It was the fifth time I’d checked my ammo. No real reason to keep doing it.

Not like the mag was

gonna be empty this time. But I kept doing it anyway. Easier to keep my mind focused on that than the
drive. Might be my elf blood, but I never enjoyed car rides. Got sick real easy in em. And…yep, damn
it, he hit another Saints cursed bump. “Malgeir, could ya drive any fuckin’ worse?” I looked up at him
from my position in the passenger seat next to him. “Maybe I’ll toss you out front and use you as the
next bump.” The half Orc driver sneered back, his large green arms gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Like myself, he was wearing a nice trim suit. A lot more fitting in the city than out here in the sticks,
but professionalism was important in this line of work. “Still…” I huffed, slapping the mag back in to
my 1911. “Could stand ta be a bit more careful.” He laughed, the two large tusks poking up from his
teeth making the sound echo a tad. “You elves is all the same. No stomach for anything uncomfortable.
I’ll drive a little slower for you, Jessie Lawquane. But only because you’re cute.” I huffed. “Eat shit ya
green fisted lummox…” I brushed some of my long dark hair from my eyes. My suit didn’t fit as well
as his, after all suits were seldom womanly, but the compliment at least meant I pulled the look off.
“Hold it, there’s the place.” I gestured ahead, the signage of the farmstead just off the road telling me
my torture of car-sickness was finally coming to an end.

Dawnfeather Ranch some some ways outside of the city. Owned and operated by an old human veteran
of the Sixth Barrow-War. The old fellow had done well for himself, and he owned much of the land
around his property. Land that, unfortunately, the boss wanted. And you know how those damn
veterans are...they just don’t listen to reason. “Just try not to rough him up too hard. He might be a
damn fool, but he fought fer our country, didn’ he?” The half orc huffed at me in response. “But bashin’
him ups the best part!” I shook my head as I got out of the car, the smooth red paint contrasting to the
greenery of the ranch around us. We had driven up the dirt path, coming to the main house. It was a
large, two story building, one of the few buildings on the ranch, and the only home. A few windows
looked out at us, and the lights inside told me the old bloke was home. “Thomas Dawnfeather!” I
called out to the home as we approached. “We’re here on behalf o’ Mister Ourelion. He an’ the Family
have contacted ye numerous times about an amicable purchase of yer land, to no avail.” I paused,
standing a good distance from the stairs leading up the door. The patio was open, enclosed by a roof
held up by a few columns. Still, part of me hoped this would go easy. Then the door opened, and those
hopes went away quicker than wind.

The man leaving the home was not Thomas Dawnfeather. For one, he was nowhere near old enough.
He was a young man, bright eyes and brighter blonde hair. He wore a polo shirt and overalls, yet over
them he wore a long dark black cloak that flowed down his back. “Evenin’ Jessie.” He said. “Malgeir.”
He nodded to the half-orc beside me. “Been a while.” The half orc laughed. “Son of a bitch, been a
while, Michael.” I was less pleased. This job just got hard. “So its true. You started freelancing.” I eyed
him coolly as the mage nodded in reply. “Aye, for a time. Good money. Easy too, usually.” He was
casual in his tone, yet I was already backing away. My hand was on the 1911 in my suit pocket, and he
knew it. “So how in the Eternal Fire did the Dawnfeathers manage to afford you then?” He shrugged.
“I’m his son-in-law. Married his daughter just last month. Heard you lot had been sending
some...unkind letters his way.” Shit. Well, now theres no fuckin’ way he was gonna back down.
“Farmin’? Really? A man o’ yer tallents?” He shrugged “It’s a simple life. Anyway, you two ought to
get on back to Mister Ourellion. Given our history, I’ll let you off easy.” I gulped. “...You know we
can’t do that, Michael.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Suppose not. Still, it was was worth a
shot.” Magleir hefted his giant battle-axe over his shoulder. “Wait, your really gonna fight us? Come
on, Michael, you know I’ve beaten you before.” Michael smiled, and nodded. “It’s true. You have. The
ground was poor, back then, though. Speaking of ground, did you know that this land just happens to
have been a battlefield during the Elemtalist Wars?” Fuck.
I turned, running back to the car. I didn’t even stop once Magleir started screaming. I slid over the
hood, taking cover behind it as Magleir’s screams stopped, the ghostly wails overpowered it. I peeked
over the hood to see them. The floating, etheral green-glowed spirits of the dead, rising from the earth
all around Michael. Michael the Lichemeister, they had called him. The most feared necromancer in an
age, some had said, back when he worked with us. Magleir’s corpse was falling to the ground,
shriveled and cold. The ghosts had gripped him, dragging home over to Michael, who had snuffed the
prideful half-orc with a single touch. The Finger of Death. A ninth level spell. Still, he’s not the only
one with tricks. I hastily opened the car door, reaching into the glovebox. “If you want to run, you can,
Jessie. I would rather not kill another old friend.” Bastard always was soft. I pulled out the emergency
bag from the glovebox, and reached in, pulling a pin, and chucked the entire bag. A few moments later,
there was a deafening POP, and a bright light...and then, silence.

The ghosts were stunned, briefly. Mana-bombs, clusters of pure magic packed into a little shell. Pull the
pin and POP, it floods the area with untold magic power. The surge of mana would be enough to stun
the senses of any mage, even Michael. His concentration broken, the ghosts were unable to move or
act. In those few seconds, I brought my pistol up. I counted fifteen ghosts. I could get just under half. I
quickly fired away, the bullets ripping out from my 1911, red streaks across the sky, the glowing elf-
runes I carved on all my rounds hitting each ghost dead on. Seven shots, seven hits, right to the head.
That's elvish aiming for you. The red glow spread from the entry point of the ghosts, filling their entire
forms. As the glow hit its apex, each ghost detonated. This would hopefully distract or disorient the
other ghosts. I had managed to reload about half the mag at this point, and it would half to do. Slapping
it back in, I aimed, quickly, firing blankly. Now that the ghosts had been thinned, I would have at least
a chance of...there we go. Michael screamed as the burning round entered his body. I knew he’d have
some way to recover, no way that would do him in. But I injured him at least. When the boss scanned
my memories of the job, he’d know I tried. I quickly entered the car, not even closing the door behind
me, and sped away. Seems I pissed him off, based on the amount of ghosts rising up around me as I
drove. Still, once I made it back to the road, it was only a matter of time before I was on land where
nobody had died...ah fuck. I left Magleir’s corpse. Ah well. That’s the cleaners job anyway...shit.
Actually kinda gonna miss him.