Warning! Potentially disturbing content! Ye be warned!

Halfling Colony.

"So what's the plan?" One of the human workers asked as they all gathered around the partially completed worksite of a halfling home.

"Wait, is Sam still not here?" Clive asked as he looked around for the Elder Jefferson.

"Nope. And because of the cell service bein' on the fritz we can't call him either. Should we send someone to go get him?"

Clive thought about it for a minute, but eventually decided against it. He probably needs some time to deal with Jeb leaving.

"No. We can deal with this ourselves, we'll check on him after it's all done."

"Speakin' of which, what exactly is the plan?"

"We'll meet the thugs on the road, away from the colony and the halflings. Less chance of them getting hurt or even in the way." Clive stated in a lowered voice to keep any nearby halflings from overhearing.

"Then what? We blast 'em? I got my uncle's rifle in the truck."

Clive didn't want this to turn into a bloodbath, but from the looks of those thugs he wasn't sure if just showing up with some wrenches and hammers would be good enough.

"Fine, just what's in your trucks though! We don't know how long it'll be before they come back."

The men nodded as Clive looked around again at the halflings as they themselves got ready to do battle. They wielded pitchforks, butcher knives, clubs, some were even making slings. Clive hoped that they could deal with the gang before the halflings could get involved though. He was already nervous about what him and the others might have to do, he didn't want the halflings getting tangled up in it and getting hurt.

Clive looked at his watch once more. Then he nodded to the men and they all got to their trucks and cars and drove away down the road. Once they were so far from the colony they formed a barricade with their vehicles and waited for the gang to return. Most of them had a hunting rifle and a few pistols. Clive REALLY hoped they didn't have to use them, but they wouldn't know until the gang arrived and decided how much trouble they wanted to be.

"And hopefully this doesn't turn into a shitshow." Clive muttered as him and the workers stared down the road.

-----

Residence of Lord Myrle.

The elvish "lord" sat comfortably on a sofa as he watched a couple dancers preforming for him in the living room of his newly acquired residence just north of the main road in town. It wasn't the lavish estate he had back in Daele, but it was the best this backwater had to offer, he thought as he snacked on a tray of mini sausages prepared for him by a fearful young lad. While he lived in whatever amounted to luxury in this backwater town, the rest of his gang was mostly confined to the growing shanties around the town. A hodgepodge of "pre-fabs" as they were called, simple cabins being built, and whatever was thrown together for warmth.

He of course had to... deal, with the former occupants naturally. Some simple human family. Husband, wife, daughter and son with a hound. The husband was something called a "teamster" apparently. Lord Myrle didn't know what that was, maybe it was similar to a tailor or weaver?

Anyway, his body was buried out back with the mutt that had attacked one of his men. The wife joined him not long after as her screeching and wailing had irritated the elf. The son and daughter learned really quick that if they didn't want to end the same way it would be best if they were cooperative.

The daughter, who was barely older than the lad was, currently massaged his feet while her brother fed him quaint snacks. The two dancers entertaining him and his men were "gifts" from Barnaby. Their lovely unblemished faces and graceful movements were in stark contrast to the bruised and battered conditions of his own pitiful slaves. A mocking gesture to show him that he knew how to train his product better than him!

"Uppity dwarf!" Lord Myrle seethed as he batted away the tray of snack foods. His leisurely mood ruined at the thought of the dwarvish pimp.

Was he more liberal with the cane than Barnaby? Perhaps, but it wasn't his fault that they irritated him so with their constant whining and bawling! Even the two human whelps had bruises and gashes from being far too loud for his liking. If they wish to cry and whine they can do it more quietly, he had told them after he had them disciplined the first time.

He was interrupted from his musings as the door to his new residence was opened to reveal the man in charge of extorting those halfling bumkins to the south. He bowed to the elvish man as the poor frightened lad hastily cleaned up the mess of mini wieners and other small snacks.

"My Lord."

Lord Myrle gestured for the man to speak.

"We ran into a bit of trouble with the halflings."

The elf sneered and sniffed.

"What? Do they have nothing but food to offer?"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Well... we don't know. We were stopped before we could shake 'em up proper."

"Stopped? By who?"

"Some humans were there, they had weapons."

"And you didn't deal with them? How worthless are you?!" The elf hissed as he kicked away the girl.

His mood had soured now, he thought. The man hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should speak or not. He gulped and continued.

"If we just had a few more men than we-"

"Fine! Take as many as you want. But return with what's mine, and make an example of them!" The lord declared.

A malicious grin split the man's face as he bowed and rounded up a few more men before heading out to deal with the halflings, and a mouthy human especially. Lord Myrle glared at the dancers as they continued to dance seductively despite everything going on.

He snapped his fingers.

"Boy! Bring me a knife. A sharp one."

He'll show that dwarf not to mock him, the lord thought as he smiled sadistically at the dancers.

-----

Down the road of the Halfling Colony.

Clive checked his watch again. Surely they wouldn't take too long in coming back, he thought. People like them don't give up so easy. The workers were getting restless as well. Some had taken to napping or even playing card games while they waited, others paced and spat in an effort to pass the time.

Then one of the workers that had a pair of binoculars shouted.

"Here they come!"

The workers perked up and got ready, as did Clive. His heart hammered in his chest. This wasn't like the "battle" with Sloth. It all happened so quickly that he barely had time to consider what he was feeling. But now he's had almost an hour to go over his feelings of what might transpire.

Yet here they came, and a lot of them did. Over twice as many as before were making their way down the road. Almost three dozen over all. Some were scarred and grizzled while most were young faced and bloodthirsty. New recruits ready to make a name for themselves with their gang, Clive thought bitterly. That was going to be an issue. A vet could tell when to cut and run. But get someone hotblooded wanting to prove themselves? They would be more likely to fight than run.

As they neared, one of the workers brought a rifle out and fired it into the ground near the line of thugs. Clive called out.

"That's far enough! You were warned once and that's all you'll get! Go home!"

The man from before glared at them and looked warily at the guns pointed at them. Then he grinned and smacked one of the younger recruits.

"Well?! What are you lot waitin' for?! There they are, so go get 'em!"

"But they hav-" The boy didn't finish before the man cracked his jaw with a fist.

"Here's how it's gonna go down you little shits! Either they die, or you do! THE ONES THAT RUN WILL FACE THE WRATH OF LORD MYRLE!" The man yelled out for all to hear.

Clive didn't know who this "Lord Myrle" was, but from the looks of fear from the recruits, it wasn't someone they were keen on disappointing. The young faced men snarled and growled before charging the firing line in a wild frenzy. Clive wasn't sure if it was fear or bloodlust driving them, but right now that didn't matter as shots from rifles and pistols rang out.

Brains splattered and chests bloomed as bodies dropped one by one onto the dirt. Some were so mad with fear and adrenaline that they didn't even consider trying to get out of the way of the bullets. Others had a bit more sense and would jump to the side and crouch within the ditch to avoid getting shot at. Others were just cold-blooded and used their own comrades as meat shields. Which is what the vets in the back with the leader were doing. Sending the dumb recruits to soak up all the bullets before they would decide to either rush in and finish off what was left, or retreat with minimal fuss.

Clive himself held a revolver loaned to him by one of the other guys. He didn't own any and it had been some time since he had any sort of practice with guns. But it was better than wanting to get into melee with the bum rush that was happening. Not like it wasn't going to still happen though, Clive thought as the new bloods got closer and closer. Shots began to get more erratic as people started to panic at the thought of them getting closer.

Clive fired his loaned weapon regardless, he didn't want to kill anyone and was sick at the idea. But at this point it was either them or him. A young lad's head snapped back as he got a little too close. His eyes rolled back as blood poured from the wound in his forehead. But Clive kept firing into the bodies that continued to rush at them. He can be sick after they deal with the gang... if they survive.

The vets weren't just standing around being idle. Some moved to the ditches and kicked and hit the ones trying to hide from the bullets. They even had to resort to just dragging them out kicking and screaming before being forced to run towards Clive and the workers. Some barely made it a couple feet before they fell forwards dead. But some got braver as they noticed time between shots getting slower and the shots not being as accurate as the gangers got closer.

Eventually however, the workers and Clive found themselves in a melee. Some of the boys that managed to make it to them grabbed at rifle barrels or charged others with knives and studded clubs. One guy to Clive's left saw playing tug of war with his rifle as he attempted to keep hold of it to prevent the ganger from taking it. He pulled the trigger and the youth dropped to the ground screaming as he clutched his gut. He didn't have long to enjoy his victory before another rushed from the side and tackled him. Slamming fist after fist into the man.

Clive fired a couple more shots before the gun clicked empty.

"Shit!"

He fumbled for the bullets he was loaned as fast as he could before he was attacked himself. A youth ganger tackled him. Sending the semi-reloaded revolver tumbling out of his hand before he started to hit Clive. He put up his arms and attempted to block the worst of it. He threw a wide punch when he saw an opening and threw the boy to the side.

Clive scrambled for the revolver and quickly finished reloading it before he found himself once again struggling under the onslaught of the ganger. He grabbed at the revolver to keep Clive from turning it on him. The two grappled and wrestled for the six-shooter in a desperate bid to keep themselves alive a little longer.

Clive's heart hammered so hard that he could barely hear the sounds of desperate battle going on in the background of his own fight for survival. He could see the fear and desperation in the other man's eyes as they both tried to get ahold of the gun. But the boy wasn't what one might call healthy. Clive on the other hand had years of working on trains to give him the advantage that steadily drove the barrel of the gun towards the other man.

He began to panic and struggle for a hold on the gun as Clive brought it closer and closer to the boy's scared face. He yelled out something just before Clive pulled the trigger and just like that, his life ended. His body fell onto Clive. He quickly pushed the body to the side and began to involuntarily dry-heave as blood, brain, and bone fell from his face.

But he wasn't out of the woods yet as the leader had managed to make his way over to Clive amidst the brawl still going on. He picked up Clive's revolver that was unintentionally discarded nearby. He held the gun and looked at it with a curious look.

"You know? I heard dwarves had these things. Call 'em, "thundersticks" or some such. But never saw 'em before. Always thought they were just hot air."

Then he pointed the gun at Clive with his finger on the trigger.

"Thanks for the new toy. I'll be sure to put it to good use after my boys get done with your friends. Then we'll move on to deal with your little gophers."

The leader pulled back the hammer and smiled a cruel, rotted, smile as Clive just stared at the end of his life looking down on him. But fate, or more precise the halflings, had other plans though as a stone sailed through the air and nailed the leader in the face. He clutched the broken nose as he dropped the revolver in shock.

A battle cry rang out as the halflings began to swarm what was left of the battlefield. The gangers that didn't immediately run were quickly skewered by pitchforks or stabbed with butcher knives or even beaten with clubs of their own! All the while, stone sailed down on them from halflings wielding slings. The leader got another stone in the head for his trouble before he snarled a bloody snarl and left with a growl. Some of the vets followed quickly after as they left the bodies of their comrades in the dirt for the crows.

The halflings cheered in victory as they helped the workers to their feet or carried them depending on how wounded they were. While it wasn't as bad as they feared it was when they got into a brawl. Some of them still looked in rough shape. Hamish walked up to Clive with a disapproving look on his face.

"Wha' tha hells were you thinkin' lad!?!?"

"That we could scare them off without you guys getting into a fight and getting hurt." Clive said as he tried to stand on shaky legs.

"Well 'ow did tha' turn out fer you?! Ifin we didnae show up you'd be deader than a doornail! Than wha' woulda 'appened?!" Hamish chided Clive as he helped him to his car as the others did much the same. The heavily wounded were helped into truck beds while the rest drove their cars and trucks back towards the colony.

Clive should've said something, but he was just glad to still be breathing and alive. So he stayed silent as Hamish continued to reprimand, grumble, and chide him the whole way back. He never thought he would say it, but he missed Hamish and the halflings. At least until tomorrow when they reminded him how frustrating they were to deal with.