01/17/22 Snippet, DESERT.

Elves, Mr. Joe! Elves!


Joe didn’t know the first thing about setting up an ambush, so he didn’t even try. Oh, he got down, and out of sight. That wasn’t hard, what with all the gullies in this part of the Wildlands. And you never had to tell an orc to burn an enemy camp, because they learned that trick while still in the nursery. But ambushing was a human thing, and he didn’t have any of them along for the ride this time. I should fix that, Joe thought as three elven riders angrily swarmed around burning tents and slave-cart. A couple of gunslingers watching my back would be handy right now.

This bunch looked a hell of a lot better suited for the raiding trade than the three he had shot up five minutes ago. They were all keeping an eye out, always looking around, and they carried their looted carbines like people who knew how to use them. They weren’t chanting death lays over the bodies like elves usually did, either. And it was bad when the point-ears were too pissed off to sing. The madder they got, the better they shot.