Grimoires and Gunsmoke

With the morning sun high in the sky and the village preparing its caravan, Elijah stood in the makeshift garage with his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at two weapons laid out before him. On one side was his trusted Geissele URG-I, a tried-and-true M4 platform that he knew like the back of his hand. It was reliable, accurate, and, most importantly, it used the same ammunition as everyone else.

But on the other side... there lay temptation in the form of the brand-new Reduced Signature Assault Rifle (RSAR). Chambered in his favorite round, .300 Blackout, it promised unparalleled suppression and superb performance under 300 meters, hitting like a brick in a compact package.

Elijah hummed in thought while his fingers drummed on the side of his leg as he weighed the pros and cons of each weapon. The Geissele was a known quantity, a workhorse he could depend on. But the RSAR... the RSAR was a thing of beauty.

"Jesus Christ, Eli. Just bring both," Bennett's voice cut through Elijah's musings, tinged with exasperation.

Elijah looked up, meeting his teammate's gaze. Bennett was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"You've been staring at those guns for the past 15 minutes," Bennett said, shaking his head with an arm full of Stinger Missiles and AT4s. "You're worse than some valley girl trying to pick a pair of shoes."

Unabashed turned back to the two rifles and let out a sigh. "Nah, bro. You don’t understand," he said, running a hand through his hair. "You see, the beauty of the RSAR is that it can run subsonic rounds. I can just pop motherfuckers like it's nothing, no loud bang, no muzzle flash, just a quiet little 'pfft' and they're down."

He mimed shooting, his finger pulling an imaginary trigger. "But then, when I need it, I can just swap mags and run supersonic rounds. Suddenly, I'm fucking someone's day up from a distance, especially if I need penetration."

Bennett rolled his eyes, but Elijah was on a roll. "I mean, don't get me wrong, 5.56 is great. It zips faster than fuck, but it can't go through things as well as a 30-cal can. The RSAR gives me options, man."

He paused, his brow furrowing as a thought occurred to him. "But the problem is, I'd be taking up a lot more precious space and cargo capacity on the cart. Space we could use for heavier weapons or supplies."

Elijah sighed, his gaze drifting back to the Geissele. "But if I choose the URG-I... then there's parts and ammo commonality across the board. I don't have to bother with needing my own special ammo and–"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Bennett interrupted, his patience finally snapping. "Just shut up. Please, just shut the fuck up." He huffed out before turning on his heel, stalking away while muttering under his breath about "fuckin’ gear queers" and "overthinking shit."

Unable to resist getting in one last jab, Elijah yelled after Bennett as he stomped away and flipped him off. “YOUR MOM!”

With his arms still full of ordnance, Bennet didn’t even bother acknowledging the man as he waddled out of the garage. However, he couldn’t help but grumble under his breath about how Elijah should have had this shit figured out already. The bastard had all night to get everything organized, but here he was, doing everything thing last minute.

Again.

“Ridiculous…” The engineer bemoaned as he adjusted his grip just before an AT4 fell out of his hands.

As he approached one of the carts allocated to the ODA team, Bennett looked up to see Coleman, who was dressed like a medieval merchant, carefully placing cans of ammunition in the bed of a wooden cart. But the team leader looked up, and his eyebrows raised when he saw Bennett’s agitation. "The fuck is up with you?" he asked, pushing a roll of furs over the metal cans.

Bennett dumped the launchers into the back of the cart with a grunt, the weapons clanging against each other. "The Geardo fuck is still trying to figure out what gun he's gonna bring," he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Instantly knowing that Eli was most likely talking about his standard-issue rifle and the RSAR, Coleman just shook his head. "Just tell him to bring both," he said, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.

"I did!" Bennett nearly yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Coleman pinched the bridge of his nose before turning back to organize the ammunition. "Ya, well, you know Eli," he said, his voice filled with fond amusement. "He overanalyzes shit. It's just how he operates."

Bennett snorted in irritation as she started playing Tetris, twisting and turning launchers, cans of ammunition, and other supplies to make everything fit. "Yeah, well, he can operate these nuts."

As Bennett and Coleman continued loading the cart, the rest of their side of the village buzzed with activity. Hastily built structures, erected to house the influx of refugees and the ODA team, stood in stark contrast to the more traditional village dwellings. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation, a mix of excitement and trepidation for the journey ahead.

Two carts stood ready, strange cow-like oxen hitched at the head of each. The beasts were sturdy and placid, their broad backs and thick necks speaking to their strength and endurance. They would be the lifeline of the caravan, the engines that would propel them across the vast and uncertain landscape.

Around the carts, the ODA team and a handful of refugees who had chosen to accompany them worked in tandem, loading supplies and ensuring everything was secured. There was a camaraderie to their efforts, a sense of shared purpose that transcended language and culture.

Just as the last of the gear was being stowed, Elijah finally emerged from the garage. His standard-issue URG-I dangled from his chest, the black metal gleaming in the morning sun. In each hand, he carried an ammo can, with another precariously balanced under his arm.

He seemed to be struggling under the weight of all his gear, his large medpack and another bulging rucksack adding to his burden. But despite the awkward load, he managed to make his way to the cart, dumping the ammo cans into the back with a clatter.

Coleman, looking up from his own task, raised an eyebrow. "So, you went with 5.56, eh?" he asked, nodding towards the URG-I.

"Nah, bringin’ both." Elijah responded as he started to sort and shift things into place.

Bennett, who had just finished securing the last of the ordnance, threw his arms up in frustration. "Are you serious?" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Are you for real? You should have just done that from the start! Jesus… CHRIST!"

Unperturbed by Bennett's outburst, Elijah shrugged and smacked his rucksack. "Gonna just bring the upper receiver of the RSAR and swap when I need it," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

An audible smack rang out as Bennett hung his head back and facepalmed. “Un-fucking-believable," he muttered before shacking his head and grabbing Elijah’s garbage, and started to sort it so it was covered by furs or linens.

But before Bennett could voice any further complaints, a familiar voice cut through the bustle of preparations. "Hey guys! I’m back!"

The three men turned to see Azeline hopping off the strange Australian 6x6 long-range patrol vehicle the SASR seemed to like to roll around in. The vehicle was full of soldiers and had come to a stop at the intersection, allowing Azeline to hop off. Azeline squeezed past soldiers and carts, making her way toward Elijah, Coleman, and Bennett with a cheeky smile on her face.

As she approached, Azeline put one hand on her hip and threw a satchel over her shoulder with the other. "So, are you all ready to go? It's gonna be a little under half a day's travel to get there."

Unable to resist the opportunity to complain further, Bennett rolled his eyes and jabbed a finger in Elijah's direction. "No, we're being held up by this idiot. He waited until the last minute to get all his shit together."

Azeline raised an eyebrow as her gaze shifted to Elijah. "Huh? But he left the interrogation early to get stuff ready..." She responded in a questioning tone.

All eyes turned to Elijah, who seemed to be studiously ignoring the accusatory looks being thrown his way. An awkward silence descended, broken only by the sounds of the village and the caravan preparing to depart.

Finally, Coleman spoke up with a tone mixed with curiosity and exasperation. "Well... where were you then?" He asked, knowing full well he most likely wasn’t going to get an answer.

And true to his suspicion, Elijah remained poker faced as he continued to sory his luggage and cover it with linens. "Nothin’, just took a walk to clear my mind," he replied in a nonchalant voice, but his mind flashed back to the previous night and soft sighs and soft touch of Eileen's warm skin under his hands…

Now Coleman had known Elijah long enough to know just how full of shit he was. After having been in the same ODA as the medic for nearly half a decade, Coleman liked to think he knew the medic better than most. He had seen firsthand the kind of shenanigans Elijah could get up to, and he had a pretty good idea of what "taking a walk to clear his mind" really meant.

Alongside being the most cross-trained operator in their Special Forces Group, Elijah was also a slippery bastard. The man was a master at disappearing without a trace when it was convenient for him and/ or causing SOMETHING without a single shred of evidence pointing to him. But Coleman knew better than to trust his glib tongue. Whether it was sneaking a woman onto the base, convincing some poor sap to do his bidding, or just generally causing mischief, Elijah always seemed to find a way to get what he wanted or cause havoc.

It was the sole reason why, after so long, he still held only the position of Staff Sergeant. The brass saw him as too valuable to get rid of, shoving him into training and advisory positions whenever they could, but too much of a nuisance to give any real authority.

If there were a word Coleman would use to describe Elijah, it was ‘Machiavellian.’ He wasn't quite a sociopath, but he sure as hell knew how to manipulate people and situations to his advantage. It was a skill that had served him well in the field, but it could also be a major pain in the ass for those around him.

Coleman suppressed a sigh, knowing that calling Elijah out on his bullshit wouldn't do any good. The man would just flash that charming grin of his and find a way to talk his way out of it.

Instead, Coleman just shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Right. A walk. Sure."

Elijah, sensing that Coleman wasn't buying his story, just shrugged. "What can I say? I like my cardio."

Bennett, who had been listening to the exchange with growing irritation, threw his hands up in exasperation. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Can we just go? Can we go now? Let's just go."

As the conversation unfolded, Azeline watched with narrowed eyes, her gaze flickering between Elijah and Coleman. She had only known the medic for a couple of weeks, but she was starting to catch on to his ways. There was something about his easy charm, his ability to deflect and redirect, that set off alarm bells in her mind.

But before she could ponder further on Elijah's suspicious behavior, the man himself looked up, having finally finished arranging his baggage. His gaze shifted towards the Australian vehicle, where their prisoner sat, hogtied and chained to the back of the vehicle with an operator pointing a gun at the back of his head.

The knight captain, or whatever he was, was bound with a combination of rope, metal handcuffs, and chains, tethered to the vehicle in such a manner that made it nearly impossible for him to leverage his strength. A black burlap sack covered his head, completing the picture of utter helplessness that made Elijah almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Raising his eyebrow in disbelief, Elijah turned to Azeline. "So, uh... are you riding with them, or… do they got this?" He asked with his finger flicking towards him and the Australian unit at the intersection.

Unable to help the smirk forming on her face Azeline looked over towards the man she had subdued the night prior with a hint of pride. "Ah, they got it!” She threw her hand in their direction in a dismissive manner. “They locked ‘em down so tight, he ain’t going nowhere. And if he tries anything, his head is gonna splatter with those boomsticks of yours."

“Right…” Elijah furrowed his brow as his eyes shifted between the Knight Captain and Azeline. " To be honest, I can't say I really blame them..."

Azeline's smirk widened into a grin. "Exactly. Better safe than sorry, right?" With that, she hopped into the cart's cab, settling herself in for the journey ahead. Around her, the rest of the otherworldly humans and the refugees made their final preparations, anticipating an eventful journey.

Coleman surveyed his surroundings with a discerning eye, making sure his team was ready to set out before clapping his hands loudly. "Alright boys!” He yelled with a smirk on his face. “Let's get this show on the road and usurp some towns!"

With a creaking groan, the carts began to move as the oxen straining against their harnesses. The Australian vehicle was soon joined by two more as they fell into line behind carriages, slowly keeping pace as its engines gently rumbled.

As the caravan lurched forward, the oxen-like creatures settled into a steady pace, and Elijah found himself swaying with the motion of the cart. A few of the surviving males refugees flanked the carts with spears in hand while a handful of women jumped on the tailgates, kicking their feet as they trudged along.

After a few minutes, the village gates loomed ahead as the team neared the rest of the caravan idling just in front of it. Five more carts stretched out before them, each one laden with supplies and flanked by villagers scurrying to and fro, making last-minute adjustments.

Most interesting however, were the fact that each of the villagers had some sort of weapon. Be it a spear, a sword, or even a bow. Even the women were armed, indicating that these excursions were most of the fraught with some kind of conflict.

But, as they fell into line with the other carts, Elijah found himself standing with his hands gripping the rough wood of the cart's edge as he scanned the crowd. His eyes squinted against the glare of the sun, his hand raised to shield his brow, looking for any sign of Sofan, the village head. The man had been a thorn in their side from the beginning, his distrust and suspicion became a constant undercurrent to their interests and operations.

As Elijah continued his search, his eyes fell upon the sight of Jayla, Eileen’s friend, setting in the driver's seat of a carriage. An eyebrow shot up as he wondered why she was joining them, but with a shake of his head, Elijah continued to look for the village head. Work came before pleasure, and he needed to see if the man took the bait.

Finally, his gaze landed on the man as he continued to argue with his son. A vicious snarl formed on the Village head’s face as he snapped around and marched towards the lead caravan with his son glaring hateful daggers at his back. A malicious grin spread across Elijah’s face when he that Sofan held Gladeheart, the precious bow that had once belonged to his son.

Elijah's mind flashed back to the conversation he had with son, pandering to his ego in a way that reinforced his claim over the supposedly legendary weapon. It wasn’t hard to convince hte boy that the weapon bestowed upon him was rightfully his, and as far as Elijah was concerned, he didn’t need to tell a lie. But then his thoughts turned to the few words he gave to the father. Bring the best weapon you can find because there are Grovemaws lurking about and you should bring what will guarantee would bring you home.

A laugh escaped Elijah's mouth at how easy this all ways. The bastard must have had his sights on the weapon from the start, and he didn’t need to egg the man on any further than giving a justification to take it. The village head had taken the bait and had claimed the bow for himself in a misguided attempt to assert his authority.

Just as Elijah was savoring his small victory, the creaking of the village gates drew his attention. The massive wooden doors slowly swung open, revealing the winding road ahead. The caravan began to move forward, the oxen straining against their harnesses as they picked up speed.

But before they could fully pass through the gates, a voice called out from the side of the road. "Elijah!"

The medic's head snapped around, his eyes searching for the source of the call. There, standing off to the side, were Afton and Donnu, the blacksmith whose daughter the team had rescued.

Afton's face was contorted in a furious scowl, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. Beside him, Donnu stood with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression as he indicated that they needed to talk.

Urgently.

Elijah's mind raced, weighing the potential risks and benefits of engaging with the young man. Afton was a volatile element, his resentment towards his father a powder keg waiting to explode. But he was also a valuable asset, a potential ally in Elijah's machinations.

Making a split-second decision, Elijah turned to Coleman. "Cover me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "In case shit goes wild."

Coleman's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What the fuck does that mean?"

But Elijah didn't elaborate. "Trust me," he said simply, before turning to Azeline and tapping her shoulder. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for her to follow.

Azeline, her curiosity piqued, raised an eyebrow but hopped off the cart without hesitation. Together, they made their way towards Afton and Donnu, leaving a grumbling Coleman behind.

The team leader, his instincts screaming that something was amiss, barked orders at Bennett and Schwarz. "Grab your weapons," he said, his voice tight with tension. "Eli's doing some stupid shit."

The two operators exchanged a glance but moved to comply, their hands reaching for their rifles while Elijah and Azeline approached Afton and Donnu. the tension in the air was palpable, and Afton's hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight with barely suppressed rage.

"What? What’s going on?" Elijah asked in a confused and somewhat annoyed voice. "We're about to head out."

Afton's eyes flashed, his words coming out in a hiss. "My father," he spat, the word dripping with venom. "You were right. He's taken Gladeheart. He claims it's his right as village head."

Elijah's gaze flicked to Donnu, gauging the blacksmith's reaction. But the chubby yet muscular man remained silent, keeping his eyes closed with a look of determination plastered across his face.

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Elijah asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Donnu, who had been silent until this point, suddenly spoke up. "It's not about what you are going to do about it," he said with sadness and resignation in his voice. "We just… We just need you to listen. The man has crossed a line he shouldn’t have days ago." The blacksmith's words hung in the air, the weight of their implication settling over the group like a shroud.

Afton's fury seemed to shift, morphing into something more difficult to define. A mix of vindication and anticipation, tinged with a hint of fear. But Donnu turned to Afton, his expression somber. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?" he asked in a steady tone despite the gravity of the situation. "You can walk away right now, Afton. Have clean hands in this matter."

But Afton shook his head as his jaw set with determination. He looked first to Elijah, then to Azeline, who stood in a protective fashion next to him. The boy’s voice became low and quiet as he spoke his next few words "My father... he plans on telling the Imperials about y'all. That y'all are in this village."

Almost as if he was dumped with freezing water, a cold and hardened look took hold of Elijah’s eyes, sending chills down the spines of both Donnu and Afton. Beside the medic, Azeline tensed, and her eyes narrowed to steely slits as both of their gazes shifted toward the village head, tracking the man's every move.

Sofan stood at the head of the caravan, Gladeheart clutched in his hand, unaware of the danger that now lurked in his own village. "You understand what this means, right?" Elijah asked in the same steady tone, belying it’s murderous intent. "You understand... I can't allow him to do that… Right?"

The words were heavy with implication, a statement of fact rather than a question. Afton and Donnu exchanged a glance, their expressions difficult to read. But after a moment, they both nodded.

"The gods would damn me for eternity should I turn my backs on my family’s benefactors," Donnu said, looking down with a pained look on his face as he walked away towards his cart.

Afton balled his fist and clenched his jaw as his anger was tempered by a grim sense of purpose. He met Elijah's gaze with tears forming in his eyes as he shakily spoke the next few words. "Do what you have to do,"

Elijah looked towards the village head one more time before his gaze shifted upwards to the top of the gate where hung the rapist of Donnu’s Daughter. “Very well.”