…but when the face of Sextus was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament from all the town arose,
On the house-tops was no woman but spat at him and hissed,
No child but screamed out curses and shook its little fist.
-Horatius at the Bridge, Macauley
Redding, North Calfree
Susan and Harry hadn't given a minute's previous thought to the little city of the trails that would be the centre of their lives to come. Notable for nothing so much as being sited about thirty kilometres from an army of hostile elves with machine guns, Redding was a city of empty lots and empty houses. Pale, grave SINers in flannel and denim, driving pickups to smalltowny stores; the odd bombed-out ruin from '36, choked with weeds. They saw widely spaced houses, and more ranks of spreading trees than they'd seen in Beverley Hills–or imagined, as Redmond slum kids. The megacorps had left some forests unlevelled around Redding, when the war convinced them all to divest and pull out. A city standing in the wilderness, almost frozen in time.
They drove past some human kids playing baseball with a few orks. Then a teenage elf, laughing with her human boyfriend over a synathol can. They noted some curious stares, some hard ones; fewer visible guns than any Redmond street, and only a faint perceptible tension, for a city on the edge of destruction. The Runners were more concerned with watching the sky for fire spirits and the streets for Tir assassins, however, than trying to judge a whole community with a single glance. Norton solemnly waved to the populace, though this was obscured by the Bulldog's tinted windows.
Kali had sent up a team the week before, to turn the derelict city hall into a central base for her proxy army. A gloomy dwarf with a truck of guns outside the building (Harry remembered him tending bar last year in Kali's Club Eclipse), shouted to Ilsa that he'd start looking for another war, unless he saw some nyuyen soon.
Ilsa's immediate business, however, was with a sleek, toothily-cute ork girl in a shaman's jacket. She'd set up some strong wards on the hall, as arranged by comm; with the fresh maglocks and security cams they could see, it at least looked like somewhere they could catch their breath.
"Kali advanced a small fortune in setup funds," Ilsa told Susan and Harry, "But we will soon need to either secure additional funding, or feed and clothe an army off our own credsticks. Do you at least have some money left, or did you donate it all to that women's shelter again?"
"Of course we didn't donate it all." Susan hit back, "Ms Fawkes isn't a shadowrunner, so she went and actually invested some nyuyen in megacorp stocks; I talked Harry out of disowning her. So, the shelter has funds for the future...but with medical fees and travel expenses, we're sort of flat broke."
"I'd knock down my prices even more, only I've got to pay suppliers." The young ork shaman, one Hrafna, apologised, "I'd fight if I were a great shadowrunner, or even a very good shaman–but if you need talismans or healing salves, I can help you there. Tir Taingire get the best magic components from Mount Shasta, just to the north, but there's still a bit of smuggling and I know a guy."
"If Tir have Mount Shasta and the rest of the north," Harry asked, "Why the frag are they talking war over a thirty-klick strip?"
"Firstly, the caves near Shasta Lake also have buried magic," Ilsa told him, "The Tir elves honestly regard all the magic in the world as their rightful property. Secondly, the hill country could be fortified against a Japanese invasion. Much of the less-magical forests in North Calfree have already given way to barbed wire and bunkers. Thirdly, Tir was pushed back from Redding to Eureka in '36 by a year of traumatic guerrilla warfare, with atrocities on both sides. Vengeance gives quite the cloak of righteousness to conquest."
"With respect, ma'am–" Even before legendary Runners, Hrafna stuck out her chin, "–Redding did what it had to do in '36. You know Tir told everyone to get out, except for elves, but the Redding elves stood with their neighbours to fight back? There's whispers on the street, all the elves in Redding will just be hunted down and killed this time. Frag knows what they'd do to the rest of us, though Humanis fraggers are already calling all the metas spies for Tir. Just scaring families and spraying tags so far–but you're going to shut them down before it gets worse?"
Her brown doe-eyes confidently appealed to the heroes who'd driven into town. Norton instantly assured her she had nothing to fear; Harry only gave a gallant smile that Susan recognised as forced. As Hrafna greeted the dogs, Harry marched past and pushed through the doors of the city hall, Susan and Ilsa behind him.
-0-
It was mostly empty space and fresh paint inside, with dust dancing in the light from high windows. Pup slipped past and trotted approvingly round the wide floorspace, closely pursued by Bummer and Lazarus. It wasn't the first time Susan had envied dogs the troubles they were spared.
About a dozen warm bodies were about, several talking at once. There were Kali's people from San Francisco, including a short-haired, soldierly elf lady who presented herself as Selene, their quartermaster. She briefly introduced them to Archangel and Casper, two more Runners hired for their military experience. Hotspur and Fighter had known of them as chill pros and stone-cold killers, but not yet famous names by any means.
There was a huge, bearded ork called Tomas with an AK-97, who reasserted that Redding's defence would be led by the Citizens of Redding Defence Force. About twenty weekend warriors, including most of their leader's extended family.
"But of course," Ilsa glanced at Norton, who was proceeding with an inspection of his new castle, "Think of us all as military advisors."
Then there were two more Runners who Susan would never forget. Small as Hayley was beneath Sarah's mountainous hunched shoulders, the 'Frisco decker always seemed bigger because of her bounces.
"Susan! I mean, Fighter! Hotspur, Miss Tresckow…hi! It's so chill we're all here, doing this together, isn't this all, like, just, totes, totes novahot?"
"Shifu." Sarah inclined her horned head to Susan.
She had studded gloves on her fists, and a Semopal rifle slung over her back. Susan could see the troll girl had fought through a full first year in the Shadows; still, she felt for her troubled eyes. She asked what she asked, because wars meant death and some Runners deserved more than that.
"Sarah, what are you doing here?"
"Trying to do some good, if a troll can do that, shifu." Furious eyes, a growl to rip skin away, "Isn't it the same for you?"
"It's certainly a rare motive for shadowrunners," Selene moved between them, "Or we'd have more of a base to build from than this."
"Chip truth? Some fraggers in Redding ain't much better!" Tomas, the local fighter, offered loudly, "Half of 'em don't think there'll be a war–there's been scares, before now–and more than half think it's pointless to fight for our homes unless they know we'll win! There's some other defence forces, and every house has a gun, but there's no organisation. Like every man's supposed to defend his home and family, himself, from Tir's whole army!"
"A rather Utopian, American ideal, certainly." Ilsa's smile was taunt as Harry's had been, "Am I correct in surmising that your brother militias are hesitant to work with outsiders?"
"This is an independent kind of place, Dr Tresckow. We'd fight the fragging daisy-eaters, coming down to take our homes. Fight the fragging Marines, if they march in to make another San Francisco of us. We'd fight those Sacramento puppets, who'd sell us all to Japan for a nyuyen! Standing ready to fight has kept us free, but we need unity to face this war. We all need to fight in the streets and the hills–we need to drown the Tir in blood, like our fathers in '36! You people know what I'm talking about. We need heroes who can kill as many elves as it takes."
Harry's boyish face was still and silent. Susan knew what was eating him, the only thing he feared, and she wished she knew how to kill it.
"More than speeches or even troops, we need supplies." Selene responded, "Before we work on unifying the militias or recruiting, we need to be ready to feed and arm them. Milspec guns and armour, not home-defence drek, or the battlefield will chew them up."
"It might be cheaper in the long term to hire mercenaries," Ilsa offered, "Although the major groups such as MET 2000 and Tsunami will have been blocked by the Tir, and we hardly have the nyuyen at present for a small force."
"Um, we do need comms and Matrix kit to, like, fight a modern army, with all those planes and tanks." Hayley raised her hand, "I should say we did need it; I sort of got in first and already bought it…" Ilsa's expression would have made a sparrow drop out of the sky.
"There is one further matter, my friends." Norton calmly strode up to the debate, "How could supplies be brought to this charming city, if something is not done about the condition of the roads? The noble freeway we passed over today was not only in disgraceful disrepair, but, doubtless, invested with bandits. That remedied, our own royal army might be brought up to this place, and the defence of fair Redding swelled by hundreds of loyal fighters!"
"…what army?" This from Tomas, "Who the frag…?"
"The Emperor Norton." Harry snapped, "You should all get on fine with him."
"Ilsa, could you–?"
As Susan followed Harry into a side office, Ilsa adroitly excused them. Then she prepared her own argument for supplies over soldiery, while Emperor Norton told Redding's defenders just who he was and what he had come to do. Several of his audience still stared after Fighter and Hotspur, however. The Prime Runners who had lived through death and made the impossible their job hadn't had to say much, to dominate the room.
-0-
Susan and Harry faced each other in the office. Their faces were drawn with tension, but it was a time for strength and honesty, not embraces.
"So, the gang's all here, except Orion and Anya." Harry got out, "They always were the smart ones. Norton's Army, local militias? Half-trained green civilians, with some corp-surplus guns, against panzers, rotorcraft, battle mages and the Tir Ghosts! Half of them don't know what that means, and the rest of them don't care. Do you think that ork sounding off back there ever geeked more than a squirrel before?"
"No, but I think he'd learn. We could train his people, together. Haven't we always found a way, Harry? If Hayley can hack milspec comms, then we could hit their openings hard and dodge the counterstrikes. Ilsa will deal with their magic, like she did before, and I'm ready to die by your side doing something like this. Isn't this the Run to change the world, like you wanted since you were born?"
"Susan…that's how it starts. Good plans, good intentions, but war isn't a shadowrun. No control, no limits, no plans that ever stop the death! Douglas. Fyrefox. Roller. My chummers died for frag all in Hong Kong, because I led them into the Triad war. Hundreds of others. Street kids caught in the crossfires, families hacked to death, because setting the Red Dragons against the Yellow Lotus seemed like a brilliant plan! Guerrilla war means hostages, massacres, reprisals and futility; I've seen them enough in nightmares, and why should you ever see that drek, my angel? I fragged up our first Run, I couldn't save you, I couldn't even protect you in L.A. Never had anything but idiot courage, and I guess I'm just an idiot now…but we can walk away from every reason we'd have for doing this. We could take the Renraku Arcology together, just the two of us, and but we don't have to lead hundreds of decent people into death. Leave that to the megacorps and politicians."
Harry had thrown himself back onto a low couch, as he poured out the toxic waste of years. His face was abandoned to deep anguish–but Susan could never have looked on that face and not seen a hero. With an effort, she stood still and held her husband's gaze.
"Harry…did we choose to Run so we could kill and steal? Chip truth, wasn't it to save the weak, with our strength? The Tir think they can take what they want, kill who they want. I don't want to give this place up to them, and this is our only chance. We've...got a chance. Thousands of people might die, horribly...but we both know that, and so do they. This is bigger than us. Ilsa, Sarah and Hayley–hundreds of others are going to fight for Radding, whatever we do–but with your strength and your brilliant, idiot courage, couldn't we try to save them? Frag, why aren't you giving this talk to me? If I wasn't here–or if I promised to stay safe at home this time, training or nursing–wouldn't you be jumping at this?"
"If I were a fool…but you'd do it without me, wouldn't you?" Harry faltered. He slumped over the couch, arms limp, "Your heart would never abandon this drekky town, but I'd let the world go to save you!"
"I'd fight and die for the people here, Harry, but I couldn't lead them into death. I haven't got your vision, your dreams...your chummers followed you for a good dream, like I did. All of us suffered, but you saved me. You came back to me, you never ran. If we'd died lost in the dark on our first Run, you'd still be a perfect hero, you dummy, but we're here! I know you, Harry; you can take the pain. You're the only one who could lead these people and save them; that's why the only life I could live is by your side."
Visibly, the cloud of doubts and evil memories finally blew away from Harry's face. Inwardly, he saw Fyrefox and Roller's broken bodies, and Douglas' final smile. His failure, his fear…but in the light of Susan's eyes, it was astonishingly possible to face it. He breathed in, looked at his scarred hands for a moment, then stared up at Susan with a little smile of hope.
"SINless and free. Whatever it costs, even if we know, now, what it means to fight monsters...we don't have to give up. If we find some allies, wear the elves down until the Japanacorps pay them off…we could save Calfree. Show the whole world how monsters can be beaten by free men. How could we ever do that if we didn't fight? I'd be lost without you, babe. Let's go and start a revolution."
"No, stay right there, tiger." Though it was Susan who finally pounced on Harry, forcing him down on the sofa, "Don't say a thing…"
She had a hot minute to show Harry what she felt for a man who could dream of saving a country, but hold back for her sake, with all the passion in her mouth and strength in her grinding hips. Before Ilsa knocked, and they needed a little superhuman speed to fix their clothes. Leadership lesson one; make love all over your secluded villa, not all over your new military command post.
The first thing Harry asked for was a videocall with Kali; Haley duly showed him her shiny new bank of computers and connected him. Kali had swapped her leathers for a suit, as befitted her new role as Mitsuhama's Entertainment and Shadow work chief in Calfree–but her hair was still a rainbow, and her eyes were still hungry.
"Took you long enough, Hotspur. You should know I'm in talks with all the Japanacorps to get support for you; they could even nip this Tir invasion in the bud, if they could agree on anything. You should take the supplies you need from Redding itself, in the meantime. They've rather got the most to lose if you fizzle out. Anything else I need to explain?"
"No, but you could listen. We're going to take this job, but not for Mitsuhama or any megacorp. We're here for the people of Redding, caught between San Francisco and the Tir. The Redding Defence Force is going to fight for this city, not for you–but keep sending us all the money and weapons you've got, Miss Kali, because you know you can't win this war without us."
Tomas, Selene, Sarah, Hayley and Ilsa, round the little room, all instantly straightened up at the strength of Harry's voice. Susan, by his side, was looking down the same rails to the same star of destiny–or perhaps an inferno in their path, but neither of them could help smiling. Kali looked over them all and nodded in satisfaction.
-0-
Chico, Calfree central valley, one week later
"It is perhaps ironic," Ork Slayer addressed the conference table, "That the leaders of so-called 'hate groups' should assemble in a spirit of brotherhood."
"'So-called'?" Snorted the Humanis field commander for Calfree, a chinlessly obese man, "Hate is what we need, to make this a nation worth saving."
The six other Humanis leaders at the table eyed Ork Slayer's impassive mask. They'd always thought of him as a useful crazy–at this time of tremendous threat and opportunity, however, there was no room for crazy. He had at least ensured the security of this meeting, in his territory closest to Redding, by holding it in the Chico central police station.
"It is an insult to human rights and human strength!" The fat commander held forth, "That the soulless metas threaten to lay filthy hands on our pure human country! This is the time for us to gather every true Californian and purge the metas out like tics from a blanket! Before the monsters poison and twist our world into a dark age dungheap!"
"First, we should mobilise all our allies in Sacramento," Another leader insisted, "And ensure that nothing keeps Saito's marines from marching north. With the Japs holding the elves off, we'll be free to rid the valley of metas, witches and gypsies."
"If we mean to unite Calfree against the elvish threat," Ork Slayer spoke quietly, "Should we not begin by unifying our organisations under a single leader?"
"I wouldn't object to that," The commander looked down what passed for his nose, "Clear out some corruption in the ranks, as well. Is it true, some of your mob are actually magic-users? You'd best get geeking them, if you want to keep your seat."
"Magic is a mere tool, much like my sword. A Native Californian slays the metahuman with every tool at his disposal. He has no need to pollute his work by allying with degenerate Japanese monkeys."
The table fell silent. All the Humanis leaders were white, and their lowest street thugs were Asian or black, but…
"….those monkey are our oldest allies! The strongest human army on the west coast! Is this a joke?"
"I do not make jokes, Mr Bullion." Ork Slayer's voice remained level, grating–faintly tinged with the most tremendous hate. "The Japanese are invaders of Calfree, and I do not care about their strength–I was only born to kill the enemies of true mankind."
The Humanis chiefs would have expected a squad of NC gunmen to have burst into the conference shooting, at this point, except the commander would never have met Ork Slayer on his home turf without his own hit squad on call. He signalled them now, but only a faint thumping outside the door resulted, as Ork Slayer stood up.
"One of my subordinates prepared a magelock–" he explained, as his sword flashed through a bull neck, "–in anticipation of your treachery. This should make the unification a simple matter."
A minute later, Ork Slayer dropped from the third storey window to the street–a dangerous fall in armour, if not for his adept powers. He flicked blood from his sword, then moved off swiftly into the night, drawing a burner commlink and dialling a Redding number.
"Commence operation Wacht am Rhein. Hotspur has already begun to set up a corrupted defence of Redding. You must act now, without further preparation. Ensure that our benefactor continues to supply you with weapons."
A dozen more calls activated every Native Californian warband–which included virtually every Humanis cell in Calfree, before sunrise. For every chief killed by Ork Slayer, there had been a lieutenant on his payroll; all dissenters were killed before they could even voice their dissent.
Humanis fighters, in camps and chapter houses across the valley, generally took to the sudden denouncing of their old allies and leaders like catnip. They had a bold, incorruptible new chief, a new purpose to steel them against the storm–and they had another pack of monkeys to hate. Their ranks were swollen with bandit groups, who'd happily lynched their metahuman ex-comrades, as well as hundreds of farmboys, conscripted under the threat of their families being burnt in their homes. Daily stories of the brutish hordes in Orkland, and their cruel elvish puppet-masters, quickly forged them all into an army that Calfree would not be worthy of until they had saved it in every sense.
Ork Slayer finally triggered a pre-recorded message via Net, radio and local trideo. He had joined his main force outside Chico by this time, but their rapturous response seemed to give him no more pleasure than anything else.
"We are the Native Californians. We have assembled to save this nation from the shadow in the north, and make a land where human heroes will hold back the night forever. All loyal Americans who stand with us will do the work of heroes. All invaders of our land will be hunted and killed. All traitors who aid the enemy by moving troops or goods to the north, without our authority, will be stopped and killed. Purity is our strength, and there is nothing we will not do to free our country."
-0-
Portland, Tir Taingire
"Hans, old chap? May one ask why Lord Lofwyr has expended nearly a million nyuyen from Tir Taingire's black budget….to arm and organise this same Native Californian group which has just sworn to oppose us? I'm sure there's some amusing explanation, but I'd rather like to hear it."
Hans Brackhaus smiled at High Prince Lugh Surehand indulgently, across a marble chessboard in a Royal Hill sitting room.
"The only threat to your little 'reoccupation' is the Japanese Marines, your highness, and Humanis Policlub were their strongest allies in Calfree. The Native Californians hate both the Japanese and Calfree's metahuman factions–the perfect 'enemy of our enemy', since they are enemies to all and allies to none! A nasty, jumped-up little shower of purely destructive maniacs, who I believe will be worth every nyuyen that I paid for them."
Surehand didn't bother to repeat that Tir had paid for them; as a Tir Prince, Lofwyr had control over the black budget. Rather, he sharply inquired what kind of neighbours such fellows would make, once the Redding strip had been annexed?
"The kind that will inevitably annoy you, until you destroy them. Their abuses against Calfree's metahumans will give you ample pretext to occupy the entire state. Their leader is the kind of fanatic who will adopt or abridge any principle whatsoever to gain power–which is the true god of fascism–and will not be held back from destroying himself once he has it. Of course, he may not survive his imminent conflict with the noble defenders of Redding; heroes can be so predictable. A conflict which will leave that region bleeding, in terror and chaos–" By way of illustration, he struck the priceless chess set to the floor, "–before Tir's forces have even crossed the border."
The scattered chessmen spun on the floor; it was the way megacorps toppled countries, the way dragons played with humanity. Surehand glared into Brackhaus' languid, smiling golden eyes, but it was futile. He knew who he had to deal with; the Golden Wyrm who encircled the world and disposed of it as he pleased. He snapped at a hovering footman, who knelt to gather and replace the pieces.
"I suppose we should be grateful," The prince commented, resetting their game from pure memory, "That Lord Lofwyr has taken such an interest in our little excursion. He must believe that the occupation of Calfree will hold considerable opportunities for Saader Krupp?"
"Perhaps. Saader Krupp, according to our agreement, cannot operate within Tir Taingire's borders–but occupied California is not strictly Tir Taingire, is it? A good few opportunities, I should imagine."
Hans Brackhaus smiled faintly, as he moved his King's Knight to B4. Surehand, who had actually beaten the dragon seven times out of a hundred, turned all his mental powers upon the game.
-0-
Redding, north Calfree
Hrafna, the young ork shaman, was riding home for the night in a weary state. She hadn't sold many more salves or fetishes during the week, but Susan Lei had somehow coaxed her into a cooking and cleaning rota. War really did take all kinds.
While Ilsa Tresckow had extracted funds from the municipal authorities to begin arming Redding's defenders, Hotspur, Tomas and Norton had raised up their numbers to just over fifty. They still lacked bedrolls, tents or proper transport, and the food situation was still scraping disaster–but Susan had speedily mastered the art of boiling all the nutrisoy she could lay hands on in a giant pot, and mobilising volunteers or their families to do all else needful. Hrafna could now well believe that the storied Fighter would get anything done that she purposed to do. She could also well imagine how Hotspur's plain, unyielding assurance had got him all those women, as well the trust of tough men…it sucked he was taken, but null sweat. She'd literally have an army of hot guys to choose from, soon enough.
She had a long ride out to her cabin on the edge of the woods, so she chained up her electric moped outside one of the three good bars in central Redding. The only ork bar in town was far too macho for her; she'd drunk decent synathol at this place for years, with nothing worse than some nasty looks and worse jokes.
A minute after she'd parked her feet, she finally listened to what her gut was howling–but the doorman was human, and looked like he wouldn't let her leave. She didn't recognise the crop-haired blonde woman across the room, or several tattooed bruisers around her. But the men she was quietly addressing were the sort who propped up every bar in the country, joking or bellyaching about trogs taking the labour jobs. Other men, who'd always eventually told them to can it, were silent now.
One other ork, across the bar, clearly thought he was safe because he was armed. The barmaid was an elf, and she looked like a deer in an Escalade six-wheeler's headlights.
"…don't believe their lies about race traitors. Tir elves, Redding elves; simply elves, loyal to nothing but the elf-ruled world they dream of! They took Oregon and Ireland from humanity with lies, not bullets– they will spread terror and mistrust, then welcome their Tir brothers with open arms. And the trogs will delight in the chaos, plundering your homes as they flee. Killing your children and raping your women, from pure hate–!" The woman's voice shook and broke with pure emotion, "It is the only way they can live! After they killed my friends before my eyes, after what they did to me, this is the only way I can live! For human California!"
The one Tir agent Hrafna saw in the crowd had the loudest response. The barmaid suddenly cried out that the NC woman was a liar–she'd never join with killers and rapists, if she'd really been raped–and that was rather more than enough.
The ork shot one man before the NC thugs riddled him with bullets. Hrafna screamed up the strongest hearth spirit she could handle, which poured out sparks at men with bats or stools, forcing them back. She could have forced her way to the door and her moped, but the elf had sunk down behind the bar. She wasn't Susan Lei or even a Runner, but that was no excuse for not being a decent metahuman.
She was halfway across the room when the pool cue hit and staggered her. Her hearth spirit flew to cover her–then the NC woman leapt onto a table and lunged her sword through it. She looked the very image of the warrior woman striking down the monster, as a bat to the arm fizzled Hrafna's acid bolt, and a boot slammed into her jaw.
She could only make out the gleam of shaved heads, through the mist, and flat little human snarls, filled with fear. Someone was shouting witch–she should never have summoned that spirit–they would teach her respect–no, it was never wrong to fight. She was too stunned to use magic, or even feel terror, until another boot pinned her to the ground.
"…how can you do this to us…?"
"Because of what you do to us, trog." Steel gleamed before Hrafna's eyes, even as she clenched them shut against the pain, "It's simply human nature."
-0-
The Five, Central Valley, Calfree
"Why? We're just traders! We head up to Redding every month!"
"You were traders," Ork Slayer turned from the, looted, burning station wagon to the dying ork by the roadside, "Parasites, producing nothing. Except more mockeries of the human form."
He nodded at the three young orks held by his men; the ork woman's elder son and human husband had fought back, and were dead. The morning sky was already marred with smoke, like blood in the water, where roving NC warbands had descended on metahuman or race-traitor homesteads.
"…please, let them go. They never did anything bad to you…"
"You don't think they would? For the slaughter of their family?"
Ork Slayer faced the biggest ork child's defiant glare–then shattered his skull with a single Killing Fist. The ork mother hid her eyes in the dirt and groaned.
"Any trog would do the same to us," Ork Slayer went on, as he drove down two more fatal blows, "They will attempt to, when they see your bodies of your brood of monsters strung up by the freeway. The trog is at war with humanity–the stronger race must exterminate the weaker, to inherit an unpolluted world. It is history, it is nature, and it is the time for heroes of will to do the great work of cleansing. The only good trog is a dead trog."
If the men with guns from Tir had any different thoughts, around the dead ork family, they kept them quiet. Of course, it wasn't murder if it wasn't human, and things that only looked something like humans were naturally unsettling. Killing monsters made their lives simpler, satisfying and indeed rather more lucrative. If they had any more doubts, the Ork Slayer had long been known across Calfree for a certain technique, which did more all his clear-cut speeches to make it clear it was monsters they were dealing with.
When the bodies were finally hung up around an ancient telegraph pole like rotten fruit, all of them had MONSTER carved into their foreheads. As they found Hrafna in the morning, with WEAK carved in blood above her unseeing eyes. As Susan dug her nails into her own brow, when she saw, howling out her futile rage.