by James Hunter
The image of a haggard old Murk Elf woman flashed through my head. In my mind, I could see her strapped to a wooden experimentation table, her body rail thin—all sharp angles and protruding bone, her skin as frail as cheap toilet paper. I could see the scars, some old, some fresh, crisscrossing her belly and arms. Larriet Shadowrunner. The dying Maa-Tál shaman who’d first set me on the path of the Shadowmancer. I could practically feel her black handprint burning on my forearm.
That was when I’d first entered the game. Cutter had advised me to slit her throat—to sell her scalp to the Imperials for a gold mark. “She’s not an asset,” he’d told me so long ago. “She’s as worthless as a wingless bird.” But I’d helped her anyway. Given her my only Health Regen potion, not because I’d expected a reward, but because it had been the right thing to do.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re right. Maybe we have to work with Osmark, but we can still be true to ourselves.” I stole a look at the others. They were engaged in a heated argument, Amara clutching her spear and Cutter glaring at Jay, while the monk opened and closed his fists, clearly ready to punch something. Par for the course.
Abby slipped her arm through mine and pulled me toward the mess.
“Call me that one more time,” the monk said.
“Fine,” Cutter replied, “boot-lickin’ arse-kisser.”
Jay growled, knuckles cracking as one hand inched toward a brand plastered on the inside of his forearm.
“Enough,” Osmark said, his voice a whip crack of command. “Our fearless leader has returned.” He rolled his eyes and offered me a heartless smirk. “Can we please get moving, oh great Champion of Order?” Scorn dripped from the words like venom from a snake’s fangs.
“No, actually,” I replied, pulling my arm free from Abby’s, dropping one hand to the head of my warhammer. “We have something to take care of here first.” Osmark’s eyes narrowed to pinpricks behind his goggles, but he held his tongue. “Abby and I think we should help square this village away before we leave,” I continued before anyone could interject. “This place is a soft target, and these people need some help. Weapons. Training. Defensive upgrades. We’re going to help them out.”
Everyone was quiet for a time.
Cutter was the first to speak. “This means we’re gonna have to do a bunch of manual labor, doesn’t it?”
I replied with a nod.
“This is a terrible idea, Jack,” Osmark said, his voice as cold as a January blizzard. “It’s emotional. Sentimental. Illogical.” He folded his arms. “This is what’s wrong with you. You and your petty, moronic, insignificant Alliance. You don’t understand that sometimes you need to make the hard choices as a leader. That sometimes, little people are worth sacrificing for the greater good. And these people?” He gestured at the town. “They are not worth saving.”
Heat bloomed in my chest—anger at the Artificer’s sheer callousness. “That’s where we’re just going to have to agree to disagree, Osmark,” I said, actively beating down the urge to drop kick him into a volcano.
“Stop being naïve,” he snapped. “Just use your head. Think it through to the logical conclusion. Let’s say we spend a few hours helping these, these”—he twirled one hand absently through the air—“these things fortify their insignificant town. Perhaps we save a few of them in the event of an attack. But what if those few hours are the difference between us getting back to Eldgard or us being stranded here indefinitely? Have you thought of that? If we fail to return, millions could suffer. Millions, balanced against a few. The risk-benefit ratio simply doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree with him, Grim Jack,” Amara said, her voice soft. Uncertain for once. “I understand your desire to help these people, but the greatest help we can offer is to defeat the threat Vox-Malum poses.”
The thought of leaving this place unprotected made my guts roil, but I had to admit they made some solid points. For a heartbeat, my resolve wavered. And then a pack of smooth-faced Gnome children tore by us, giggling as they played chase. A little Gnome girl with pigtails turned a cartwheel, then offered us a hundred-watt smile and darted off.
“Nope,” I said with a firm shake of my head. “This is my quest, I’m the Champion of Order, and you guys can’t complete it without me. And me? I’m not going anywhere until we set things right in this town. We have a chance to do something good here, and that’s worth doing. So instead of fighting me about this, how about we work together and get this done as quickly as possible? Ari,” I said, focusing on the Pixy buzzing not far off, “can you take Abby over to the forge, then start rounding up any extra tools you can find. She’s gonna get folks outfitted with weapons and armor, but she’ll need some materials to do it.
“Amara.” I rounded on the Huntress. “I want you to gather up whatever passes for a militia or guard around here and start getting them properly trained up. Drill some basic line fighting techniques into them, come up with a watch rotation and a patrol route—that kind of thing. Jay, you’re on rubble detail. Help these folks clear everything out, then once you’re done, start repairing the palisade wall.
“Osmark.” I faced the Artificer, meeting his stony gaze, which was nearly impossible to read. “I want you doing what you do best. Rig traps. Maybe see if you can’t build some siege equipment for these folks or maybe some other nasty surprises.” I thought back to the hulking mech suit he seemed to be able to summon at will. “I want something to level the playing field.”
“And what about me, eh?” Cutter said, rubbing his hands together. “You want me to school them in the ways of the shadow? Maybe teach these blighters a bit of bladework, eh?” In an instant both blades were in his hands, spinning and twirling across his knuckles.
“Naw, you and me, we’re going to be doing something a bit more physical.”
The color ran out of his face and his shoulders drooped in defeat. “You’re going to make me chop wood and dig ditches, aren’t you?”
“Man, you’re quick today—it’s almost like you’ve done this before,” I replied.
He groaned.
The next two hours passed in a blur as we dove into our work. Osmark and Jay seemed reluctant at first, but once it became clear I really wouldn’t budge on the issue, they picked up the pace. In short order, the sounds of work filled the air. The sharp clang of steel on steel as Abby worked the forge. The --thud-thunk-crash as Cutter and I harvested scrawny pine trees from the forest to the north. The thunderous shouts of troops training under the watchful eye of Amara.
And best of all, the wee folk of the Vale saw us putting in the work, and in no time the whole village turned out. Gnomish women in aprons ferried pots and pans to Abby for converting, while more took up kitchen cutlery and trained with Amara. Pixies zipped and zoomed around, chattering in a low buzz as they helped me and Cutter haul trees and dig ankle breakers along the main path—which they promptly concealed with some impressive illusion magic. Satyrs brought us sandwiches and iced tea to take the edge off our hunger.
Most hilarious of all were the Gnomish children who turned out in force … to help Osmark.
They followed him around like an army of loyal Labradors, just glad to be near him. They skipped and danced, a few played lutes or lyres, while others dug holes or ran errands for the Artificer. They were endlessly curious about him, constantly stealing looks at his strange garb and oohing and ahhing as he dispatched his drones or planted deadly grenades around the perimeter of the town. At first, Osmark seemed exasperated at their involvement, refusing to answer questions or shooing overcurious children away from his tech.
But by the end, I caught him smiling as the girl in pigtails tinkered with one of his steampunk aerial drones with a stick. The two of them crouched over the thing—Osmark hunkered down in a squat so he was on the same level as the girl. I was too far to hear what exactly they were saying, but his face was alive and animated as he pointed at different features on the drone. He slipped off his Arti
ficer’s goggles and placed them over the girl’s head, toggling the colorful lenses into different arrangements.
If I had to guess, I’d say the coldhearted jerk was teaching her.
It was just after one in the afternoon—the sun just starting to make its way toward the western horizon—when we finished our work. I dusted my hands on my pants then pulled out my drinking flask and took a long pull of fresh water, which felt like a soothing balm on my parched throat. “Alright,” I said, nodding at Cutter as I stowed my flask, “let’s go round up the crew and see how we did.”
First, we headed over to the palisade on the northern side of the village. The damaged logs had been painstakingly replaced with new lumber driven deep into the earth by Jay. Not a huge improvement, but better than nothing. The northern gate, however, had been reinforced with thick steel plating, which would even stand up to a battering ram. At least for a little while. The southern gate had received a similar makeover.
The locals had also constructed a pair of wooden towers, which flanked the interior side of each gate. The platforms only stood about six feet tall, but they would allow the guards to see over the wall and rain fire down at anything approaching from the forest. Even better, on each platform were miniature ballistae—giant crossbow-like weapons that could fire wicked bolts as thick as my arm. Osmark had whipped up four of those in record time and had added a few more nasty surprises around the outer base of the palisade:
Proximity grenades calibrated to explode only when something as heavy as a human drew too close. Deadly pitfalls, filled with sharpened stakes, and carefully covered by magic. Shallow, concealed trenches outside of the town walls, brimming with a viscous oil that could be ignited beneath the feet of an encroaching army. The Alliance had used something almost identical against the Imperials during the siege of Ravenkirk.
I’d seen firsthand how devastating something like that could be.
“Are you finally satisfied?” Osmark said as we approached, pulling off his absurd top hat and wiping his forehead with the back of one hand.
“I think this will do for now. Let’s go grab Amara and Abby, and we’ll beat feet.” As a group, we headed over to the impromptu training grounds Amara had established near the central redwood. A handful of Gnomes and Satyrs grunted and shuffled through the grass as they clashed with wooden swords, while more stood in tight lines, practicing with spears that looked two sizes too big.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked, eyeing the newly minted fighters. “Am I looking at the Gnomish special forces here?”
Amara snorted and rolled her eyes. “They are special, but not in the way you mean.” She faltered, canting her head to one side, eyes fixed on the troops. “It will be a long time before they are a truly effective warfighting force, but”—she shrugged—“they probably will not stab themselves now. A remarkable improvement.”
“Sounds like time well spent,” Osmark remarked, his words barbed. “Now, if we’re done wasting time, let’s finish what we were sent here for.”
We found Abby a few streets over, focused intently on the glowing forge, one hand raised high, clutching a hefty blacksmith’s hammer. She’d stripped down from her elegant red robes, now sporting dark trousers and a skimpy shirt that left her midriff bare. Her hair was matted against her head, while a layer of slick perspiration covered her mocha skin. As I got closer, I flinched away from the oppressive heat rolling off the forge in waves.
Even ten feet out, the air practically blistered from the inferno.
She didn’t see us approach—or if she did, she ignored us—as she continued to hammer at a glowing red spit of metal laid out on the surface of a blunt anvil. Clang, clang, clang. As she worked the hammer with her right hand, she thrust her left hand forward, steadily feeding the flames with a trickle of her magic. As a Firebrand, she was a natural fit for the Smithy. With her powers and skill set, she could easily manipulate the forge flames, ensuring the optimal temperature and even heat without having to work incessantly at the bellows.
“Abby!” I called out as I got closer.
She slammed the hammer home again, clang, with no sign of stopping.
“Abby,” I said again, slipping up beside her and dropping a hand on her shoulder.
She whirled like a tornado, raising the hammer back as she prepared to charbroil me on the spot. Her face, covered in dark soot and marred by streaks of sweat, softened when she registered who I was. A grin broke out across her face as she lowered the hammer. “Sorry about that, Jack. You startled me.”
“No, it was my fault,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “Should’ve just messaged you. How goes the progress here?” I asked, switching topics as I surveyed the rows of basic weaponry now adorning cooling racks off to the left.
She sighed, long and deep, then shrugged one shoulder. “Good, just not fast enough. I’ve made some solid stuff, but there’s so much more to do.” She paused, glancing at the rest of the crew milling impatiently behind me. “I take it the rest of you are done?”
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “This place isn’t Fort Knox, but at least the folks here will have a fighting chance. You ready to hit the road?” I stole a look at the sun overhead, squinting against the harsh light. “Day’s fading. We need to get moving if we want to make it back from the cove before full dark.”
She dithered, nose crinkling as she thought. “I’m gonna pass, I think. This is taking way longer than I thought it would, and besides, the Tranquil Cove—kingdom of Sapphira the mermaid? Osmark’s right, that’s totally going to be an underwater level. As a Firebrand, I think my talents are best used here. But you got this, Jack.” She leaned up on her tippy-toes and planted a kiss on my lips. She was hot, sweaty, and covered in soot, but I didn’t care. I pulled her in tight against me, pressing down with a hungry kiss of my own. She was an amazing lady, and I was lucky to have her around.
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I finally eased away.
“Well, that was unexpected,” she said breathily, eyes wide. “I guess I’ll see you when you get back.” She paused, needlessly smoothing out her leather apron. “Maybe we can finish what we started then?” A round of catcalls exploded behind me, courtesy of Cutter. “And Cutter?” She shot one look at the thief, cutting him off. “Keep him safe, okay?”
“Of course,” he said with a lopsided, cocksure grin. “I wouldn’t want to delay your lovebird reunion.”
We made our way to the southern gate, now fortified and well-guarded. The mayor was waiting for us, back against the wall, one goat-hoofed foot propped up as he puffed contently on his pipe. As we drew near, he straightened himself, adjusting his fine vest. “Heroes, if I may have a word before you depart.”
“Of course,” I said, offering him a smile.
Beside me, Osmark rolled his eyes and folded his hands behind his back, ready to leave the town behind and finish our mission.
“Well,” the mayor said, “I just wanted to thank you for what you did. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I was unsure about you folks—we’ve been soured by strangers as of late. But you went above and beyond, proving that you truly are the servants of our High Queen. As a reward for your kindness and generosity, I have a token for you. Sapphira the Mer-Queen is a bit fickle about outsiders, especially landlubbers, but her and I have something of an understanding.”
He pulled out an azure spiral seashell, about the size of my pinky, and pressed it into my palm. A pair of prompts appeared, one right after the other:
<<<>>>
Quest Update: No Good Deed …
Congratulations! By restoring Order and Balance to the Vale, you have completed the secret quest, No Good Deed … As your reward, your party’s relationship with Mayor Nirug Bisgaard has increased from Neutral to Friendly! You have also received the Blessing of the Vale—a token of favor to appease the quick-tempered Mer-Queen, Sapphira.
<<<>>>
Subspecialty: Champion of Order
Ability Type/Level:
Passive / Level 3
Cost: None
Effect 1: All Champion of Order–based skills and abilities are increased by 2.5% per Champion of Order Level (Current Level 3: 7.5%).
Effect 2: Luck stat increases by one point for every (2) Champion of Order Levels (Current Level 3: +1 to Luck).
Effect 3: You have (1) unassigned Divinity Point.
<<<>>>
I chuckled then toggled over to my new Champion of Order Skill Tree. That would show Osmark—maybe he was the mind behind V.G.O., but he didn’t understand it. Not really. This wasn’t the first time the game had rewarded me for doing the right thing, and I had no doubt it wouldn’t be the last. I pushed the thought away as I surveyed my options:
Now that I had a point invested in Divine Warrior, several new options had opened up to me. Scales of Harmony looked to be a passive ability, while Purify and Mass Heal seemed to be closer in line with a Priest’s healing skills—though with some odd twists. The left-hand path contained Champion’s Strike and Word of Order, both combat abilities. The final skill, Avatar of Order, was the ultimate ability: a spell to temporarily transform me into the living embodiment of Order. As much as I wanted some of the flashier spells and abilities, I decided to go with Purify first, since it would have the greatest benefit to the party as a whole.
<<<>>>
Skill: Purify
As Champion of Order, you can call on the power of the Overmind to purify an area from all foreign magics, bringing the field of combat back into its natural, orderly state. When initiating this spell, you have a chance to dispel all magical or elemental debuffs—burn, shock, paralyzing fear, hold, etc.—and all conjured spells! But be warned, Order does not discriminate …
Skill Type/Level: Active/Initiate
Cost: 500 Spirit
Range: 15-meter radius from caster
