Spy: Reborn

by Angie A Huxley

  “Good. Now take those grenades to the armory in the basement.”

  He hefted the box up with his arms and carried it out the door. The Shaman continued with his bloody work, not even looking up from his table.

  Allowing a smile of victory to cross his face, Argo slipped out of the laboratory after covering the box with a thin cloth. Moving through the hall, he soon found the front entrance and walked right outside. Careful not to jostle his dangerous cargo, he headed across the compound and back to the storehouse—other orcs assuming he was just running another errand.

  The storehouse was empty when he entered it, and he headed to its far corner and settled down behind a pile of crates. He placed the box of grenades down as gently as possible in a shadowy corner, behind the other crates. There, all done.

  Mana

  03/20

  Level 3 Orc Grunt disguise draining 1 mana every 30 seconds…

  Estimated Morph duration remaining: 1 minute, 12 seconds…

  And just in time: his mana reserves were almost depleted, with only a minute left on his orcish guise. He immediately bit down on some manaroot, increasing the regeneration rate of his disguise while hiding away in the safety of the storehouse.

  His first spy mission was going quite well. He not only located the gang’s loot but he now possessed a box of formidable weapons for the rest of the Manticore Crew to use. He also learned what it’s like to walk in another person’s shoes. He wasn’t performing, hoping to impress an audience with poetic, impactful verse and a dramatic, well-timed sweep of the hand.

  No, he simply became someone else. True, it didn’t take much to grunt and scowl as an orcish grunt expected to keep his mouth shut. But he did it… he stopped being Argo the loser for a few short moments, and transformed into someone else without breaking the illusion.

  It was a good start to his new life as the Manticore Crew’s Spy. Now he just needed to wait for the next phase of the plan…

  Chapter Seven: Sneak Attack

  Gutsboy staggered across the compound and relieved himself against the wall of the storehouse. He smiled with relief and sagged against the wall, feeling very pleased with the night’s revelry and his own contributions to the feast. He’d received nothing but congratulations from the other orcs, especially the senior lieutenants. Though none of them had openly said anything, there was a silent understanding that Gutsboy would have their support if he were to challenge Urzug for the leadership of the gang.

  The orc smiled as he fixed his loincloth. The rank and file grunts all thought the sun shone out of his backside at the moment, so nobody would put up any resistance if Gutsboy made a move against Urzug. Those that did would go the same way as the old chief. The time was right for him to step up to the plate, while everyone was cheered by the ale. He’d never get a better opportunity than this to take his rightful place.

  Yes, he thought to himself, it was his time to shine. He’d do it tomorrow when the others were too hung-over to know what was going on, and then they’d have another feast before anyone had time to miss the old boss. Urzug had been a decent leader in his day, but he was well past his prime. He was growing too cautious, not risking attacking all the travellers that passed through the mountains. He said it was better to just target those with the most loot, but Gutsboy suspected Urzug had just lost his nerve. It happened when orcs lived too long.

  As Gutsboy weaved around the storehouse, his mind brimmed with evil plans for the future. He was so engrossed that he almost tripped over the cask of ale that was lying on the ground. He nearly kicked it out of the way, but decided to check if there was any ale left inside it. To his delight, he found it was full and hadn’t been open.

  “It’s a sign from the Blood Gods,” he muttered to himself. Even the Monster Lords of Hell had given him their infernal blessing. He was just about to undo the stopper and take a generous swig from the cask when he heard the urgent flapping of wings headed towards him.

  Gutsboy looked up in shock as Srev, Urzug’s pet buzzard, came rushing towards him. The gruesome bird let out a sharp cry and snatched the cask from him with its talons. The orc stood dumbfounded as he watched the bird fly through the gloom and head up to the flat roof of the storehouse.

  “You mangy carrion bird! Give me back me ale!” Gutsboy bellowed up at the demonic animal.

  The bird cried out again as if taunting him, and set the cask down in front of it. It perched the ale on its side and started picking at a weeping sore on its breast. Gutsboy seethed with rage. “You miserable, rotting heap of feathers!” he snarled. “I’ll wring your scrawny neck!”

  He stalked towards the rickety wooden staircase attached to the wall of the storehouse and ran up to the roof, climbing the stairs two at a time. The ale he had already consumed and his plans to overthrow Urzug had made him overconfident and thirsty for violence. He knew that if he was to kill the gang leader, he’d have to deal with his wretched bird companion as well, and this was as good a place as any to do away with Srev.

  When he reached the roof, Srev was still perched on the ale cask, watching him. Its baleful eyes seemed to be laughing at him. Gutsboy hated that bird. When he was gang leader, he’d have the wretched thing stuffed and mounted on the wall of the dining hall in the villa.

  “Come here,” he snarled as he drew his dagger.

  Srev made no move to fly away, so Gutsboy made a lunge for it. It looked like his metal blade would hit home on her breast, but the bird suddenly launched herself up into the air and flew across the roof to the rear of the building. Gutsboy stumbled over the ale cask and let out a sharp curse.

  “You won’t get away!” he hissed, getting back to his feet.

  Srev was perched on the back wall now, its wings folded behind it. Gutsboy was able to control his anger long enough not to make another run at it. He instead stalked slowly towards the bird, hoping to knife it before it flew away again. It never moved a muscle as he reached the rear of the storehouse, and he was so close he could see the dried mucus on its greasy wings in the bright light of the moon. It was almost as if Srev was waiting for him to kill it.

  Well, Gutsboy was glad to oblige, and when he’d cut the wretched bird, he’d do the same to its fat old owner. He raised his dagger. But he was so engrossed in making his strike that he didn’t see the other figure coming towards him on the roof until it was too late.

  He turned in shock and looked straight into Urzug’s fearsome face. “Goodbye, Guts,” the orc said as he shoved him hard in the chest. Srev flew up from its perch and danced around Gutsboy’s head as he tumbled over the edge of the roof, plunging to the ground below.

  Quickly, Urzug headed down the stairs and went over to where Gutsboy lay sprawled out. He’d broken his neck, and contact with the hard rock had split open his head like a melon—killing him outright.

  Urzug looked around to make sure nobody had witnessed what had happened and then gave a satisfied nod. Everything had gone accordingly to plan. Srev cawed harshly and flitted down to land on Urzug’s shoulder.

  The orc rubbed the bird under the chin. “Good work.”

  Srev shook its gruesome head as way of thanks, and leaving the body of his erstwhile rival behind on the ground Urzug strolled back towards the direction of the feast. When Gutsboy was discovered in the morning, it would look like an accident. No stab wounds, no signs of a struggle, but everyone would know that Urzug was behind his death.

  There would be just enough doubt in the minds of the others to make anyone else think twice about challenging his rule. With the younger orc gone, all those warriors who had supported him would quickly abandon their mutinous thoughts. Urzug was the boss and that was how it was going to stay.

  Humming a little tune to himself, he was thinking about getting himself another drink and a piece of rat dog to celebrate when the door to the storehouse opened. Urzug stopped dead, caught off-guard by this unexpected development. He realized that he was still alone he
re, with nobody watching. Someone—or a group of someones—could very easily do to him what he just did to Gutsboy.

  This was why the chieftain pressed himself against the wall of the building, Srev perched tensely on his shoulder.

  He watched an orc grunt slink out of the storehouse, making his way fervently across the compound grounds toward the gate. Urzug’s first thought was to catch the little runt, brain him good for scaring him like that, but he stopped himself before giving chase.

  Two deaths in one night would raise too many suspicions and could cause unrest. Despite the anarchic nature of the outlaw gang, only Urzug could authorize killings. Too many deaths this night would weaken his story, inflame Gutsboy’s faction to challenge him even without their leader.

  Or maybe…

  The spiked wheels in Urzug’s vicious little mind started spinning quickly. Maybe he could use this to his advantage. He could claim that this worm had been responsible for Gutsboy’s death, have him executed for it. It would settle the matter nice and neatly, though there would be suspicion Urzug had been responsible. Still, nobody would question the chieftain—not when he had such a convenient scapegoat at hand.

  Urzug moved away from the storehouse and started following the orc. Whoever the goblin licker was, he was acting very suspiciously, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the fire pits around which the feasting had taken place. He was definitely heading to the gates…but why?

  Had he seen what had happened on the roof and had decided to run away rather than face Urzug? It made sense, but the orc felt that there was something else going on. The old Orc Reaver could instinctively sense danger which was why he’d lived as chieftain for so long, and this strange little runt was giving him bad vibes. He was up to some nefarious work which had nothing to do with Urzug and Gutsboy’s rivalry.

  Whatever it was, Urzug was going to get to the bottom of it.

  * * *

  Argo (Morphed as Orc Grunt) has come under suspicion by three other Orcs! The Orcs scrutinize Argo…

  …but do not see through the Orc Grunt disguise! Argo passes skill check (+1 experience!)

  (33/100 XP, 67 XP to next level)

  Biting down on the tide of panic rising inside him, Argo strode past the fire pits and the sleeping forms of the bandits. Most of them were sprawled on the trestle tables or slumped on the ground, completely incapacitated by the potent ale.

  At least the ale did its job. Casadraggrio had managed to get hold of a shipment of the alcohol from the Dwarven Brewers of Griffincrag from his contacts in the smuggling trade. The stuff they made was strong enough to knock out hard-drinking orcs and trolls, making them as helpless as babies. Sonia had also slipped in minor sleeping drugs and doctored the casks before they set out into the mountains just for good measure.

  Still, much to his concern, he noticed that there were quite a few of the wretched creatures still conscious, even if wobbling about in a drunken stupor. He kept as wide a berth as possible as he made his way to the main gate, almost tripping over a troll leaning against one of the hovels while chugging down a cask of ale. The troll dropped the cask on the ground and gave Argo a drunken grin before promptly falling asleep. Such was his inebriation that he didn’t even trigger a suspicion skill check. Argo took the opportunity, quickly hurrying past.

  He came in sight of the gate and hoped the others were still out there waiting for him. He should have snuck out and opened the gate ages ago, but he was too busy waiting for the festivities to end. He would probably still be hiding in the storehouse if not for some strange disturbance from the roof. Startled, he scrambled to get out from behind the crates, knocking several over in the process. Whatever that disturbance was would no doubt draw attention to his hiding spot, so he triggered his Morph ability and hurried to the entrance of the storehouse—risking the journey despite quite a few orcs and trolls still up and drinking away.

  Finally reaching the gate, he paused and looked about to make sure nobody was paying him attention, and then went about pulling back the wooden bar. It was heavy going. But he managed to slide it free and opened one of the gates just a fraction. His Orc Grunt disguise shimmered, one of its hands melting into its body as Argo dug into his inventory. Slipping outside, he took out a small wand topped with a blue crystal and raised it in the air. He pressed a switch on the side of the wand and the gnomish signaling device sprang into life.

  Activating Glowtip Wand, draining 1 charge per second… 594/600 charges remaining…

  The crystal glowed brightly, piercing the night with its diffused light. Argo kept it on for twenty seconds, as Henk had instructed, before shutting it off and tucking it back under his cloak. He stared out at the rugged landscape, unable to pick out anything in the thick gloom, and waited. There was no sound or movement from the rocks around the compound, and the mountain wind sliced through him.

  With a sinking heart, he realized the Manticore Crew were not waiting out there at all. The raid was a bust; they might have encountered a bandit patrol or maybe they had to do something more important in the real world.

  Or maybe they thought he failed. He couldn’t private-message them after all, not with them being so far away while he was locked in a hostile environment. He would only be able to receive and reply to their private messages if he was within a certain range of their characters—or he found himself back in a safe zone.

  Realizing he couldn’t stay in the compound for long, he prepared to access his HUD, port back to civilization.

  Trigger manual respawn option?

  Warning: you are choosing to respawn from an unsafe environment. You will lose 10% of your experience, 10% of your currency, and incur a 10% endurance penalty on all currently equipped items.

  Yes

  No

  The manual respawn was an option for players wanting to return back to safety without the hassle of walking all the way. The penalties were far more lenient than those from death, so it also made a convenient option for teleporting back home.

  He triggered the command and stood stock-still, waiting for the 30 second-timer to count down. This made manual respawning convenient, but only when out of combat.

  Manual respawn selected… stand still for the duration of the timer

  28 seconds remaining…

  19 seconds remaining…

  8 seconds remaining…

  5 seconds remaining…

  Just as the timer was running out, he spotted shapes approaching quietly. He sighed with relief when he recognized Henk and Brier, their private messages suddenly flooding his chat log. Questions about his progress, whether he was safe, if he found the loot, and so on and so forth. He quickly stepped forward, swinging his leg and canceling the timer. They came over to him, with Sonya, Aaheli, and Kip following behind.

  “I’m so glad to see you guys,” Argo said with relief. “I meant to come out sooner but I got delayed. Sorry, but I got something really cool to show you.”

  Henk raised his hand for silence. “Hush, don’t talk too loudly,” he whispered. “Are they all drunk in there?”

  “I think so,” Argo said, conscious to lower his voice. “They all went at it hard with the ale.”

  “Good,” muttered Brier. “Did you find the loot?”

  The way he said it suggested that he didn’t think Argo had, so the Spy took some satisfaction in proving him wrong. “I have. There’s a lot of neat stuff being stored in a big house at the far end of the compound. It’s all being kept in a cage, in a Shaman’s laboratory. I’ve also got some acid grenades stowed away in the storehouse that can eat through the metal bars of the cage—quickly and quietly.”

  Henk looked at him with a mixture of surprise and respect. “Good work, Argo.”

  “Thanks,” replied Argo, and he felt a wide grin spread across his face from ear to ear. “It was your plan though that helped me do it, Henk.”

 
“Can you two boys save your burgeoning love affair for later on, please?” interrupted Kip in a sarcastic tone. “I would like to take a look at what they’ve got stored in here.”

  “Oh right, sorry,” said Argo. “Come on, this way.”

  Remaining as quiet as possible, they slipped through the gate and made for the shadow of the wall. As Argo had said, the orcs and trolls were either asleep or too drunk to notice the intruders. Argo pointed to the direction of the stone house.

  “It’s over there,” he whispered. “There’s a rear kitchen entrance that we can slip into, avoid drawing the attention of the orcs and trolls still awake. I don’t think anyone’s in there now, but we’d better be careful of Mutated Rats. I had to fight one when I first snuck in.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been having the time of your life in here,” Aaheli said wryly. “I’m glad I made the effort to come and join you all on this quest.”