by A Uscila
“Saw what?” – Innocently, did the warlock ask back.
“There was this purple line that seemed to appear for a moment and trailed off into the sky, I think it connected with that black dot up there” – Bossdwarf explained, only to point a finger at the indicated detail.
Following the direction he was pointing to, Wail stared off towards it for a moment or two without much reaction, till the warlock quite casually shifted his gaze towards the plated accomplice. A sight of Bob attempting to lift his head high enough to see what the two were talking about, yet failing, coming into view.
“Did you see some sort of a purple line?” – Wail, after a brief sigh, asked in a stumped tone, as if the matter at hand was ridiculous enough to dismiss, but ended up approached simply out of politeness.
Bob, once aware that the question was directed at him, and probably relieved that he no longer needed to attempt the impossible, ceased his screeching efforts and looked down upon the skinny colleague – only to release another series of screeches as he nodded his helmed head. An action that was soon changed to a shaking in denial, once Wail smacked the underling over the head – the pale features of the warlock twisting from strain after the action.
“Nope, we didn’t see anything” – Wail finally brazenly stated, after he shook the recently used hand a bit and his facial features relaxed somewhat.
“Wait…but…” – Absolutely flabbergasted by the display, Bossdwarf could only stammer in reply – clearly lost on what to address first. Good thing that other, more pressing matters relieved him of the headache. And replaced it with something way worse.
“Fire! Fire!” – Panic took the streets, as criers ran about – some with buckets in their hands, others with shovels and other tools, while a familiar shabby-looking middle-aged man came running, a few columns of smoke coming into view behind him, rising over the wooden roofs – “Boss! The fort is on fire and it’s spreading like crazy! We gotta get you out of here!”
“Fire? What!?” – Bossdwarf could only muster up a few bewildered shouts, as he was quickly, yet surprisingly carefully, pushed towards the exit of the fort, both Wail and Bob following in silence without much input, be it verbal or visual. Not a hint of surprise displayed in their exterior, as they struggled through a chaotic mess of people surging to and fro, screaming, shouting and swearing – some weighted down by, what seemed like, all their worldly possessions. While others carried whatever fire-fighting tools they managed to come-about, surging towards buildings that spewed smoke through their windows and avoiding those that had raging tongues of fire in place of the black exhaust. That fire sure was spreading really fast.
“Stop pushing me, dammit, or I’ll cut your pay!” – Finally, the stubby boss seemed to have had enough of it, as his character flared up enough to stop the steady retreat and keep the caring underling from trying anything funny. Those actions forcing the group to stop right near a wooden structure filled to the brim with raging flames, their all-consuming nature already in process of crawling over the exterior – the heat, radiating from it almost unbearable.
“But you already did that this week!” – taken aback by the threat, the middle-aged fellow could only complain with a wounded expression, beads of sweat running down his glistering features.
“Well, I’ll do it again! Just watch me!” – Bossdwarf shot back in fluid-splattering frenzy, his threat made all the more apparent by the furrow between the dwarf’s eyebrows and the flickers of fire, reflecting off the expanded pupils.
A reply from the caring underling did not seem to be forthcoming, as the two stared off in silence – their heavy breathing discernable only from the rampart chest movements.
Wail, while all this drama was taking place, seemed slightly more aware of the surroundings, as he positioned himself to the side of the two and away from the aflame-structure. His steps slow and calculated, stopping every now and then to avoid collision with the occasional passerby – their frantic steps a testament to the grimness of circumstance. Bob, obviously, followed, till both were on the opposite side of what served as a street, with Bossdwarf and his underling standing directly in-between the warlock’s position and the burning building.
As if on que, just as the villainous duo were done with their repositioning, the sky seemed to cry ash – with flakes as black as Wail’s heart slowly drifted down from above. Falling upon the heads of all those present in the fort as if sprinkled down in handfuls on each portion of the fortification in regular intervals. A phenomenon that drew the raging shorty’s attention – as he extended a palm to catch a few falling flakes, rubbing them between fingers and watching as they spread and smeared the skin just like soot would.
“What the fuck is this…” – Bossdwarf inquired rhetorically under his breath.
He couldn’t contemplate the issue for long, since all of a sudden, a wood-splintering explosion came from the burning building to the side – a figure sheathed in tongues of flame spewing out and rushing at the dwarf and his accomplice. Completely stunned into inaction, Bossdwarf could only stare gape-mouthed as the apparition landed right near his middle-aged underling, ripping the poor bastard apart in a searing surge of claws and smoking blood, only to turn and charge at the dwarf before he could register fully what just took place.
In a gust of hot, searing air, the flames seemed to somewhat separate from the creature’s form – the apparition’s features finally coming into view, just as it was about to attack poor, lost Bossdwarf.
A monster from the very pits of hell itself, its’ gaze - two pools of molten lava, lost in a wavy mane of fiery tongues, claws as long and sharp as knives extending from two lean, muscled appendages that reached out to grab hold of Bossdwaf’s left hand in passing. A forceful pull coming soon after, as the poor dwarf was pulled along and around in a circle – since the fiery-creature suddenly stopped and spun while still holding onto the caught victim – the strong, clawed grip tearing through clothes and flesh as blood splattered all around. Yet, before Bossdwarf could even scream from the pain and horror of what was taking place – he was released from the grip, thrown away like a sack of potatoes. Right into the jaws of the raging inferno behind.
With eyes opened as widely as possible, the former ruler of a prospering fort could only gape at the cackling devilish perpetrator, drifting quickly to the unmoving form of the dark guest so recently guided about so professionally. To the seemingly relaxed pose he stood in, the shimmering red lines upon his black robe and the unmistakable sneer that loomed below the low-hanging hood.
The brief flicker of his thumb against the middle finger.
And then a bright red flash consumed the scene, followed by the sound of a thundering explosion.
Chapter 66
Grit and ash crunched underfoot, as Wail traversed the smoldering remnants of the former fort with lips twisted into a villainous sneer, gaze sliding over what few buildings remained standing – their exteriors blackened and burned-through. A clear view of their condition obscured by lingering smoke, while the sight of fire-eaten walls that surrounded the fort’s interior came into view every-time a breeze passed by - disturbing the grey shroud. Those very same gusts of air breathing in life to the occasional leftover tongues of fire that danced joyously to the wind, licking at the air as if a dog would at a treat. A display of affection that was quite similar to the one Sorro was partaking in, as he chomped onto the shoulder of a lone, panicking adventurer. Claws raking bloody lines along the chest and side, ripping through armor and clothes alike while radiating waves of fire, cooking the poor bastard alive. A theme quite alike to what Bob was partaking in – Souleater pulsing bright red with each successful cut at another unlucky survivor, making short work of the wounded and confused victim with an almost savage meticulousness. All a part of the beautiful symphony of strife that was soon joined by Wail – the snap of his fingers serving as the finale, which ignited the fires that another poor soul was bathed in, the sound of an explosion and a dying scream c
oming in well-adjusted sequence.
You have gained a level!
-45 Reputation.
Title has been upgraded
Lunatic Arsonist
*You’re a God damn maniac and the explosions from Combustion are now bigger to satisfy that spark of yours.
*You will receive an even bigger experience bonus whenever you kill someone with fire.
*An even greater experience and negative reputation reward will be given for setting the world on fire and burning it all to the ground. Amount may drastically vary depending on the objects.
*You will now attract large groups of hostile entities wherever you go. Being tied to a stake and burned alive by an angry mob will be the least of your worries.
*Greatly reduced amount of experience gained from regular non-fire based kills. Might as well forget all about it.
*Since you like fire so much, every five minutes of being away from it – you have a chance of becoming a living torch.
The pop-up messages serving as icing on the cake – only to stack up in the corner of Wail’s vision, where a number of similar messages awaited his critical review. Truly, a wonderful day. Wail could only sigh in undeniably insane pleasure, his fingers performing a playful, though probably unconscious, wiggle. Like a fervid child, he navigated through the myriad of messages that informed him of level-ups and losses in reputation, to the unexpected title upgrade and its’ colorful description, the sight forcing out a twitch in an eye. He could have sworn that someone personally prepared and wrote out the title just for him. He’d feel touched, if the content wasn’t so insulting and there was no way he’d give whoever wrote it the satisfaction of seeing the title used. Not on Wail’s watch. A demand for a mood lift was in order – eyes darting to another window with great anticipation glittering in them. After all, leveling up has been getting really hard and slow these days and every little progress helped.
Character name: Wail
Level: 196
Class: Warlock
Reputation: -2831
Title: Heretic
Souls: 189
Experience: 14.5%
Health: 7590
Mana: 10980
Stamina: 4000
Strength: 30
Intellect: 625
Agility: 20
Fortitude: 150
Wisdom: 500
Precision: 20
Attack: 37-58
Defense: 94
Charisma: -2
Leadership: 87
Luck: 11
Fame: 823
Health Regen: 13.5 Health/sec.
Mana Regen: 32.5 Mana/sec.
Stamina Regen: 5 Stamina/sec.
Magic Resistance
Fire: 25%
Water: 5%
Nature: 0%
Black: 20%
Light: -10%
Nether: 10%
*Unspent stat points: 25
*-1 Charisma due to appearance.
*-13 to Charisma due to below 0 Reputation.
*+11 Leadership due to Fame.
*+750 Health; + 30 Defense and + 3Health/sec due to Fortitude.
*+2875 Mana due to Intellect.
*+9 Mana/sec due to Wisdom.
*+20% Fire, +10% Nether magic resistance due to Warlock.
*+20% Black and -10% Light magic resistance due to Warlock.
Title bonus
*Hated by all major religions.
*Accepted by all evil religions.
*Contact with a member of any major religion may cause them to drop into a religious fervor - pursuing you with psalms and religious signs.
*Double negative effect upon killing or dying by the hand of a member of any major religion. May force subjugation parties to be unleashed upon the player. Will hunt until success or destruction.
*Triple experience for killing a member of any major religion.
*+5 mana/sec.
*+10% mana.
*+10% spell damage.
“Hey there, nice work! You really did a number on the place, didn’t ya?” – With gusto, Slicknick entered the scene, a few armed goblins coming into-view from behind, while the unmistakable figure of Willow not too far behind, with Vivian and minion number one right next to her. It was hard to say from this distance, but a gut feeling told Wail that the fury of a woman wasn’t too pleased with babysitting duty and he’d hear an ear-full once she winded-up enough. Which leads to a win-lose situation, when Vivian charged headlong at the warlock and, like always, gave his closest limb a great big, never-ending hug.
“Wail!” – a muffled shout coming from between his robe and her face, no doubt spit and snot lubricating the point of contact. Fantastic. Moving onto the “win-lose” part.
On one hand, Willow would either refrain from venting all-together or would at least tone it down a notch or, worst case scenario, use this as an opportunity to allow her pent-up anger to sizzle and boil till it was nice and ready to blow full-swing in his face. Probably literally at that point. He was not looking forward to the latter. Guess it was a “lose” and “lose a lot” situation, after all.
“Sooo…” – Slicknick’s clearly artificial hesitation was what drew the warlock back from his usual gloom – “…since you took care of the fort, with our help. When are we planning on going to the dungeon?” – A supposedly innocent question that no-doubt lead nowhere coming into play soon after.
“We’re not” – Wail replied without even turning towards the nosy goblin, most of his efforts and attention sacrificed to a struggle of wills between himself and the clingy child - as he tried to peel off the scrawny kid from his leg with a mixture of gentle and rough physical force. Not an easy job by any stretch of the imagination. He didn’t want the kid to start crying and make the circumstance even more annoying, after all.
“We’re not?” – Slicknick echoed in surprise.
That question seemed to finally catch Wail’s full attention, as he turned to look upon the goblin acquaintance - “Yes, that’s right. You should be asking yourself “when are you going to the dungeon”, Instead of “when are we”” – He elaborated as a matter of fact.
“B-but you said, that we could stick around…” – Heck, the goblin looked almost hurt, with his eyes cast down and fingers fumbling against each other innocently. That tactic only worked if you look adorable, though and that thing did not. Not even close. Wail might have puked a little bit in his mouth from the prolonged inspection. You’d think that he would have an immunity to ugly at this point – from all those years of looking into a mirror. Apparently not.
“That I did, but I didn’t tell you until when and if we’d go dungeoneering together” – The warlock was really into the role of a douche, apparently, his explanation followed-up by a sneer and an approval-searching glance-around. Eyes darting over to Willow who seemed to be glaring right back at him with crossed arms and a monotonous tap of a foot. Not a good sign.
“Ha! You hear that, fugly? You’re not welcome here!” – Of course, just when the dialogue was balancing on the edge, Sorro decided it was a good time to jump in and escalate a conflict.
Too bad for the little demon, Slicknick was true to his nickname in every sense.
“Look, I’ll lay my cards out on the table here. You scratched my back before, I scratched yours now. We’re even and now we both know that we can, to a certain extent, trust each other to get things done. I think it is the perfect foundation for a healthy and successful business relationship. How about we go down there together, as a group?” – There he was again, flapping that glib tongue of his. Wail could only narrow his gaze at the slippery goblin during that uplifting and superficially genuine speech. Eyes shooting over the remaining few goblins, without missing how tough the little bastards looked. Those were not the usual cannon-fodder that he constantly encountered until now.
“You and your ilk don’t look like someone who couldn’t handle themselves in a dungeon” – With a tone that made it hard to not interpret the words as fact and
not some question, Wail cut to the chase, his usual impatience getting in the way of any elaborate word-play. Though there was a hidden intent, lurking between the lines – clearly, the deranged sociopath wanted to twist it all around so that it would seem like he was providing a favor. Always in desperate need for superiority in some way or form.
“Well, sure, we do. But I heard it’s not a very easy dungeon and truth be told, I don’t want to lose any of these bad-boys” – Slicknick explained, ending the statement with a thumb pointing at his kin.
“Oh? And if you tag along with us, you’re just gonna let them hang-around with fingers up their noses? Is that how it is?” – Apparently, Willow had enough of being an observer and inserted herself into the conversation, taking away Wail’s opportunity to say something similar. Though, surprisingly, the deranged magician would have put it somewhat less rudely. Who would have figured?
“Well, no. But with professionals like you around, chances are that less or maybe even none of them will end up dead” – Slicknick quickly countered. Smooth.
“Hah, I’m starting to like this fella! Let’s just take him with us, not like it’ll do any harm” – Wail’s mouth opened to say something to that, yet closed shut as Bob joined in with a muffled bellow, his trusted weapon clutched firmly in his right, blood dripping from the pulsing blade.
“He’s just kissing-up to us, ya dolt. He doesn’t really think we’re professionals! And professionals at what, to begin with? Setting things on fire?” – Of course, Willow just had to address the matter and even throw in a sting towards Wail as well. He could only press onto the bridge of his nose and release a tired sigh.
