by Charles Dean
“Yeah, I don’t know if we made any time, though,” Reginald complained. “Even if we were able to kill the dolphins a lot faster, it’s still taking a ton of time to clear out this place, right?”
“Not that much time. I think we’ve definitely cut our workload in half,” Tubal said. “I know your poison supply isn’t infinite, Shy, but do you mind doing it again in the next room and not doing it at all in the room after? I think Reginald’s point at least merits investigation.”
“Yeah, that’s no problem at all,” Locke responded. He was actually pretty excited at the opportunity to lay out another round of his new deadly weapon: the ‘Sampson Fart.’ Locke chortled at the thought. Too bad I can’t custom name the move. That would be priceless. I mean, I am the first Alchemist to reach this point, right? What if Ash let me create a special attack and name it that? Every player who comes after me would be investing points into the good, old ‘Sampson Fart’ attack. Well, either way, I probably shouldn’t say it out loud too much. I think Sampson might actually kill me if the joke keeps going. Is there a special word for killing one’s master? Uxoricide, maybe? Wait, no, that’s the wrong one. Dominicide, that’s it.
Locke did just as Tubal suggested in the next two rooms: He combo’d the poison with the fire to create explosions even more smoothly in the first and then didn’t do anything in the room after. They counted up the time it took to clear both areas, which made Locke a little anxious because the group was essentially calculating exactly how worthless he was--or wasn’t. There was roughly an equal number of trout-slapping dolphins in each, and he was relieved to find out that his help shaved almost a minute and a half off of what would otherwise have been about a five-minute fight. But, as Tubal had pointed out, he really didn’t have an infinite number of poisons, so he did his best to only jump in and assist once every five to six rooms. He wanted to hop in more, but given how many attacks it took just to make a real dent in the enemy mobs, his contribution was more to relieve his own stress and keep Ash off his back than to be incredibly helpful to the Brigade.
One of the bright sides to all his potion and poison making, though, was that he had managed to upgrade all three of the current concoctions in his rotation. After a lot of tedious work, he had gotten the Novice’s Deadly Poison to become an Adept’s Deadly Poison. The level-up didn’t give the potion a huge potency increase, only +1 in damage, but the incremental increases in damage really began to add up over time. Also, there was an extra thirty seconds to the duration of the poison, a little bit larger damage over time bonus, and an increased .25% to the base damage of any weapon it was applied to, which, for a level seven potion, was already up to 1.75% increased damage.
As well as the Novice’s Deadly Poison, he also managed to raise both his Fragility Poison, the vitality debuff, and his healing potion to the rank of Journeyman so they both were level five. Locke would probably have switched his focus onto the Fragility Poison alone, as five damage to one’s vitality was much more devastating than five damage to one’s health, but he was afraid to only focus on one, fearing that some mobs might be immune to the crippling debuff of the Fragility Poison or, even worse, that players might figure out a quick way to undo the effects and make the poison essentially worthless. There was also the problem that he didn’t have enough of the ingredients to focus on it too much. They hadn’t spent enough time in the swamp where his main harvest point had been.
The group’s pattern of attack continued as they went through the dungeon. Locke joined in on attacking the dolphins with his poison once every few rooms and then sat out the rest while he continued working on making his potions. Slaughtering the dolphins one after the other for a while was pretty entertaining, and everything was going rather smoothly, when, right in the middle of one of the attacks, a status message popped up.
Congrats! You have met the requirements and unlocked the unique Alchemist subclass: The Bombardier.
The Unlit Fuse: May modify concoctions to create an explosion on impact when thrown. The effect of the explosion will be:
Deal 100% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a one-foot radius of the explosion.
Deal 75% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a two-foot radius of the explosion.
Deal 50% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a three-foot radius of the explosion.
Deal 25% of the ingested effect to all individuals within a four-foot radius of the explosion.
Molotovs: No longer just for angry Russians or Bostonian rioters.
Notes: Modified concoctions will not work if anyone but a qualified Bombardier throws them.
Hello again, Shy! Oh, my gosh, I feel like we haven’t talked in forever. I know you missed me. Anyway, I know that right about now you’re probably wondering, ‘Why did it just give me this random class. I didn’t accept it at all! I wanted to get my proper class selection like every other Alchemist receives at Level 50!’ For that, I want to sincerely apologize. The other options would have had you sitting in some laboratory in a town, toiling away day after day, and for such itty-bitty bonuses that no one should ever be happy with them! Oh, woopty-do! After thirty levels of a potion, I can add +5% to the attack speed of the user! Hooray! Look at me! I can add a small, tiny, minuscule improvement to my poison! Who cares? And just so you know, no, I wasn’t the one who developed the other classes. One of the team members made them while I was busy making this amazing and awesome explosive beauty of perfection.
It’s just great, right? Anyway, I knew you’d love it. But, on the off-chance that you don’t fall head over heels with my genius once again, my magnificent, wonderful, creative abilities, then you’re welcome to complain. I’ll even find you a GM where you can explain how you got into this situation.
P.S. Minion, no one is attacking you during fights, so why do you insist upon keeping a shirt on? ;)
So . . . I don’t get to choose at all? Locke sighed. As soon as the sigh escaped his lips, Katherine smacked the back of his head.
“What the--” Locke flinched, grabbing the spot on his head where he had been hit as he turned around.
“Bianca told me to do it. You should know why,” she said, justifying the action and passing the buck at the same time.
Ugh! You have no idea how frustrating of a day this is. Let me keep at least one of my bad habits! Locke grumbled to himself as he rubbed his head.
As he read the benefits of the poison modification, though, he was pretty impressed with his unexpected new subclass--not that he would ever let Ash know. He even did his best to stifle any complimentary thoughts, very certain that the evil witch was reading his mind even as he thought about the benefits of being a Bombardier. Okay, I may as well try this new skill out, he thought, pulling out a poison and applying the ‘Unlit Fuse’ skill to the bottle. “Tubal, don’t shoot this one,” Locke called out as he tossed it at a foe.
When it hit, the potion didn’t create the usual cloud that the poisons did when lit on fire. Instead, it blew up into a green flash that knocked the targeted dolphin back and left visible damage on its face. It even struck a few dolphins behind that one and, unfortunately, Bianca as well. Luckily for the Succubus, the shield Reginald had given her managed to soak up the explosion. Regardless, it was pretty clear that if he kept it up, she would be a victim of friendly fire. If that poison was ingested, it would do seventy points of damage plus the damage over time effect. So, if someone is four feet away, then it should only do 17.5 damage plus the damage over time effect? Locke did the math in his head like a genius, trying to figure out how much of the damage shield he had cost Bianca. One of the bonuses of focusing on merchanting for so long was being able to work out numbers in his head.
“That’s a neat trick,” Tubal commented. “Can you make it smaller, though, so it doesn’t blow up Bianca like Reginald blew up Sampson’s phone after the first guild meeting?”
“What the heck, man?” Reginald shouted. “I did not!”
“Sure, sure.
What was it, Sampson. Ten missed calls? Or twenty that week?” Tubal asked. He laughed as he said it, and so did the rest of the crew, Reginald aside.
Locke was surprised to see that even Sparky laughed at the exchange as she slammed a dolphin back, knocking it into another that was behind it. She had hit the thing with so much force that the pair subsequently toppled over and sent three others falling backward like dominos.
“I can’t remember if it was you or Reginald that called me more times that week,” Sampson replied, grinning. “Hard to say.” She spun around in a wide arc, ripping a dolphin and the one behind it in half with her blue flame attack as she chuckled in amusement.
“Well played, bull-y, well played.” Tubal left it at that, and the group continued on with the fight.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind all these easy kills if they only dropped loot like they do EXP. This is too much of an easy-mode challenge. Granted, the EXP is great, but the fights are more tedious than shopping for a new pair of shoes and a lot less fun,” Katherine explained.
Wait, shoe shopping? I was convinced that Bianca was the chick. I know that some guys are really into sneakers, but, really? Locke was suddenly right back to square one trying to figure out which of the duo was the guy and which was the girl.
“I hate saying it, but I actually preferred the PVP on the way here,” Bianca chimed in. “Bright side, though, at least we’ve caught our new guildy up in levels. You must be at least Level 40 by now, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, I hit Level 47 last fight,” Locke confirmed, nodding along and happy that he didn’t have to watch the obnoxious level-up message spam across his vision like he had when he was leveling up Blacksmithing. He was more than content having to check his progress every so often just so long as he wasn’t constantly being annoyed by that obnoxious little dinging sound.
He was about to add more about his new ability and class, when he thought he heard the sound of something scraping behind him. He turned around, only to catch the afterimage of two red dots. That’s the second time that’s happened since we’ve been down here. It can’t just be my imagination, can it? Is that the same thing that I spotted off in the woods just after leaving town? After the fight with those goons from the Holy Alliance?
“Yeah, the EXP is top notch,” Reginald added in with a huge grin. “And since our newest guildmate is a veritable bank with all those potions he can sell, we should be able to stay well equipped, right?”
“I don’t think Shy is generous enough to be a guild bank,” Katherine quipped, countering his sentiment.
“I don’t know. Master did buy me fancy things earlier!” Sampson buddied up next to Shy giggling in a way that reminded Locke of an old episode of I Dream of Jeannie he had seen once. “He is such a generous man. Isn’t that what you said, Sparky? I bet he’ll even get me a fancy new armor piece when we hit town just because he’s such a good guy.”
“Time does not care how you won the battle, only if you were victorious. Here, we must equip ourselves with every advantage and press on as far as we can as if each day will be our last and every battle might be our end.” Sparky banged her shield at the end of her valorous monologue for added effect.
“Tubal, can you translate that into English?” Reginald joked.
“She means that we should totally try to get Shy to help us get better equipment next town trip. I’m rather surprised, though. That kinda feels like she’s suggesting we bully him out of his purse. That’s not what you’re suggesting, is it?” Tubal asked. He leaned in with a mischievous smile, and his lips curled back as soon as the words left his tongue.
“Huh? No! I’d never do that! I . . . I could just really use a new shield and some new greaves; and, I was thinking, if Shy was really generous, maybe he would help me out of the kindness of his heart. If he doesn’t want to, that’s fine. I won’t press. I’m fine being poor. I mean . . .” Sparky, completely out of character, was stuttering and waving her hands in self-defense, still filled with weapon and shield, as she backed up.
Wow, she really got set off by being called a bully, Locke thought as he watched Tubal laugh at Sparky. I’ll have to note that one for the books and be careful of Tubal. He seems to know just how to get under everyone’s skin.
“Hey, guys, be quiet a second,” Bianca shushed the group. “I know we’re having fun, but you see that ahead?” She pointed ahead towards the path to the next room where there wasn’t a single towel-wearing dolphin visible from the entrance. Most of the rooms had been connected by rather large hallways, but this one was nothing more than a narrow corridor like the one that they had come across at the very start of the dungeon.
“What’s wrong?” Shy asked, breaking the silence. “Do you hear it too?” he continued, thinking that she was referring to the occasional footsteps and random noises that he thought he had imagined during their escapade.
“Talking? I thought I did. While you all were chattering away, I thought I heard someone else,” Bianca clarified. “If I had to put money on something, I’d bet that leads us back to the main hallway.”
“Well, then let’s get in there. Everyone stay silent. Shy, give us all a fresh set of poisons. Let’s move out,” Tubal ordered, passing out commands in his usual short and efficient manner. He never seemed to be at a loss for words when he was digging in to someone, but he never wasted them when he was passing out directions, either. He crouched down and moved forward slowly, sort of dropping his center of gravity and assuming a half-bent posture like he was a cliché thief in a cartoon.
Chapter 6
Sampson and Sparky took the lead as they made their way to the corridor, and everyone did their best to stay quiet while they snuck through the passageway. As they rounded the corner and exited back into the main hallway, they were greeted by a multitude of long-armed seahorse corpses scattered about with eels next to them. There was also a group of players finishing off the last three seahorses, which apparently utilized their unnaturally-lengthy appendages to attack adventurers using the electric eels as weapons.
Locke immediately recognized the band of warriors as members of the Holy Alliance. It wasn’t the same group of people they had encountered back in town, but he remembered seeing two of the players, both mages, when they had tried to place orders for quarterstaffs from him, orders that he couldn’t take on--much to their ire--given his previous specialty in swords.
“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” Tubal asked, not even bothering to poke his head out from behind the three tanks on the front line.
“Farming? This is a Holy Alliance farming zone,” a Naga answered as he turned to face them. His tail never ceased its slithering motion across the ground, even when the top part of his body stayed still, and it was an unusual sight to behold as the Naga twisted only half of his body as he spoke to them. “You’re trespassing, and it’s best if you leave.”
“Come on, guys. This is a public dungeon. What are you talking about?” Tubal questioned. There were undertones of disbelief and a challenge in his words, and he kept three arrows ready on the notch.
“Wait, I know this one. He’s from that garbage group . . .” a White-Wing dressed in full leather armor began, a smirk evident in his voice that wasn’t apparent on his avian face. “What did they call themselves? The Blue Pansy Boys? The Bright Pink Babies? Braindead Purple Baboons? Big Puking Bozos? No, those all sound more important than these losers. What was it again, two-bit?” He sauntered to the front of the group, drawing his daggers, and began taunting Tubal again, needling away at the other’s expense. “Wait, did that make you mad? You gonna cry?”
“Oh, yeah, I heard about these guys on the guild boards. They are the punks that think they are special, picking on noobs like they’re hot stuff. How ‘bout we teach them who really owns this land?” a Vampire sneered, readying a short sword.
“Yeah, and after you’re finished licking your wounds, you can give up on playing Cowboys and Indians with the other little kiddies and join a real gu
ild . . . like, say, the Holy Alliance,” an Incubus taunted as he pulled out a long, spiked whip that made the ones Katherine and Bianca used look second-rate. “Don’t worry, I know just how to punish children that have been bad.”
Locke felt like he might vomit when he heard the Incubus. That’s . . . That’s clearly child abuse, you freak. The Incubus’ words might have made him sick to his stomach, but it didn’t distract him from taking in the entire group and sizing up which ones to attack first.
The White-Wing was carrying the traditional racial daggers that every member of the race always had present on them, even the ones that weren’t rogues, but the robes he was wearing clearly marked him as a caster. The Human next to him wearing roguish leather armor was also a mage; the giant staff he carried gave it away. Other than that, however, Locke wasn’t able to immediately identify any other spell users. Given that the only person with magical abilities in Tubal’s party was Reginald, the Holy Alliance was going to have a serious advantage in any long, drawn-out conflict--not to mention a clear advantage if they were able to get off an early burst of attacks before anyone could counter them. The enemy mages’ more powerful spells would take a while to cast once they began channeling them, but once the chain began, they would spell out an almost certain doom for any group caught in them. The area of effect from certain skills could cripple even the most well-prepared fighters if they weren’t prepared.
