Viridian Gate Online- Imperial Legion

by J. A. Hunter

  Forge grinned at me and shot me a wink, then pressed the button to the floor again, sealing the hidden compartment away.

  “We’ve turned this whole network of tunnels into our version of a dungeon, Hoss. Any bastard Imperials that get in here won’t know what hit ’em until they wake up at their respawn points. If they wake up at all. Come on.” He waved me onward, deeper into the tunnelway.

  We passed a number of different traps—Forge enthusiastically pointed out the inscriptions for each—and a handful of ladders that connected to other homes scattered throughout the town. Eventually, we came to a dead end and clambered up into a sprawling room filled with pews. At the far end of the room was a large altar, adorned with chalices and candles.

  If the pews, altar, and chalices weren’t enough to tell me what this place was, the beautiful stained-glass windows did the trick. They marched along either side of the building, and each depicted a serene-faced Dawn Elf man in flowing brown robes performing various acts of charity. In one, the man fed a throng of emaciated people with outstretched hands. In another he tended to a deathly ill looking woman sprawled out on a bed. Another still depicted him with his feet planted wide, holding a heavy mace aloft, staring down an onrushing wave of undead.

  We were in the local chapel of Saint Tandar the Gentle, which was on the westernmost edge of town, about as far away from the main gates as you could get. Though the place seemed like it should be filled with devotees chanting prayers and offering supplication, the pews were instead overflowing with sleeping Alliance members—these were the unfortunate souls required to wander around the town during daylight hours, playacting for the benefit of any Imperial scouting party. Against the right-hand wall sat a series of thick tables, all loaded down with food and drink.

  We slipped out from the chapel as silently as possible, not wanting to wake the slumbering men and women.

  I paused outside the chapel door, staring at the hustle and bustle of activity with my arms folded across my chest. Spiderkin scuttled across rooftops with uncanny ease, both carrying riders and ferrying goods. And a small army of undead shuffled through the streets, patching up walls, digging ankle-breakers with crude shovels, even pulling bulky siege weapons at the command of Alliance members. Jo-Dan had come through for us, and the fact that our people were working so well with our new inhuman allies was encouraging to see.

  I grinned, feeling a brief surge of hope—maybe we really can win this fight—and followed Forge through the rear gate and toward the outlying farms.

  Most of the farmhouses had undergone only minor alterations—if the Imperials made it this far, we’d be long gone in a tactical retreat—but each concealed backup troops, along with ammo. Lots of ammo, specifically prepared for the hulking catapults littering the field. There were scores of giant boulders, hauled from the tunnels, but Vlad had also whipped up some unpleasant surprises in the form of basketball-sized glass orbs filled with a wide variety of awful alchemic brews.

  Some of the orbs would explode on impact. Others would release a wave of toxic gas or spray poisoned shrapnel out in a thirty-foot diameter.

  During the day, illusionists disguised the weapons as haystacks, but that was costly magic, so at night the spells came down. We tromped by one of the catapults, a hulking thing twenty feet tall, and into a small and unassuming farmhouse on the periphery of the field. Forge knocked twice, then pushed his way in without waiting for a response. Anton, Chief Kolle, Amara, Cutter, Otto, and General Caldwell were all inside, crowded around a wide table covered with maps and letters from the messengers and engineers.

  “I say we move on ’em tonight,” Cutter barked, staring at the maps, his hands planted firmly on the table. “The bastards are movin’ too fast, we need to cut ’em off at the knees.”

  “And you think it will be so easy?” Amara snapped back. “My Rangers have been probing their lines for days, harrying their flanks at every opportunity. And with little success. These Imperials are many things, but stupid is not one of them. Accessing the camp will be no easy feat.”

  “You’re impossible, woman,” Cutter said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I never said it’d be easy, but I’ve got some damn fine lads who could sneak past a platoon of Imperial guards in broad daylight—and with our new Infiltrator skills unlocked, it’ll be even easier. You all just need to trust me on this. I might not be much for chopping down trees or diggin’ stupid holes, but I’m the best thief around and a passable cutthroat, too. I can do this.”

  “Too dangerous,” Amara said with a shake of her head, hands planted on her hips, her body language declaring I will not be swayed.

  “He has a point, daughter,” Chief Kolle said placidly, staring at Amara through hooded eyes, his hands folded behind his back. “We need to buy time, and launching a raid seems the best way. General Caldwell and Otto have a potential solution regarding the infiltration of the—” The words died off mid-sentence as Kolle finally noticed Forge and I had entered the room. “Grim Jack,” he said after a beat, “so good to see you up and on your feet. Care to join us?” He waved at the paper-covered table. “We could use a little advice on a time-sensitive issue.”

  “Sure,” I replied, slipping in between Otto and General Caldwell. “So, what exactly is the issue? Forge just got done giving me a tour of the town, and everything looks pretty awesome to me.”

  “Oh, the town is fine, it’s just complications,” Anton said with a sigh, waving a hand in the air. “Always more complications.”

  “Osmark’s steamwork machines are making even better time than any of our experts predicted,” General Caldwell grunted, jabbing at the map with one copper-hued finger. “Right now, they’re bivouacked at a site south of the Black Rill River, not far from the foothills of the Vasterberg Steppes. Based on our previous calculations, we expected them to arrive sometime early tomorrow evening—six, maybe seven, and set up camp for the night—but given their current position and general rate of advance, it’s likely they’ll arrive sometime before noon tomorrow.”

  “Can we be ready by then?” I asked, running a hand absently across my chin as I thought.

  “Yes,” Chief Kolle offered. “Thanks to the spiderkin, the addition of our new undead allies, and the mercenaries Abby hired, we’ve made great progress. The real problem is not the defenses—it’s sleep. We’ll have everything done by sunrise, but the vast majority of our members will be exhausted and sleep deprived. If we send three-quarters of our forces into a war with exhaustion debuffs, we will do ourselves no favors, Grim Jack. And to complicate matters further, the Dokkalfar War Bands will not arrive until early evening. Chakan is marching them hard, but it will be a near thing.”

  “So, we delay the Legion,” I said, staring at each person in turn. “That seems obvious. We need time, so we throw a wrench into their well-oiled machine.”

  “Bloody right,” Cutter said with a grin and a nod. “It’s as clear as good Ankaran glass that we need to sabotage their camp, but this lot”—he waved a hand around at the other advisors—“are as skittish as newborn lambs. They’re afraid it’s a suicide run, but I’m telling you with a good crew I could do this in my sleep. And Otto even has a way in. Tell ’em.”

  “The thief is correct,” Otto replied curtly, spreading out a sheaf of loose papers. “Or at least mostly correct. I have old connections with the Òrdugh an Garda Anam, a Risi rebel front operating on the West Viridia side of the continent. A handful of them managed to infiltrate the Legion. No high-level circles, but they’ve still been feeding us valuable bits of intelligence.

  “Unfortunately,” he continued after a slight pause, “they can’t act directly—the info they provide is simply too valuable to lose them over a delaying maneuver. They might be able to smuggle a small crew into the heart of the camp, though. With our new Sabotage ability and a few thieves, we could do some significant damage. Not enough to cripple the Legion, certainly, but enough to buy us six extra hours.”


  “This sounds like a no-brainer,” I said, straightening, then folding my arms. “We get a crew inside, we hit ’em hard. Take out their wagons, some siege weapons, maybe hobble a few of their mounts. In and out quick and easy.” I snapped my fingers in illustration.

  “You say that,” Amara barked, “but chances are high that anyone who goes will die, and this fool”—she waved at Cutter, a scowl etched on her face—“insists on leading the mission. I do not disagree that someone should go in, but not him.”

  “Bollocks to that, Jack,” Cutter snapped, slamming his palms against the table with a sharp smack. “Maybe I’m not a traveler, and maybe I can’t respawn, but I’m my own damned man. I hate the Imperials, and I have the right to choose where I fight, and where I die. If you want to swaddle me like a babe and tell me where I can go, or how I can serve the Alliance, then we’re no better than the Empire. This, all of this”—he waved his hand around the room—“is about freedom, and I plan to use my freedom to hobble these bastards, Jack.”

  He paused, glaring at everyone at the table, before finally resting his gaze on Amara, daring her to challenge him.

  “Besides,” he continued, when it was clear no one was going to push back, “I’m not too keen on dying. Not sure if anyone noticed, but I’m too gorgeous and talented to perish as a martyr. The gods won’t allow it. And furthermore, I’m the best bloody thief in Eldgard second to none, and if I tell you I can get in and do this, then you’d better believe I can get in and do this. I’ve got just the right crew, too—good fellas that’ll pull this off right and proper. You’ve just gotta trust me here.”

  Everyone was quiet for a minute, all eyes subtly looking to Amara since she seemed to be the major objector, and with good reason. Though she would probably never admit it to anyone, she liked Cutter. Maybe loved him. Sure, she pretended to be stoically unconcerned for his well-being, but I could tell she was worried deep down in her soul. “Fine,” she finally conceded with a sniff. “You shall do this mission, Cutter, but I will accompany you.”

  Cutter snorted and cocked an eyebrow at her in challenge—a dangerous move. Amara could be fickle and touchy. “But you’re not even a bloody Rogue—”

  “I am better than a Rogue,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I am a Huntress, the best Huntress in all of the Ak-Hani, and I could sneak circles around you and your little band of thieves. Besides, as someone once said, I have the right to choose where I fight, and where I die. If you think I am incapable, I will take you out back and demonstrate my abilities in a trial by combat. And if you merely wish to protect me—to ‘swaddle me like a babe’—then you are a hypocrite and no better than this Osmark. So, if you go, I go. What say you to this?”

  I could practically hear the cogs creaking away inside Cutter’s head as he ground his teeth in sheer frustration. “Gah. Fine, you pigheaded woman. Fine. You can shadow me, but I swear to all the gods above and below, if you get us caught with your inelegant, flat-footed, imitation thievery, I’ll never let you live it down. Not in a million years. Now can we please get the go-ahead and move out already—I’d like to go set something on fire and slit a few throats.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, clapping my hands together. “But I’m going, too. I can’t let two of my best friends go galivanting off on a mission this important without me. And someone needs to be around to pull you two apart when you start dueling each other in the middle of an Imperial encampment.”

  “Phft,” Cutter said, rolling his eyes. “Great. So now I’ve got to babysit Amara and Jack—neither of whom are Rogues. But no. That’s fine. Since this is amateur hour and we’re adding people all willy-nilly, maybe we should take Forge and the whole bloody spider army with us, too. Round things out. I’m sure no one will notice.” He scowled at everyone, folding his arms.

  “I tend to agree, sir,” General Caldwell interjected, staring at me. “This decision seems rash. Foolhardy. You’re the leader of this faction—surely your time would be better spent elsewhere?”

  “Nope,” I said with a grin. “Everyone in this room is capable of running things here. And me? I don’t lead from the back. I want to be in the front. I want to scare the Legion. I want everyone to know that I personally infiltrated their camp and burned it all to the ground. I want to be a symbol for our people to rally around, and a boogeyman for every Imperial to fear. And I can sneak better than ninety percent of the thieves in the Alliance, even if I’m not technically a thief myself. And since I’m the commander, I get the final say.” I paused and pulled up my clock. 1:00 AM. “Okay, Cutter,” I said, closing the screen. “Get your crew together—I want to be gone inside the hour. Let’s move, people.”

  TWENTY-TWO_

  Infiltrate

  We observed the sprawling Imperial camp from the top of a small foothill blanketed in thick brush, gnarled bushes bearing small pink berries, and sparse tree cover. I’d seen plenty of reports about the size of the army coming our way, but somehow seeing it firsthand was a different beast entirely. The valley below was an ocean of flickering campfires and white canvas tents pitched in precise, orderly lines. A mobile city. The war mounts were picketed almost directly below us at the northern edge of the camp, running along the base of the Vasterberg foothills.

  There were hundreds of creatures—everything from oversized mountain goats to blue-furred tigers—all lined up, nice and neat, and tethered to wooden hitching posts.

  It was hard to make out everything in the dark, especially with the moon overhead just a silver thumbnail, but it looked like the siege weapons were on the southern edge of the encampment. Getting to those would be tricky, and would require a long and stealthy trip around the perimeter of the tent city. The real goal, however, was the supply wagons. V.G.O. was a complicated and nuanced world, and though things like sleeping and eating seemed relatively trivial, they were anything but.

  Though a player couldn’t die from lack of food, they could be crippled with debuffs from it. And food didn’t just manifest out of thin air—cooks had to make it, and those cooks, in turn, needed plenty of ingredients. A lot of the supplies could be carried in each player’s inventory, but for an army the size of the Imperial Legion, that just didn’t cut it. Plus, there was water to consider, extra weapons and armor, even portable forges and alchemy workshops, which were necessary to build and maintain the siege weapons. And all of those items were in the supply wagons.

  Even a quick glance, however, revealed that Osmark was smart enough to realize the vulnerability. All of the covered wagons were smack-dab in the middle of the camp, surrounded by a square of cloth tents, illuminated by ample firelight, and positioned near a hulking building that was probably the command center. Getting in there would be tough, but if anyone could do it, it was Cutter. I tore my gaze away from the camp layout as a line of torches bobbed in the night, drawing closer to our position.

  That was the outer patrol, making its way through the low-lying hills—just as Otto’s insiders had said.

  “Alright, lads. Time to disappear,” Cutter whispered, glancing around at our team. There were ten of us total—me, Cutter, and Amara, along with seven more Alliance members with Rogue classes. Five were PCs, while the other two were NPCs, and their skill sets were tremendously varied: everything from Pickpocket and Cutthroat to Assassin and Stalker. But each had also picked up the new Infiltrator subspecialty, which came with some cool espionage-related abilities.

  “Kill your targets clean and quiet,” Cutter continued, voice gruff and muted. “No squeals and keep blood to a minimum. On my mark. Three, two, one.” He fell silent on one and disappeared from view as quickly as a shadow lost to the night. Everyone else followed suit. Though I couldn’t see the rest of the crew or even hear the faint stir of their movements, I knew everyone was spreading out in anxious anticipation. A handful of tense seconds later, the torches rounded the bend, illuminating the patrol of guards, ten deep, scouring the hills in a staggered two-column line.

  None of it
was a shock since Otto’s insiders had given us every detail, from the patrol route, to guard numbers, to the formation they’d be in. The guards were spread out at ten-foot intervals, so it was contemptuously easy to slip among them while cloaked in Stealth. My target was a slender Imperial man in chainmail with a white surcoat over the top, embroidered with a blue Imperial eagle clutching golden lightning bolts. He had a large tower shield strapped to one arm and an unwieldy halberd in the other, which he thumped along the ground like a walking stick.

  I edged up behind him, stalking forward in a low crouch, hammer raised and ready, while I waited for the signal.

  A second later the lonely hoot of an owl fluttered in the night air. I attacked in an instant, lashing out with all my strength, triggering Savage Blow and Black Caress. My hammer blasted into the back of his neck, and between the backstab multiplier, my raw power, and my special abilities, the poor guy never stood a chance. Critical Hit flashed bright and bold, and down he went in a heap, his weapon falling off to the side and clattering against an upturned stone.

  I inched closer, just in case he wasn’t dead, and heard a muttered round of strangled gasps as the other guards died—their throats slit. I prodded my mark with the toe of my boot, but he was as dead as they came, his body limp, his arms sprawled out. I took a quick glance around just before the body vanished in a flash of colorful light. The other guards were all down, and not a single one of them had made a peep or put up a fight. From the look of things, this patrol had mostly been PCs—all but two, which was convenient since it meant fewer bodies to dispose of.

  “Barker, John. Round these two up,” Cutter muttered at two of the nearby thieves, “and cart ’em off over the rise. I wanna make sure no other patrols stumble across ’em, and be quick about it. Everyone else, suit up and activate the Dignitary ability Anonymous.” Everyone did as they were told without complaint, even Amara. Despite the fact that both Amara and I outranked Cutter inside the Alliance, this was his mission, and I intended to toe the line.