. His eyes went wide, and panic started to rear its ugly head as she closed the door behind her. But as the latch on the door softly clicked in place, the woman leaned back against the door in a relaxed but alert posture. Her head was tilted down as Shaw saw the woman gazing at him through her eyelashes, and a small, almost coy smile played on her lips as she regarded him.

"Hello there," she purred in a low and silky voice.

The effect was immediate. Shaw froze, his breath catching in his throat, and for a moment, he almost felt himself dropping his guard, but his paranoia prevented him from being enchanted. For a moment, Shaw cursed himself for almost dropping his guard, but he half expected a literal demon or gods damned devil to come through that door, not a Sun-Elf.

"W-who are you?" Shaw managed to stammer out, his voice hoarse.

Azeline pushed off from the door, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him. "Me?" she asked, her tone playful. "I'm just a friendly face. Someone who wants to help you."

Trying to regain control of his rapidly beating heart, Shaw sucked in a deep breath as his eyes narrowed at the woman as she took another step towards him. She spoke honeyed words with ha honeyed tone, but he couldn’t help but shake the feeling he was in danger. As she continued to approach him, Shaw drew more power, flexing against the ropes that bound him even as they bit deep into his skin. He could feel the fibers straining, the knots beginning to loosen. Just a little more, and he might be able to break free.

As his gaze darted around the room, Shaw searched for any means of escape. The door was closed, and the woman in front of him stood between him and his freedom. But as his eyes settled back on Azeline, a desperate plan began to form in his mind.

If all else failed, he could always try to overpower her, but he also concluded it wouldn’t be easy. Seeing her posture and how she carried herself, the woman must have been a mana user just like he was. However, despite her confidence, she was still smaller than him and he highly doubted she could match. He was able to subdue her and take her hostage… then he might just get the leverage needed to get out of this nightmare.

"How..." Shaw began, his voice trembling slightly. "How are you going to help me? Are you here to sell me to that small flying demon too?"

Azeline let out a soft, tinkling laugh that sound at odds with the tension in the room. She reached out, tracing a finger along Shaw's jawline with a touch feather-light. "No, silly," she purred, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm here to make sure you're not going to do anything stupid before my friends talk to you."

Shaw flinched at her touch, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't tell if the racing of his pulse was due to fear or adrenaline for what was to come. "Anything s-stupid?" his mouth felt suddenly dry as he repeated the woman’s words. "Like what?"

"Like trying to escape," Azeline literally chirped, as a wide, predatory grin spread across her face. "Or trying to hurt someone. Namely, me."

A chill running down Shaws spine as his eyes widened at Azeline's words. She had read his intentions like an open book. But it was already too late and she was already too close. This was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to break free from this nightmare.

Without hesitation, a guttural roar left Shaw’s mouth as he channeled every ounce of his strength, every shred of his mana, into one final, desperate flex. The ropes that bound him snapped with a violent crack, and in a blur of motion, Shaw shot up from his seat, grabbed onto Azeline's arm and pushed her back.