by Troy Osgood
Roxhard slammed the butt end of his axe into the smugglers side, loosening the man’s grip. Taller, not as strong, the smuggler had done the only thing he could have when the charging Dwarf had slammed into him. He had wrapped his arms and legs around Roxhard and held on tight.
The Dwarf couldn’t bring the axe head to bear and couldn’t get up. Together they struggled, thrashing around on the ground, rolling. Roxhard’s weight was the advantage. Armor plus the Dwarf’s natural, stone-like density kept him on top.
Grunting, gasping, the smuggler tried twisting away from the butt end of the axe. Not able to apply his full strength because of the angle, Roxhard kept hitting the smuggler anyway. He could feel the man’s fists hitting his back, a pounding that didn’t amount to much. Lifting himself up with one arm, Roxhard slammed his bulk onto the smuggler. The man coughed, gasping for breath.
Again, Roxhard lifted up and slammed down. The smuggler stopping twisting, his struggles lessening. Pushing himself up, Roxhard looked down at the man. Human, mid-twenties. Blond hair, no beard. Scarred, rough looking from a rough life. Coughing, the smuggler tried to roll out of the way.
Roxhard grabbed the handle of his axe with both hands, lifting it up and ready to swing. He paused.
He’d been playing Sky Realms Online for only a year or so. At only fourteen, he shouldn’t have been, but he wasn’t the only one in his school using an older siblings name and account to play. His entire guild had been made up of kids from his school. He’d never before hesitated in slaying an enemy. Most of them were nonhumans, monsters, but there had been plenty of Humans.
Why was he hesitating now?
The smuggler coughed, gasping for air, holding a hand up to try and stop Roxhard. His other grasped his side where the axe’s handle had been hitting him in the kidneys or some other painful body part. This man was like the monsters, would kill Roxhard without a care.
So why was he caring?
The smuggler could be an innocent, only doing this because he had no choice. They had attacked the camp without cause. There was no good or right reason for this. Smuggling was wrong, but so was attacking the camp and killing in cold blood. Who was more wrong?
Wasn’t what Roxhard and his friends doing murder? And for what? Experience and some coin? He was starting to feel overwhelmed again. He was just a kid, a teenager, not a battle-scarred Dwarf. A scrawny kid.
Hall was accepting of it all. None of this seemed to bother him. He just went on. He accepted this new life, if that was what it was.
Roxhard very much wanted to impress Hall. He would have died if not for the Skirmisher, been lost with no direction. He might have respawned, he might not have. For whatever reason, Hall kept him around. Roxhard didn’t think it was pity. He hoped not. Hall felt like what an older brother should be. Roxhard’s real brother, the only nice thing he had ever done was allow his younger and annoying sibling to use his account to play the game.
Hall was what he had wished his real brother had been like.
Roxhard felt a sharp pain in his leg. Yelling out, he looked down to see a knife sticking out of his thigh. The smuggler, while he was distracted, had grabbed a knife from his boot and struck. Angry at himself as well as the smuggler, Roxhard swung his axe.
The hand holding the knife fell slack, blood splashing into the air.
Roxhard staggered back, gasping as he placed weight on his injured leg. The blade still stuck out, a slow trickle of blood leaking down his leg.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself staring down at the wound.
He cursed his stupidity. He could feel pain. This wasn’t a game, not any more, he had to keep reminding himself.
He wasn’t the scrawny kid pretending to be a Dwarf. He was the Dwarf. Roxhard of Clan Stonefire, born of the Hardedge Mountains.
He was strong. He was iron. He was stone.
He looked down at the body, the human body. Blood dripped from the edge of his axe onto the ground. A great gash torn in the smuggler’s lifeless body, blood streaming out, organs exposed.
Roxhard fought the urge to collapse and cry.
The smuggler’s blade got through his defenses. Hall stepped back, splashing in the water, trying to avoid the cutting edge. He twisted to the side. The smuggler was now off-balance, leaning too far forward but Hall was not in position to take advantage.
He took a couple more steps back, farther away and onto dry land. Glancing into the camp he saw Roxhard’s axe swing down and taking out the smuggler laying at his feet. The last smuggler was trying to swing at Angus but missing, having to avoid the spray of wood splinters that Leigh was shooting at him. They had their battles under control.
The smuggler turned to him, swinging, and Hall ducked under the sword. He twisted and rolled to the side, slashing out with his sword. He scored a hit, slicing along the side of the smuggler. The man yelled in pain, making a wild swing down that Hall easily avoided.
Springing up Hall stabbed straight out, forcing the smuggler back. The man stumbled again. Stepping forward, Hall swung. The smuggler raised his sword to block, catching Hall’s blade. Which was what Hall wanted. Metal clanged on metal, and Hall reversed his swing, out and back down through the smuggler’s side. The man dropped, bleeding out into the water.
Hall grimaced, his own wounds hurting.
He turned back to the others, watching the last smuggler fall with dozens of wooden shards sticking out of his chest.
SLAIN: Green Flow Smuggler Archer
+25 Experience
SLAIN: Green Flow Smuggler Warrior
+25 Experience
HELPING KELLY
Smugglers 4/8
Smuggler Chief 0/1
Recovered Ledger 0/1
Skill Gain!
Polearms Rank 2 +.1
Skill Gain!
Small Blades Rank 2 +.2
Skill Gain!
Light Armor Rank 2 +.1
Skill Gain!
Thrown Rank 2 +.1
Glancing up into the sky, he watched Pike circling, keeping an eye out for the other smugglers.
“You okay?” he asked Roxhard.
“Yeah,” came the distracted response.
The Dwarf was staring down at a smuggler’s body. It had been cut almost in half by the axe. There was a strange look on Roxhard’s face. Too many emotions to decipher. Hall had to keep reminding himself that the Dwarf was really just a kid.
He reached down and grasped Roxhard’s shoulder, squeezing, not sure what else to do or say.
“That was fun,” Leigh said as she picked her way around the bodies. She swiftly looked away from the corpse Roxhard was still looking down at.
She reached out and touched Hall’s bare arm, her fingers light. Chanting, the tattoos on her arm glowing, Hall felt a warmth coming from her touch. It spread throughout his body. Flexing his arms, he felt the muscles knit and the cuts flow back together.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem,” she responded, her hand remaining on his arm after the healing spell had faded. She smiled up at him and turned her attention to Roxhard. “Let me help,” she said.
Bending down, laying her hand just above where the knife blade stuck out of his leg, she took hold of the hilt with her other hand.
“Hold still,” she said.
“Why…” he started to ask and gasped as she yanked the knife out.
Quickly, she chanted and the blue glow once again crawled up her arms. Roxhard smiled, watching her. That could be trouble, Hall thought, recognizing how Roxhard was watching Leigh. The kid had a crush. Had it bad.
“Thanks,” he stammered, the words sounding odd in his rough and gravelly voice.
Hall looked around the camp. Tents, remains of a fire, and the small collection of crates and bags. He could see a bag or two in the tents. Each of the smugglers was wearing pieces of leather armor. Decent shape, not bad quality and their weapons had been well maintained. A decent amount of loot.
But no time to collect it. Not
yet.
Pike screeched from above.
The other smugglers were returning.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They made a lot of noise. Branches being pushed aside, talking. Not trying to hide their return. The other four were similar to the first. All Human, all male. Dressed in leather armor and carrying swords. Two also had bows. Each of the bowmen also carried a collection of rabbits and other small animals. The leader was different. Taller, bulkier but not overly so, looking more experienced. He moved with an easy step, eyes searching everywhere, constantly moving. Dressed in a chainmail shirt and leather leggings, longsword strapped to his waist.
Two Smuggler Archers, two Smuggler Warriors and the Smuggler Chief. Using the Identify skill, the Archers and Warriors showed white, which meant equal level. The Chief was blue, higher level.
The four Smugglers spread out as they entered the camp, not paying attention.
The Chief did. He stopped at the edge, scanning what he saw. Or, more importantly, what he didn’t see.
He didn’t see the others. The camp was empty.
No sounds. No snoring. Nothing at all. Silence.
He drew his sword, the sound drawing the attention of the other four.
Before they could draw their weapons, a screech tore through the air. They all looked up, watching a streak dive toward the camp. It was fast, a orange blur. It came in over the brook and into the camp. They watched it and then jumped back as a fork of lightning shot from the blur. One of the Smuggler Warriors jumped back, yelling, as the bolt slammed into his chest. He fell down, smoke curling up.
All eyes turned to the fallen man, the Chief quickly turning back to the what had been the streak of orange. A dragonhawk hovered in the air, its scaled wings flapping. The bird screeched once more, another bolt of lightning shooting out. The Chief stepped to the side, avoiding the blast.
“Kill it,” he shouted.
Before the Archers could -nock arrows, the dragonhawk was gone.
“What the-” one of the Warriors started to say. He never finished his thought, a javelin catching him in the chest. He stared stupidly down at the weapon, reaching for it, before falling to the ground.
Noise came from across the camp drawing the smugglers attention. First a small cow, shaggy but with sharp looking horns, came barreling out of the woods. It was followed by a charging Dwarf. Above them all leaped a man armed with a spear.
Hall felt the branches push aside as he leapt.
The spear pointed down as his arc brought him toward the Smuggler Chief. The man stepped to the side, and Hall swung the spear. The tipped smacked the Chief as Hall landed. He pulled the weapon back and jabbed quickly at the Chief. A sword smacked the tip out of the way.
Next to him, Angus slammed into the Archer that had been blasted by Pike’s lightning. He was starting to get up, saw the cow, and raised his hands to cover his head. The Archer dropped his bow, falling to the ground and screaming as the cow’s hooves ran over him. Roxhard slammed into the Warrior farthest on the right edge. He stopped his run, and the Smuggler Warrior fell backward, hitting the ground hard.
The Warrior on the left drew his sword, taking a couple steps forward and stumbling. Somehow, he maintained his balance, looking down to see grass and roots snaking around his ankles. He heard a chanting and saw a woman at the far end of the camp, standing in the bushes. She held a gnarled staff, and her free hand was making strange patterns in the air. He leaned down, slashing at the grass and vines.
Hall twirled the spear, trained to use the weapon as a spear and like a quarterstaff. He jabbed with the tip, smacking with the butt end. The Chief blocked most of the strikes. He would stop the bladed tip, allowing a hit from the non-edged end. Hall had to keep the shaft moving quickly to avoid the Chief’s longsword. They had to end this quickly, he knew. They were tired while the smugglers were fresh.
He heard the piercing sound of Leigh’s splinters as they flew through the air. The Smuggler Archer on the left screamed, yelling out in pain as dozens of small splinters pierced his skin. Hall couldn’t spare a glance as the Chief pressed his attack, working to get the sword past Hall’s defenses.
Angus snorted, stomping down on the Smuggler Archer. The man struggled to get up, rolling and trying to avoid the small cow’s hooves.
Roxhard took a step forward, axe swinging. The Smuggler Warrior on the ground barely got his hand up in time. The weight of the axe forced the Warrior’s arm back, bending awkwardly at the elbow. He grunted, trying to keep the axe from descending. Roxhard leaned into it, pushing down.
The Smuggler Chief pushed Hall backward. He had gotten inside the reach of the spear, and it was all Hall could do to keep twisting out of the way of the man’s longsword. The leader was good. Had to be a couple levels higher, maybe even as much as three. Pike was flying back and forth behind the leader, looking for an opportunity to attack.
Somehow sensing the dragonhawk behind him, the Chief forced Hall to twist. The dragonhawk squawked in frustration as Hall was now between him and the leader. Hall leaned back, avoiding a slash, twisting to the side to avoid the back swing of the longsword. He cursed, frustrated. The Chief was just too good, not giving him a second to adjust and regain the initiative.
Hall had hoped the speed and intensity of their attack would have given them the advantage. It hadn’t. The numbers had been trimmed down, eliminating the smugglers' advantage, but now the two sides were evened out. It was down to who would make a mistake first.
It appeared that Hall did.
The Smuggler Chief grabbed the shaft of the spear, Hall slow on pulling it out of reach, catching it between the arm and body. He yanked, trying to get Hall off-balance, a wicked grin on his face as he thought he had the fight won.
Hall dropped the spear, the Chief reacting as he wanted. Hall jumped into the air, drawing his short sword. With none of the expected resistance, the Chief was now the one off-balance, stepping backward and trying to stop himself from falling. With sword drawn, Hall landed in front of the Chief and kicked out.
Falling down, the Chief landed hard, the longsword falling from his grasp. Pike swooped in, darting around Hall and shooting a bolt of lightning at the Chief. Smoke curled up from the burn mark on the smuggler's chest, eyes filled with pain. The Chief gasped, spitting up blood, as Hall drove his sword into the man’s chest. Pulling the blade out, the Chief coughed up more blood. He tried to stand, gasping, but Hall kicked him hard in the face.
The Smuggler Chief fell down, head smacking hard against the ground, and did not get back up.
Hall turned to survey the battlefield. The cow was moving from the Smuggler Archer he had trampled to death to the one Leigh was holding immobile. That one had ducked down, preventing Leigh from shooting him with more splinters, feeling along the ground for the bow he had dropped. He had a dozen or more splinters sticking out of his body, each bleeding. Roxhard was standing up, his axe dripping blood, the Smuggler Warrior below him unmoving.
Angus ran at the Archer, the man having to stand up and jump out of the cow's way. He moved to the side, bow in hand, reaching for an arrow, tracking Angus who was skidding to a stop and trying to turn around for another charge. The Smuggler Archer screamed as splinters tore his arm to shreds. He stared at the bloody mess of his arm, the ruined and broken bow. Another Leap by Hall, sword slicing through the air as he landed, and the last smuggler fell to the ground dead.
SLAIN: Green Flow Smuggler Warrior
+10 Experience
SLAIN: Green Flow Smuggler Chief
+30 Experience
HELPING KELLY
Smugglers 8/8
Smuggler Chief 1/1
Recovered Ledger 0/1
Skill Gain!
Polearms Rank 2 +.2
Skill Gain!
Light Armor Rank 2 +.2
Leigh stepped out of the woods, Angus rushing to her side. The cow snorted as he passed Hall. Stepping back from the dead body, Hall looked the group over. No injuries that he could
see, nothing significant. Roxhard had a haunted look in his eyes as he looked down at the body below him. The Dwarf was breathing hard, more than he should have.
“Come on,” Hall said, catching Roxhard’s attention. “Let’s gather the loot and find that ledger. We could be back in River’s Side before dark.”
Roxhard shook his head, bringing his focus back. He nodded and bent down to the corpse at his feet, carefully searching.
“Your kill, your loot,” Hall told him as he bent down over the body of his shared kill.
The body was a mess. Wooden splinters, three or four inches long, stuck out everywhere. The leather armor was ruined, ripped and torn, not worth salvaging. He stared at the bloody arm. Muscle and flesh wrapped around bone, torn and bloody. Holes cut through it, bones fractured, ligaments and nerves torn. The game mechanics should have hidden most of damage done, turning it into raw numbers and not bloody wounds.
The mechanics had also previously saved them the trouble of searching the bodies themselves.
Trying to avoid the pieces of the Archer, Hall quickly searched the remains. The quiver full of arrows was still good, the bow ruined. He removed the man’s boots, searching for hidden compartments. In a hollow heel he found three silver coins. The wrong size, but boots with a hollow heel could still be worth something, he thought, stuffing them into his pouch. Grabbing the Archer’s sword, he added it to the pile he was starting with the quiver.
The smugglers had been out hunting. They would have been traveling light so Hall was not surprised there was nothing else to find. He moved onto the Chief.
Struggling to get it off the dead weight of the Chief, he threw the chainmail shirt onto the pile. At the very least it might be worth something to a smith to smelt down. The longsword was decent quality, nothing special. He had no training in the weapon, Small Blades versus Large Blades, but it would fetch a decent price from a weaponsmith. It went into the growing pile as Leigh and Roxhard added armor pieces and weapons. Daggers, some leather, swords, an axe, a bow, and three quivers of arrows.
