Sometimes things don't go exactly how you want, things happen out of your control, and sometimes out of sheer desperation, You have to deviate from the original plan. Sometimes you have to work with idiots, at the absolute height of metaphoric expression. I always reckoned myself a bit of a philosopher, mostly with both of my balls firmly in the mouse trap. Also metaphorically of course. I actually enjoyed the coolness of the attic compared with the heat of noon outside Also I enjoyed the silence after my last compatriot, somewhat ironically caught Fireball with his mouth, silencing his annoying ass forever. Less amusing was a barrier I had to raise so my lovely and multifunctional tongue doesn't suffer something like that. That was near the last of my magic essence for the day, before jumping up to reach the attic trapdoor. Two normal bullets slammed against the barrier, insignificant, but this was just a prelude.

Litlle footsoldiers always go before anyone of note, several magic bullets proved me right, and I managed to pull myself up not a moment too soon. As my barrier shattered with a single blast of Raw Aether. Those who never felt it can't understand it. Aether as the essence of magic itself is so pure that when swung with abandon as was now made you feel everything, even if you evade it as I did. My legs were good three feet away when it pass under and I felt burned, frozen, shocked, and many more things, even though neither my clothes nor my body showed it. I pushed the iron cover on, then whatever I could find. Until I was certain there was at least half a ton of junk on the cover. Then I slumped near. The floor was reinforced concrete which gave me a small amount of safety, both from conventional ammo and scrying. Iron in the middle was as much protection from “third sight” as it was against sheer force, detecting where I am will be messy. They will get me though, eventually, I leaned against something and wiped my forehead before pulling Helen out.

There was about a 50-50 split about naming your weapon, even though I was somewhere in the middle, I had Helen, sure, but I also had soul forged dagger in my boot, arguably more valuable, and a shortsword, yet I never thought to name either of those. But the first time I picked up a revolver I knew it was named Helen, after Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world. What? Criminals couldn't read a book or two? Judgemental pricks. And the weapon justified its name, not only by its perfection but by how many times people tried to take it from me. I assume since it still was in my hand, it is easy to summarize they failed. For I am Hákon Firehand, the fastest mage to ever be a gunslinger, and the best mage ever to draw a gun. Also the least known...I'll also likely be dead soon. So let's get this show on the road.