Firstborn of the Frontier

Always be prepared.

A lesson my daddy drilled into my head by letting me make all the mistakes. He’d tell me to prep for a trip, then leave me to live with the consequences of my decisions. Didn’t pack enough clothes? Then I’d have to wash them on the road, because a clean stranger was more trustworthy than a dirty one. My tent, bedroll, and food was too heavy to carry? Well too bad, because ain’t nothing free, so can’t be ditching nothing bought with hard-earned money. Run out of food or water because I didn’t pack enough? Then I best get scrounging, because he didn’t pack extra for me. Tell you this; you only forget to pack an extra waterskin once, because riding with a parched throat or a bellyful of river water ain’t pleasant in the least.

Course, he never let me get in any real danger, and those ‘close’ calls provided opportunities for teaching moments. Like how to find water on the go, which is what Tim has me doing as we backtrack along the path we took to get here while he lays down his own prep work for the coming fight. Ain’t much of an ask, because while Locate Water is a Second Order Spell, it’s also a Ritual I know all too well, and one that don’t take much effort to go through. The copper lid of my candy tin comes out once more and I fill it with a vial of Holy Water, into which I place a lodestone, a pinch of powdered pearl, a salt crystal the size of my pinky fingernail, and a fishbone I picked up from the shores of Last Chance Lake. As usual, there’s a whole bunch of mumbling and wand waving that goes along with it as I add the ingredients one by one, but it only takes a minute or two to get it going, making it much more convenient than most Rituals.

Expensive too, considering Holy Water and powdered pearl don’t come cheap. Even without the Ritual, you still need the ingredients when casting it manually, so I can only imagine the hurt I put on my daddy’s wallet back when I was still learning the ins and outs of the Spell. A few weeks shy of thirteen and already slinging Second Order Spells, a point to take pride in for sure, though Chrissy and Tina kept my ego in check by keeping up without much practice at all. Fact is, Chrissy was the first out of us three to throw out a Second Order Spell, namely Calm Emotions to stop a feral stallion who’d gotten loose and was running along the main thoroughfare. Called the horsie right over to eat a bapple out of her hand, and it went right along with it like a trained beast of ten years rather than a wild creature spooked out of its gourd. Always envied her way with animals, though I remember Aunty Ray had to take credit for calming the beast, because she didn’t want no one knowing Chrissy’s Spellslinging abilities were already so far advanced when she wasn’t even thirteen.

Mostly because it wasn’t any secret that the Bradshaw bloodline was well known for their mastery of the Madness Spell, one which Aunty Ray’s war-hero of a daddy used to great effect turning Viet Cong against one another during the Nanyue War. Or the Vietnam War I guess it’s called now, but most don’t like to talk about it at all. Apparently a lotta bad things went down during that war, but I figure that’s par for the course. Folks like to think of humans as a civilized species, but it don’t take much to bring us back to our savage and barbaric roots. Three missed meals from total anarchy, that’s how the saying goes, and from what I’ve seen in my short time here on the Frontier, it’s being overly generous.

Forget the food in your pack. There are folks who’ll kill you for the boots off your feet. Some because they desperate, but not all, as there are those who’d kill you just because they can, and both are more dangerous than Abby could ever be.

While I remember past lessons to keep my cool and hold Concentration on my Detect Aberration Spell, Tim brings me out and about through the cavern as if he’s lived a lifetime under dark. Doesn’t stick to the path we took to get here, and finds us a safe route over to the other side. Has us descend down to the base level without any tools or rope, then weave around stalagmites to avoid detection from scurrying gobbos moving about, before climbing a wall maybe two arm-lengths away from a group of sleeping orcs. Tim does it all without blinking an eye and trusts me to follow suit, but never asks me to anything beyond my abilities neither. Moves like he got a Detect Aberration Spell going too, as he doesn’t need me to warn him even once of oncoming Abby patrols or nearby gobbos who might hear us moving overhead, and when he presses himself up against the stones to hide in the irregular rock face, I lose sight of him in the jumbled mix of varying shades of grey. Every now and then, he stops to carry out a Ritual of his own while I watch his back, a role which ages me a year for every minute spent in strained and stressful vigilance.

Explains why he buys so much honeycomb though, and not because he likes the taste. Even with my sweet tooth, I could never get over the waxy, chewy texture, so after squeezing out as much honey as I could, I’d typically render the leftovers into wax and sell it to miss Elise who puts it in her soaps and candles. Always left a good square metre or so of raw honeycomb for Tim though, and never really knew why since it was an arrangement he had with my daddy. Turns out, it’s needed for a Ritual Spell, one which involves slapping a single, unbroken hex of honeycomb onto a rock surface and drawing something around it with a feather, before whispering something into it all secret like. Can’t hear what Tim says or see what it is he draws, as the lines don’t show up under Darkvision, nor am I familiar with the Spell he’s using. Not all that surprising really, as Illusion ain’t really my thing, though I got practice enough using Minor Illusion to make realistic sounds.

As for images? Well… we can’t all be good at everything, now can we?

Dodging Abby and leaving Ritual Spells ain’t all Tim does, as every now and then he pulls out a Shatter charge and affixes it somewhere clever, like deep in a nook with a ledge over head, or onto a stalactite overhead that’ll fall and block access to a tunnel. Twelve charges by my count, plus another four to blow our exit route behind us, which goes to show that my daddy wasn’t the only one who liked to be prepared. Then again, he probably learned the ropes right next to Tim, who was only twenty and change when he passed through the gates, four years older than my daddy and same age as Aunty Ray. Chances are, Tim came to the Frontier without ever having delved under dark, though he’d served as a sniper in Iran and earned himself the callsign Revenant when he was only a year or so older than I am now.

Yet another rude reminder of far behind the curve I really am, but in my defense, ain’t no wars for me to cut my teeth on in this here slice of the Frontier.

The plethora of less destructive but equally nefarious schemes Tim sets into motion only hammer home my lacking abilities as we weave our way through the cavern undetected. Ain’t Invisibility keeping us hidden, because if it was, I wouldn’t be able to see him or myself, so it’s plain old stealth and trickery which sees us through, a master lesson I strive to learn from while wishing my bull’s head medallion could record things in the dark. He rigs up a loose formation of rocks to fall apart the moment something big and heavy trundles by, unleashing a pile of marbles that’ll roll out to make Abby slip and fall. An upended metal flask filled with odourless oil is poured out over a natural stairway, one that provides the quickest way down from one strata of the cavern to the next. Crevices that make for good hand or footholds along walls most likely to be climbed get vials of Alchemical Acid poured inside to melt Abby fingies and toesies at a touch. Snares, tripwires, ankle breakers, minor rockfalls, Tim even adds a few Ritual Alarms and manual noisemaking traps to even out the repertoire, no doubt seeking to sow as much confusion in the chaos as he can the moment we go loud.

Me, I’m more worried that Abby will set these traps off before the Proggie gets here and alerts everyone to our presence, but Tim is the pro here, so I ain’t about to second guess him. Then again, maybe getting their attention is the point, since these traps and distractions are all set up on the eastern side of the cavern, while our exit route sits on the west side. They’re also focused around tunnels that might well lead to water, as I point out the flows I sense along the way. Abby and mushrooms alike still need water to survive, so cutting off access to the cavern from those tunnels will likely stop a whole bunch of Abby from making it in. He’s gearing up to get Abby looking left while we prep to strike from the right, sending them on a wild goose chase looking for threats somewhere they don’t actually exist and leaving the cavern less guarded for it. Either way, it’s an eye-opening experience, and I get to working on ideas I could rig up with help from my Mage Hands, giving me new exercises to practice once we’re back topside. A single operation with the Rangers has taught me so much, it’s a bittersweet experience to be sure, because chances of me getting another opportunity like this are slim to none.

Despite what Uncle Teddy told me about finishing Basic to prove I’m worth training up, I can’t imagine Ranger High Command will be all too thrilled to see Federation resources going towards teaching a freelance freeholder who ain’t even an American citizen. There’s also the fact that I can’t exactly copy what Tim’s doing here, mostly because I can’t afford to. Even assuming Shatter charges were available for civilian purchase, I doubt they come cheap. It’s probably the same tech as what’s in Danny’s flashbang, but the suspended alchemical amalgam contained within those only needs to store Daze and Light. Both of which are Cantrips, whereas Shatter is a Secord Order Spell, which I’m told is exponentially more difficult compared to storing First Order Spells. Higher Order Spell means higher energy effect, and it takes more effort to store energy than it does to release it.

Granted, Trevor was talking about a reusable Aether suspension matrix to put in my boot, whereas Shatter charges only need to work the once, but the math behind the mechanics of Spell storage don’t change much either way.

Taking a dozen steps back, my wallet hurts watching Tim waste all those vials of Alchemical Acid that go for $12.50 a pop. Started with a whole saddlebag full of vials, so there’s gotta be over $500 dollars in Acid just haphazardly scattered about the cavern, most of which won’t do more than inconvenience a single Abby. Me, I got eight of vials in my pouch and I haven’t had the heart to use them yet, but Tim don’t even bat an eye while wasting a veritable fortune. Granted, a Proggie corpse would more than make up for the expenditure and then some, but it’ll still take time for the resulting Aetheric condenser to produce enough crystallized Aether to cover your losses. Said Proggies don’t do nothing fast besides spawning Abby, and that applies here, which is why I ain’t all that twisted up about getting paid a flat fee upfront for my part in this here op.

Course I’d be lying if I said I never dreamed about bagging a Proggie on my own, or with my own team at least, and keeping the condenser for ourselves. One won’t make us rich, not by a long shot, but passive income is passive income, and who says we gotta stop at one? A good team with a proper Scout could become bonafide Aether Barons with a little luck and happenstance, selling crystallized Aether to the highest bidder and even producing liquid or gaseous Aether later on when conditions allow it. That’s the dream they sold American settlers on, one beyond most of their capabilities, but I think I got a good chance of success so long as I get a good team behind me.

…Is what I would’ve said a week ago, but now I ain’t so sure. Between the extreme stealth, exorbitant spending, and exceptional skillset required to even consider tackling an operation like this, I’m wondering if I’ll be ready before I’m thirty. And that’s assuming Abby don’t get any stronger, which is a fool’s dream. Once the Watershed rolls around, Proggies will have more Aether to work with and be less restrained by the laws of physics. They’ll still make gobbos, orcs, and bugbears, but they’ll do it in big batches and them greenies will come out with the know-how already ingrained into their brains to do stuff like grow mushrooms, sling Bolts, and put together simple contraptions. Trolls and ogres will become commonplace too, and they’ll evolve into jotuns, oni, and giants capable of threatening whole towns all by their lonesome. The Ferals will grow bigger, stronger, and smarter too, though with more of a focus on the first two rather than the latter, while the Soulless will be even less constrained by their non-corporeal bodies, freeing their ghoulish, parasitic minions to move beyond the deadlands which their fiendish Proggies have already terraformed to suit their needs.

Costs big money to stay ahead of the curve, and while I’ve known this all along, I’m only now seeing how much money we’re really talking about. My idle dream of forming a crew to take on Proggies looks so silly in retrospect, because there’s a world of difference between hunting Abby above ground and delving under dark. My daddy trained me up pretty good, but Aunty Ray was right. I ain’t even close to ready for this, and the only reason I haven’t gotten got just yet is because I’m down here with the best of the best. No need to talk up the three Captains, but Sergeant Begaye has some serious skills going toe to toe with Abby like he did, because even with the fearsome Iron Maiden standing beside him, he was the one taking lead. Not just because of his armour neither; the man fights like Tim shoots, with calm confidence and cold capability, like he done already come out on top, but Abby don’t know it just yet.

Whereas me? All I’ve done is point the way and follow Tim around in the dark, and it feels like I’ve aged a hundred years. I don’t see any way out of this without dying in the process, because a couple tricks and traps ain’t gonna be enough to cover us on the way out, and my hopes of finding a convenient source of running water above us comes up short. Unlike Detect Aberration, the Locate Water Spell doesn’t require direct, unobstructed path to the target. Wouldn’t be much use if it did, because usually, when you’re looking for water, you’re trying to find an underground source so you can dig a well and tap into it. As such, this handy dandy man-made Divination Spell was built from the ground up, not to directly seek out water itself, but to take my copper ‘bowl’ of water, fishbones, salt, and powdered pearl and make it resonate with the lodestone so it’ll resonate in the presence of another body of water.

Same result, but obtained in a different manner, which I find interesting as all heck, as it highlights the ingenuity of the human mind. The Detect Aberration sends out waves of Aether in search of a particular target, then returns with a result when that target is found. It does things like that because it’s meant for Abby to identify other Abby so they don’t go killing each other in the dark, and doesn’t work well for targets on the other side of the wall because there’s no need to go that far. Locate Water however is different, and it harnesses the innate attraction water exerts on other water when in close proximity to find more water by amplifying that effect about a thousand times over.

And I find a lot of water, but all of it underneath our feet. Unfortunately, what I want is a fast-flowing underground river above us, one I could possibly divert into the cavern with a few Shatter charges or other explosive effects to wash away Abby after killing the Proggie. Greenies are a dense and hefty bunch who don’t swim all that good, and I would’ve felt a whole lot better knowing I’d contributed to whatever our escape plan might be, but no dice.

After two hours of stealthing about, Tim brings us back to our temporary base camp which has transformed in our time away. The roomy little crevice has an entrance which overlooks the cavern, and now it’s been fortified into a decent fighting position. A single Flame Cloud is all it’ll take to hold the entire horde at bay, while any Abby who do slip through will be surrounded on three sides. Course, the whole chokepoint idea only works until Abby digs their way through the walls to get at us trapped inside, and then it’s all she wrote.

An unsettling image, that is, one which lingers as I find a seat close to the entrance where my Detect Aberration Spell ain’t as constrained. Even as the thought strikes me, my Concentration slips when I try to recall how long I’ve been holding it for, though I give up soon enough. Pretty sure we’ve been down here for about seven hours and change, but I know I’ve manually cast Detect Aberration twelve times. Best case scenario, I’ve got two First Order Spells left in me, or maybe a single Second Order Divination Spell. Of which the only one I got is Find Magical Traps, but I have yet to have any reason to cast it, nor have I been asked to. For good reason though; usually only established Proggies will invest in magical traps, and even if they cared to lay any down, they wouldn’t do it in a high traffic area like this cavern. Liable to kill more Abby than anything and waste the effort, though I suppose they could’ve laid a trap on the other side of the warning we came across in the mining tunnel.

…Which is why they sent me through first.

Because I’m the guy who’s supposed to check for traps.

Better lucky than good, and I’m glad my luck held out.

Stifling a groan at my belated realization, I take a moment to cradle my head in my hands and resist the urge to tear my hair out. I should’ve known better, and even if I didn’t want to waste a Second Order Spell, I could’ve just sent in my Mage Hands to feel around and see if they’d trigger any magical or mechanical traps. Not like I haven’t done it before; my daddy used to set snares around camp after I fell asleep, and I could never find them just by looking. I took it for a game, a joke he liked to play to keep me on my toes, but little did I know he was training me for delves even then. Ain’t his fault I’m not ready just yet, because I’ve been slacking ever since he passed. Holding a ten-minute Detect Aberration Spell for an hour ain’t terrible, and I thought I was set, but that’s under perfect conditions, so I got a lot of room for improvement. Not to mention how I ought to hold myself to higher standards, considering I’m aiming to be a Specialist Scout. Can’t settle for good enough now can I? Not when my job is to keep the rest of my team from walking into an ambush, and the last two hours have proven that Tim could’ve done it just as well, if not better, despite being a Sharpshooter, Stealth Specialist, and Battlefield Controller.

Every Ranger wears three hats, that’s how the saying goes. Means they’re capable of filling in for at least three vital roles, allowing a team of five to have plenty of overlap in case one or two go down. Captain Jung is a Striker, Controller, and I’m guessing Frontliner, while Sergeant Begaye is most definitely the latter two, while probably also a support Specialist. As for Marcus? He’s a Striker, Controller, and Supporter, meaning this team is heavy on damage and control, but light on everything else. Mostly because of me. I’m barely qualified to fulfil one role and one role only, leaving me useless for anything else. Ideally, I’d fill in for Stealth and Sharpshooting, but I ain’t good enough to even begin to cover either of those roles, not all by my lonesome. Ranger ready? Not by a long shot, something I knew coming in, but that don’t make it any less unpleasant for me to sit here and face facts.

To think, I was feeling all high and mighty when I told Kacey I don’t need no Divination Spell besides Eagle Eye out on the Coral Desert. Truth is, I haven’t been practicing my Detection Spells ever since my daddy passed, because I always thought they were a bit extra. You can usually see, hear, or even smell Abby before the Spell registers them, even if they lying hidden in wait, because it takes more than Divination Spells to make a good Scout. That still holds true, but I was an idiot to discard a tool just because I thought it wasn’t all that useful. It’d be like getting rid of a hammer because you can pound nails in and pull them out just fine with your knife, which is true right up until it’s not.

So practicing Detection Spells goes onto the ever-growing list of things I need to work on as I take a breath and begin chanting to cast Detect Aberration once again. Only to stop short as Tim gives my shoulder a sharp tap and gestures for me to move deeper into the crevice. “Know your limits,” he whispers, somehow putting an edge to the words despite delivering them in the same slow and lazy drawl as always. “Push too hard and you go from asset to liability, so fuel and rest up while you can.”

“Ten-Four,” I reply, slipping into radio lingo before correcting myself. “Will do.” Slumping up against the wall, I dig through a hip pouch to grab some jerky and sigh. Ain’t much of an asset, but the least I can do is move on my own two feet. They’re already figuratively carrying me through this operation, so I can’t have them literally carrying me too.

“You’re doing good Howie,” Tim adds, and I can’t help but blink in surprise. If he’s being encouraging, I must look even worse than I feel, a sentiment he reads in my expression. Earns me a shrug and a wry smile, admitting he ain’t used this either, but he pushes onwards all the same. “Look at the facts,” he says, taking off his military helmet to run a hand through his thick chestnut curls. “You did your work, then got out of the way, and not a single one of us have had to reel you in this entire time. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Said it before, didn’t I? You know the life better than I did when I was your age, and you handle yourself well.”

“Just well? Not great?” I ask, just to be cheeky, and Tim rolls his eyes.

“Great would be if you took a little more care when jumping headfirst into the unknown,” he whispers, showing I wasn’t the only one to catch my little mistake. “Or oiled your new holster so it won’t creak so much and switched out the adjustable strap on your vial pouch for one that don’t clink.” He’s got more to share, but he stops himself short when he remembers how this all started, with him trying to cheer me up rather than stomp me down flat. Gives me a little shrug to say it is what it is, and I smile and nod back in thanks. Empathy don’t come easy to Tim, nor does teaching as I saw early on in our trip, so the fact that he said this much shows he cares.

Removing my own helmet, I set it down gently beside me before lifting my goggles off to blindly add more crystallized Aether into the dynamo so it don’t run out of power mid fight. When that’s done, I put them back on to rest on my forehead and pull my kerchief down from over my mouth, tasting the stale air for the first time and not finding much to like. Only then do I gingerly lean back to relax, doing what I can to ignoring the stifling, constricting darkness and take Tim’s advice to rest while I can. Easier said than done, as I can’t help worrying about how Tina’s doing in Pleasant Dunes. The hobgoblin is a crafty one, smart enough to send commandos over the wall in the dead of night to spike the gatlings and try for the gate, then follow it up by attacking in shifts to keep the defenders on their toes and short on sleep. Started last night and I doubt it eased off the gas today, because it probably knows what’s coming. If the Proggie gets in close and sends all nearby Abby into a berserk rage, the hobgoblin will be caught up in it too, meaning its chances of surviving the all-out attack are no better than any random orc, if not slightly worse. Can’t sling Spells while you berserk, and most of the hob’s strength comes from its intelligence rather than its physique, meaning it really wants to take the town before the baby Proggie gets grumpy.

And it most certainly will if we take our shot and miss, because that widescale berserk rage is their weapon of last resort. Turns all Abby homicidal while boosting their strength, endurance, and willpower, but once the rage wears off, it leaves them weak and fatigued. Too weak to contest against the Proggie, who will devour them to replenish its spent reserves, since all that magical encouragement don’t come without cost. No one really knows how Abby learn these things, but the general consensus is that gobbos in particular tend to get real desperate when a Proggie arrival is imminent. I’m guessing Tina and the boots are having a rough time holding the walls, and the townies of Pleasant Dunes are finally seeing what they’re up against. Wayne and his Company are likely running themselves ragged patching up holes in the defenses, but with four fronts to cover between twenty Rangers, they’re liable to be running on fumes just like I am now.

So here’s hoping Ron’s got a card or four hidden up his sleeve, and I gotta think that he does. Said this town was his breadbasket, and he’s hardly the sort of man who’d rely on the kindness of strangers or the Federal Government to cover his ass. Just wish I knew what his ace in the hole was. An army of adamantine golems? A fleet of armoured vehicles or aerial support? An artillery battery of Echoing Bombard cannons sitting high up in the mountains and fixed on target to clear out the horde in a single coordinated volley? The first two aren’t possible, while the third isn’t even remotely plausible, because I know good and well Mr. Kalthoff spent years trying to finagle a Bombard Spell Core to upcast beyond Third Order and could never get it to work, even though the old world used that trick to great effect in the Second World War.

Thing is, I can’t really think of anything else that could stop a berserk army of gobbos, orcs, and bugbears, not unless Vanguard National has got twenty to thirty Ranger-quality members. I’m talking Third Order Spellslingers with access to the real big booms, like Fireball, Flamethrower, or Erupting Earth, but if Ron had access to that sort of talent, then he wouldn’t’ve needed the Rangers in the first place. Or them scavs for that matter, as Gunin and the Khaganate don’t strike me as an elite unit of battlemagi working under the Soviet government. Nah, they vultures and opportunists, else they’d have come at me head on instead of scrambling to steal what they could while I was otherwise occupied.

So whatever Ron’s plan is, it’ll probably fall far short of effective once the Proggie rear’s its ugly head and lets loose its berserker wail, because then it becomes a matter of last one standing, and there are a whole lot more Abby than people around Pleasant Dunes.

Despite all my worries, the long hard day of stress and Scouting has me all but dead on my feet. Don’t rightly remember falling asleep, but the next thing I know, someone is shaking me awake. Judging by the amount of cotton still stuffed in between my ears, I didn’t sleep for long, less than four hours to be sure, though how much less is hard to tell. Ain’t much more to think about though as Marcus whispers, “Time to work.” Only then do I think to put my goggles on and activate them so I can see, and I find all four Rangers ready and alert as can be. “Movement down below,” Marcus continues, and I hurriedly sit up and get my helmet strapped onto my head. “Take a look and report back.”

“Sir yes sir,” I reply, and the words barely make it out of my throat as I don’t trust myself to speak just yet. Allowing myself time for one mouthful of water, I gather my gear, put my kerchief back over my mouth, and head out into the tunnels while casting Detect Aberration with Sergeant Begaye at my side. As soon as the Spell takes effect, I get to parsing through the signals and sense a bevy of activity happening down below, mostly gobbos running to and fro. Moving out of our crevice, I make sure there’s no activity on our level I can sense, and I’ll be able to pick out any Abby headed towards us long before they see us, so I venture out onto the ledge and peer down in the cavern to let my Spell wash over the entire interior and reveal to me what’s happening within.

Far as I can tell? Them gobbos are laying out a mushroom buffet, while bugbears stand guard and hold off a throng of hungry orcs eager to dig in. There are plenty of wordless threats bandied about, signals sent out by Abby for Abby warning them to back away or move aside, and I almost wish Tina were right here with me, as she could set them to fighting right quick. Would love nothing more than to watch them tear each other apart, but I wouldn’t trust just anyone to give it a go. One of the major downsides of the school of Enchantment is that the target can always tell who Spelled them once the effects fade, because intruding upon another living creature’s psyche is not something done without leaving a part of yourself behind. That’s how I knew to look for the hob when it hit me with a Fear Spell, because even though it’s an Illusion Spell rather than Enchantment, the general principles behind the delivery are similar enough.

Not that it matters. None of the Rangers here are Enchanters, and even if we succeeded in stirring up violence, Abby infighting tends to burn hot and fast. They’ll smack each other around and kill a few, then the survivors will make nice and eat the dead together. And if the ensorcelled target remains alive at the end of it? It will know someone Spelled it, and that someone wasn’t human to begin with, and they’ll come looking for us right quick.

Rather than make any guesses as to what’s happening down below, I head back inside and report the facts as they are. Marcus nods and gets to talking shop with the others, while I take stock of my Spellslinging abilities now that I got time. Difficult to say how many more of them I have left after my short period of rest, because it ain’t a matter of feeling full. While it’s possible to calculate how many Spells you can sling on any given day, that’s a misleading metric when it comes to working under sub-optimal conditions. I don’t go to sleep and gather Aether, then spend it slinging Spells all day. For all the talk of Magi wielding vast powers of the universe, the truth is that we ain’t the source of the magic; we’re the catalyst. My brain acts as the pipeline between the Aether in the Immaterium and the Spell Structure I embedded in memory, and in doing so manifest a Spell’s effect in the physical world around me. During that process, something gets left behind, impurities which hinder my ability to act as said pipeline by clogging it up until no Aether can pass through anymore. Then I go to sleep and my brain clears out the pipeline, allowing me to sling Spells until the pipeline is all clogged up again.

It's a minor difference really, a distinction that doesn’t do much more than obscure the actual limits of my abilities, but there’s a lot we don’t know yet about the human brain and the Immaterium both, so I suppose I can’t blame anyone for not having it all figured out.

At the very least, I got 4, maybe 5 First Order Spells left in me even after this one I just cast. Puts me at about thirty percent capacity, which is more than I expected, so here’s hoping the Rangers all got enough sleep to be back to full strength. Tim aside, I don’t think the others expended much in terms of Spells, though it’s hard to tell with the more subtle Spells like Mage Armour or Heroism. They look well-rested enough though, which is good because I feel like ten miles of bad road with another thirty to go.

Doesn’t take more than a minute for Marcus to lay it all out while the rest of us take turns refreshing our Mage Armour with the artifact. Plan sounds simple as can be, with all four Rangers hitting the Proggie as soon it comes far enough out of the tunnels for us to get a clean shot. Then me and Tim sit tight and provide cover fire while Marcus, Captain Jung, and Sergeant Begaye jump down into the cavern to retrieve the corpse before bringing it back up to our position, at which point we all leave and head back topside for a smoke and a celebration. Sounds great in theory, but a lot can go wrong, a fact Marcus acknowledges by looking me dead in the eyes and saying, “Howie.” Puts a whole lot of meaning into uttering my name, using a tone that is loving, understanding, and unyielding all at once. “Whatever happens,” Marcus intones, speaking low and slow to make sure I’m paying attention, “You stick close to Tim and follow his lead. He tells you to rabbit, then you hop to quick as can be, no matter the situation down below. Clear?”

Much as I want to argue and claim I can do more, that’d be more ego than anything else. “…Sir, yes sir.” This time, the words are more than a rasp of a whisper, even though it’s a struggle to speak past the lump in my throat. If my daddy were here, he’d be of much more help, as he knew how to dance with Abby better than most. Don’t know what he would’ve done, but it would’ve been better than anything I can manage in the here and now, because even if you took away all his guns and Spells, he’d have found some way to make Abby pay.

Thoughts I push out of mind as I resume my vigil out on the ledge, watching and waiting for the Proggie’s approach. The minutes tick by and Abby grow impatient, but aside from a few shoving matches and the like, no one steps too far out of line. And I mean line, as Abby start to gather along the outer edges of the cavern, leaving plenty of room in the centre for five, six wagons at the very least. Seems like they’re here to show their respects and make sure their new boss is well fed, and it amuses me to think Abby have less issues with authority than I do. Then again, I’d probably sit pretty and toe the line too if my superiors were liable to eat me when cranky, so I can’t really blame them.

Sure enough, I hear Tim’s traps and Alarms go off. Only the harmless stuff to make noise and inconvenience Abby, so it doesn’t cause much of a fuss down below. Mostly because there ain’t no shooting or Spelling going on, nothing too overt at least. Marbles and tripwires are hardly cause for concern, and clever as greenies are, most don’t think too hard about things. They simply run off on a tear looking for whodunnit, except they searching in all the wrong places like we wanted them too. Shows the difference in going up against people versus going against Abby, as people would’ve alerted each other of such suspicious activity, while them greenies are simply cheesed at having gotten tripped and slipped up.

That’s life for the next hour or two, just a silent vigil while keeping track of the comings and goings. I stay focused though, which is simple enough, but not something anyone can do for reasons I’ll never understand. Because of my focus, I hear it approach long before I see or sense it, as the reverberating echo of a wet squelch sounds out from the tunnel’s mouth, a sickening, drawn-out noise that puts me in mind of those nasty fart noises kids make with their mouths, only a thousand times worse as it lingers long after any child would’ve run out of breath. When it finally falls silent again, the noise picks up again with a sharp, grotesque slurp, like a horse getting pulled out of sinking mud followed by the same sickening squelch as before. It’s a gut churning sound, one made all the worse by repetition, and I resist the urge to turn away or lean further out for a look. As the sound grows louder and louder, a veritable symphony of disgusting, organic noises and wet, meaty squelches make itself known to my ears, an accompaniment to the main melody that elevates it to a whole new level of nauseating.

One that falls short of the mark when compared to its appearance, a vile and repugnant appearance which words cannot do justice. A meaty sac of mouths pulled along by thick, fleshy tendrils, that’s the description I been told and the one I passed along to others, but the truth is so much worse. Ain’t no rhyme or reason to the abomination, for that is what it is, a mishmash of fleshy protrusions tacked together in ways that make no sense. It’s all one creature to be sure, a lumpy, asymmetrical thing with no divisions to speak off from one end to the other, just a mound of meat that pulses and ripples as it drags itself along the stony cavern floor. Its tentacles aren’t arranged in any sort of area, but rather poke out from the base flesh at every angle you can imagine, while writhing about in nonsynchronous rhythm that makes my head spin to look at. You’d think with so many tentacles you’d find at least some pattern within, but those tendrils convulse all about in every direction, as if its not entirely decided upon which way to move.

And move it does, ever forward into the cavern, but try as I might, I can’t see which tendril is pulling it along.

Slurp and squelch, sharp and long, it moves closer and closer until I can see it’s many mouths, none of which I would’ve identified as such if I didn’t already know what they were. There are no lips to frame them, no rows of teeth or fangs within, only vast, gaping holes that open and close as it slithers along and squirt out all manner of vile fluids as it does. The mouths are responsible for the symphony of sickening sounds accompanying the Proggie’s movements, as they seal shut and smack open with a disturbingly moist sound. They wheeze when open, gasp when moving, hisses while shutting, and smack when opening, all of which comes together in the most unsettling array of noises that I ever done heard, and has me yearning for a nice hot bath so I can scrub away a few layers of skin that came into contact with the same air as this disgusting horror show of spongey flesh.

So when the Rangers take action, my heart rises in my throat and I resist the urge to cheer along, because I don’t want to give the game away just yet. The Proggie senses something’s off right quick, as it stops in its tracks to wave its tendrils about, but I pay it no mind and watch with bated breath as all four Rangers move in synch like horses running neck in neck. Their left hands begins outstretched towards their target, and they slowly draw it back towards them like they readying to throw a spear, cocking and locking it in place as they wait and watch their target like hawks. Aether surges around them as they finish their chant in tandem, one that goes, “Non – Timetis – Mesore.”

Which translates loosely to, “Be not afraid of death.”

A chant that cuts both ways, as all four of them hold their Spells and become beacons of shining light to anyone who can sense the Aether flowing around them. Spellslingers get a sense of it, but Abby are born with it, and the Proggie is downright terrified to sense it happen. Thirty seconds don’t sound like much, but it’s a good long moment when an entire Abby horde of gobbos, orcs, and bugbears all turn in your general direction and bellow out in challenge, one that goes unanswered as I stand with my Strelky at the ready, but without a bullet in the chamber ready to fire.

Because the glowing Etches would give our position away, and while the flows of lets them know what’s happening, it’ll still take some time for Abby to zero in on our position.

Time enough for the Rangers to finish charging their Spell, the most powerful single target Spell available to anyone on the Frontier, even if it’s only a Second Order Spell. As one, they unleash the supersized Bolt they’ve been holding, because that’s all a Lance really is, a bigger, badder, charged up Bolt that hits about twelve times harder than a Bolt Cantrip, with built-in Penetrating to pierce through armour and multiple targets to boot. Three of the Lances hit dead on, and the through and through is wasted on the stone ground, but one dips sharply and makes an impossible curve to strike the Proggie dead on. In through the front and straight out the back, Captain Jung’s controlled precision strike rips a hole through the fleshy abomination from one end to another almost big enough for me to squeeze through, though I wouldn’t do it even for a million dollars.

Ick factor aside, Proggies can eat and digest anything, meaning their bodily fluids might well be more caustic than Alchemical Acid, which is really saying something.

Marcus, Captain Jung, and Sergeant Begaye don’t move as soon as their Lances strike. Instead, they sit tight while me and Tim open up on Abby down below, but not with our guns. Instead, we toss out three flashbangs each to really disorient the crowd, all of which were provided by him. Then and only then do the others jump off the ledge, and they leave their Featherfall Spell to the very last moment so there’s barely any lag time between the slow down and their boots hitting the ground. Captain Jung immediately unleashes a Spell that covers her in cascade of green, glowing energy, one visible even through my Darkvision and extending out to about six metres around her. The effect is less immediate than a Fireball into the crowd, but Abby all recoil and wince as she passes them by, their skin melting and bodies injured even though she didn’t so much as spare them a single glance.

As for Sergeant Begaye, his Spell is even more showy and effective as he does a little Native American Dance while he moves and conjures up three glowing, feather-armored, tomahawk wielding Braves just like him. Rather than spread out in a line, the larger-than-life Spiritual Guardians circle around him like creatures of light, their feet never touching the ground as they strike at any and all nearby Abby and kill them outright. Then there’s Marcus’ Spell choice, which might well be the least effective, but it’s one near and dear to my heart, and I can’t help but grin as he draws in a deep breath and blows out a wave of Acidic vapour. The chorus of Abby screams gets my feet to tapping as Marcus runs a few more steps and unleashes another Acidic Breath in the other direction. It’s the same Spell as Cowie uses, the Second Order Dragon’s Breath, a versatile Transmutation Spell that can dole out damage from any one of the four Elements, but Cowie only understands Fire.

Which is good, because his breath smells bad enough as is. Don’t need to go adding Acid breath into the mix.

While the assault team makes a bee-line for the Proggie, I take things slow and smooth and fast as I pick out the bugbears and put them down hard. Beside me, Tim does the same, but in the target rich environment, we got plenty of shots to choose from. Once the ground team is far enough away, we toss out another pair of flashbangs further back in the crowd, then Tim starts shooting his Strelky with one-hand while using the other to throw vials down into the crowd. Whenever they land, they billow out into clouds of thick, obscuring smoke, and I’m impressed to see someone figured out how to put Fog Cloud into a potion. Except they did one better, as them Abby caught up in the smoke get to choking, gasping, and hurling up everything they ate, leaving me slack-jawed and wide-eyed in wonder at the thought of getting my hands on some of that.

That’s Stinking Cloud in a bottle, a Third Order Conjuration Spell, one that stinks so bad it can literally kill a man if he gets more than a lungful. 100% against the Geneva Convention, but the way I see it, it’s more of a Geneva Suggestion when you fighting Abby and outlaws on the Frontier.

Feeling good and well about our chances, I stop to reload while the ground team reaches the Proggie, and I even let out a little whoop as Marcus reaches out to touch the corpse and Levitate it up into the air. The sound gets stuck halfway out my throat as a thick, meaty tendril snakes out to smack the big Captain in the chest, and I look on in abject horror as Marcus Clay, the towering Ranger Captain and the strongest man I’ve ever known, hurtles several metres back through the air and lands heavily on the stone floor. “Marcus!” I scream, ready to jump down and get him, but Tim pulls me back with a scowl.

“Cover Fire,” he barks, so I finish reloading and get to shooting to keep Abby from getting to Marcus, while wishing I could do more. Between shots, I glance at the big man and silently urge him to get up, to stand a start shooting his pistol-sized Blastguns to clear the crowds away with a grimace on his ferocious mug. He don’t so much as twitch a muscle though, and my heart feels ready to explode in my chest, only for it to constrict even more as a boundless wave of Aether surges through the cavern and settles within the still living Proggie, one fending off Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye with its tentacles while other tendrils move with the cadence flow of a Somatic Spell Casting component and its mouths gurgle out in a garbled, incomprehensible language. The two Rangers redouble their efforts to take the Proggie down, with Sergeant Begaye sending in his Spiritual Guardians to chop and cleave at its ponderous bulk while Captain Jung unloads into the thing with her submachine gun in rapid-fire triple shot bursts.

A second passes. Then two, three, and five, but still the Proggie is casting. Captain Jung’s weapon clicks empty while her Elemental Aura continues to melt away at the meaty mass, and Sergeant Begaye’s Spiritual Guardians have chopped off enough tentacles to lighten the Proggie by a fourth, but still the inhuman abomination keeps casting. Its Spell is a long one, and as it reaches the high point, every Abby within earshot starts screeching in high holy hell, a deafening, keening wail I ain’t ever heard before and could go a whole lifetime without hearing ever again.

A solid wall of magic slams out and sends me staggering back, even though there was no physical component to the Spell at all. The sheer magnitude of Aether is enough to leave me reeling, and all I can do is watch in horror as the Abby horde’s wailing cry turns into an aggressive and belligerent warcry. There are no words to be found in the incoherent howls, but the message is clear.

Death to the enemy, no matter the cost, as every goblin, orc, and bugbear within a dozen klicks flies into a berserker rage and comes hurtling towards us en masse.

Shows that simple don’t mean foolproof neither, as man proposes, and God disposes, putting us in the hotseat for what I can only assume is for kicks. That’s what I hate about religion. If there is a big guy upstairs making all of this happen, then He sounds like a sadistic son of a gun who ain’t got nothing better to do than to watch us suffer.

Can’t count on religion to pull us out the mess, but I pray all the same and hope that at the very least, Tina makes it out of this alright.