“Salt is very good, but a cook shouldn’t use more than a handful per pot,” the Thursr said sagely.
Roark looked from Kaz’s shovel-sized hands to Zyra.
Her hood nodded in response to his unasked question. “I thought he’d poisoned me.”
“Kaz would never!” the Thursr gasped.
“I know that now,” Zyra said, tearing off another bite of bread and dipping it in her stew.
Roark cocked his eyebrow, imagining how well that had played out. “Just tell me you didn’t poison him back.”
“I gave him the Antidote once we’d cleared up all the misunderstandings.” The Reaver popped the chunk of bread into her hood, then twisted in her seat to face Kaz. “Anyway, I’m glad you convinced me to try the second batch, big guy. Turns out this eating thing is pretty great.”
TWENTY-SEVEN:
Fresh Meat
After the three of them had finished off the pot of stew—with some very enthusiastic help from Macaroni—Roark sent Kaz and Zyra to the forge to gather the weapons and armor from the storage chest. Meanwhile, Roark returned to the throne room and used the Overseer’s Troop Management page to contact all the respawned creatures on the first floor at the same time, a sort of mass telepathy. With it, he instructed the lot of them to assemble in the great hall.
The majority had already arrived by the time Roark made it to the great hall, though a handful were still trickling in. A small colony of Reaver Bats darted in from the corridor that led to the new antechamber and found a place to hang near the obsidian chandelier. Shadows and distortions wandered the walls and ceiling, occasionally shooting a sticky invisible tongue out and snatching crunchy insects from between the stones. The Changelings and Thursrs gathered around the rough-hewn tables, grumbling at one another from outside claws’ reach and swilling ale from dented flagons and ancient-looking wineskins.
Roark found Zyra and Kaz at the front of the hall and gave them a quick rundown of what he hoped to accomplish over the next few hours. Sometime between defeating Ugoraz and surviving the meeting with the Dungeon Lord, Kaz seemed to have become supremely optimistic about everything Roark did. He thought Roark’s plan was flawless and could only lead to wonderful new things for the good of all. Zyra withheld comment, but with a doubtful perusal of the chamber that was deafening. For his part, Roark thought it most likely that the whole operation would fall somewhere between those poles.
Not an outright disaster, but not all tarts and rainbows, either.
When the final Thursr arrived, Roark banged an empty flagon on the head table until the dull roar of grumbling, growling, and movement filling the great hall stopped and all eyes turned to study him. Well, they tried to study him. Unfortunately, many of those seated at the tables or milling about the room couldn’t see the tiny Changeling Overseer, even when they stretched and craned their necks.
Roark stepped up on the table and the straining stopped.
“By now you’re all aware that Ugoraz the Vile is dead, and I’m the new Floor Overseer,” Roark said. “In addition to this, many of you may think that it’s because of this that the heroes came through and wiped you out earlier. That’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. You see, the heroes who slaughtered you did so because they have been conditioned for years to believe that the natural order is for them to kill and for us to lie down and die like spineless curs. And likewise, you lot have been conditioned into accepting that dismal fate as inevitable. I, however, disagree. And PwnrBwner_007 and his party are bent on destroying this floor because I fought back. Because I resisted this supposed natural order.”
A Thursr at one of the long tables shouted, “I ’eard it’s coz you griefed ’im and looted the body!”
“Of course I griefed him,” Roark snapped. “It’s the most efficient strategy for leveling up, and looting gave me the weapons and armor to accomplish it. The idea that we’re not allowed to take the spoils of victory for our own defense or use common sense to gain levels is absurd. Ugoraz might’ve encouraged ridiculous taboos and stirred up infighting, but not me. I don’t want you to stay weak. I want each of you to become a force to be reckoned with. We’re the first line of defense in the citadel, the hardest hit every time a band of heroes attacks, and we can use that to our advantage. Working together instead of fighting alone and unorganized, we can overwhelm and defeat our enemy. The more heroes we kill, the more each of you levels up.
“At first, that will enrage them,” Roark continued, his voice growing in certainty and conviction. “They’re so used to our posing no threat that the moment we make a serious effort to survive, they’ll see it as going against the natural order and try to stomp us out. Good, I say! Let them come back a hundred times over, angrier and bloodthirstier than before. We’ll kill them all again and level up a hundred times in the process.”
Around the great hall, leathery blue, brown-black, and granite-colored faces had started to shine with a tentative hope. Many more, however, showed fear or skepticism.
“Most of you believe the only way of life in the citadel is fighting the heroes in the front while you watch for the friendly fire at your back,” Roark said, glancing sidelong at Zyra. “That’s the way things have always been done. But cutting one another down doesn’t make anybody stronger. It weakens all of us, making us easier prey for the raiders. Where I’m from, we have a saying—‘a rising tide lifts all boats.’ It means the stronger the Troll fighting next to you, the more likely you are to survive. And not only survive, but win. Thrive.”
Roark nodded down at Kaz. “My friend here told me once that every Changeling dreams of becoming mighty. I know he’s right because I dream of that, too. Working together, he and I have griefed multiple heroes, leveled up six times, even taken control of the first floor. And that’s just two of us. Imagine what kind of havoc every creature in this room could wreak if we work together. Imagine Evolution. Becoming mighty won’t be an impossible dream anymore—it will only be a matter of time.”
They were coming around. Most of the Changelings in the room had faraway, wistful looks in their eyes as they visualized growing into something bigger, stronger, and faster. The bats and salamanders were harder to read, but they seemed to be leaning in, waiting for him to explain how to accomplish this miracle.
“I’m not going to force any of this on you,” Roark said, folding his hands behind his back. “I might be the Floor Overseer now, but I’m not a tyrant. If you want to be a part of this, to learn to fight together, then you can join me and become one of my Vassals. If you choose not to, you can remain on the first floor and fight alone until you’ve leveled up enough to migrate downstairs. It’s your choice.” He paused, jaw tightening as he eyed each group of creatures in turn. “But be warned, no sabotage will be tolerated on my floor. You need not work with me, but you will not work against me. Not here.” He spread out his hands.
Roark allowed the words to hang in the air like a thundercloud threatening to unleash a lightning storm. All over, eyes stared into the middle distance, some moving slowly from left to right, as if reading invisible lines of text. Several mouths moved in time, sounding out words Roark couldn’t see.
Near the front, a wiry Changeling clenching a dented flagon said, “Yes.”
[Splint has accepted your invitation to become a Lesser Vassal!]
[Current World Stone Authority: Lesser Vassal 1 / 55]
“Yes,” another said as he dragged a sharp little claw across the wood surface of a table, marring the grain.
[Zirk has accepted your invitation to become a Lesser Vassal!]
[Current World Stone Authority: Lesser Vassal 2 / 55]
More and more Trolls echoed their acceptance. From above and both sides as well came a chorus of squeaks and chirps as the Reaver Bats and Stone Salamanders joined in.
Roark’s World Stone Authority filled like a pitcher plunged underwater until nearly every creature on the first floor had become a Lesser Vassal. Two of the Thursrs and a level-six Elite Rea
ver Bat with a small colony of level ones in tow chose to reject the Soul-Forge. The pair of Thursrs—both level fives—departed at once to try their luck on the second floor, while the Elite Reaver Bat and its colony flew off to whichever ceiling they normally occupied. In truth, Roark was relieved to let them go. It was visible proof that he wasn’t a tyrannical dictator who would crush anyone who disagreed to dust.
And not just proof for everyone around him, but also himself.
Even without them, the group who had become Lesser Vassals was still a much higher percentage than he’d ever seen converted to the Resistance in Traisbin in one go. All around the great hall, Roark saw faces hungry for revolution, ready for a change, and willing to put in the work to make it happen.
“It’s going to take training and practice to get the hang of fighting together,” Roark told them. “It’s also going to take equipment beyond loincloths and claws.” He pulled out his slim rapier and gave the gleaming weapon a flourish that brought a muted wave of oohs and aahs from the assembled creatures. “To that end, the first order of business is getting you outfitted. Kaz will hand out your armor, and Zyra will give you your weapon. Everyone get equipped, then we’ll start with some basics.”
The next twenty minutes were a chaotic scramble to convince angry Changelings that there was no shortage of weapons and armor, and even if they weren’t the first in line, they would receive equipment. Five fights broke out—two of them particularly vicious—but no one was killed, which Roark counted a triumph, even if a small one. Progress was progress, after all.
Just minutes after the last Changeling had received his crude iron mace, a loud voice cut through the great hall.
“Holy balls, Jace, look at this! Those douchebags were telling the truth!”
A pair of heroes—both level four—stood in the doorway to the crumbling staircase, one an olm in shiny plate mail, the other a human in wooden O-Rogiri armor.
“Perfect timing,” Roark said. It was time for a little demonstration of what exactly teamwork could accomplish. He pulled his rapier and nodded at Kaz.
With a furious war cry, Kaz charged the heroes head-on, hacking and slicing with his twin Hooked Swords. Meanwhile, Roark darted in from the side and back, cutting their Health down and distracting whichever one Kaz wasn’t fighting at the moment so that neither of the heroes got an opportunity to attack while the Thursr’s broad back was turned. They made short work of the pair, and Roark made certain that Kaz struck both killing blows. As the two heroes died, an ascending chime rang through the great hall and Kaz’s flesh glowed with golden light. He had leveled up.
Another low oooh rumbled through the newly minted Lesser Vassals.
“As you can see, even just having one partner along to protect your back is a major advantage,” Roark addressed the lot of them. “Grab a partner and we’ll go over some quick strategies for working in pairs. In no time at all we’ll have you butchering these so-called heroes just as efficiently as Kaz and I.”
Over the next few hours, Roark took them through partner drills, then split them into groups of three and four and added Stone Salamanders and Reaver Bats to the teams to work on more complicated concepts. Roark, Kaz, and Zyra wandered through the great hall, giving tips on weapon usage, suggesting roles within groups based on individuals’ strengths, and breaking up the occasional fight. The Vassals picked up fighting together quickly, with only a few mishaps and one attempted assassination which might have just been an ingrained reaction to turning around and finding another Changeling close by with a dagger in hand.
All in all, things were going better than Roark had dared to hope.
While they were training, small bands of heroes trickled in. Several of the parties didn’t seem to be there to raid at all, but to affirm rumors flying around Hearthworld that the Trolls of the Cruel Citadel were acting strange. Very strange. Roark kept a strict rotation going, making sure that each new band of heroes that appeared was taken down by a different fighting group. In this way, they all got a taste of real-world combat, and the Experience and loot were spread evenly throughout the militia-in-training. Roark only stepped in himself when it looked as if one of his Vassals was going to be killed before a comrade came to their aid. He couldn’t build a formidable army if he was forever waiting for its warriors to respawn.
After a time, the haphazard groups began to coalesce into well-organized fighting machines, and the leveling up started in earnest, filling the great hall with sporadic whoops of celebration. Even Macaroni gained a level when he nearly bit the head off a battle-ax-wielding rog with one mighty snap of his jaws. With a flash of emerald light, the bloodthirsty little beast doubled in size, becoming an Elite Stone Salamander, and according to his Character page, gained the Venomous Fang ability. Roark sorely wished he could pull up Mac’s Evolutionary Tree to see just what was in store, but that seemed beyond his abilities at the moment.
Satisfied that his Lesser Vassals had a fair grasp of fighting together, Roark explained the new layout of the first floor and its many pitfalls for unsuspecting heroes. They then spread out through the corridors and rooms and worked on utilizing the traps he, Kaz, and Zyra had so painstakingly set up in preparation for the onslaught which was sure to come.
By late that night, they had stationed groups in strategic places throughout the first floor, leaving the newly armed and trained troops to take out the slow seep of heroes who were still trickling through.
Roark and Zyra headed back to the library to talk strategy while searching the new tomes for Trade Skill books, but Kaz begged off, unable to stand another minute away from his beloved kitchen.
“There is so much for Kaz to cook,” the Thursr said, a wistful expression clouding his features. “So many kinds of food to make.”
“You can do anything you like, mate,” Roark said. “You don’t need my permission. This is your life now.”
Kaz’s eyes went starry and wet, but thankfully he managed not to burst into tears.
“Kaz may not have to ask permission to do what he likes,” he croaked hoarsely, “but if Kaz was going to ask permission of anyone, he would be most proud to ask it of Roark.”
TWENTY-EIGHT:
Backstab
The quiet of the library settled in around Roark like a feather tick mattress, soothing away the aches and pains of hard labor and training as he and Zyra sifted through the shelves of new books and Macaroni napped on the ceiling overhead in apparent defiance of gravity with his new size.
Roark was exhausted, mentally and physically drained, but pleased with the results of the day’s work. As far as he was concerned, there was no better end to a day like that than to immerse himself in words. Now and again, however, he found his gaze creeping away from the texts back to the Reaver’s shadowy hood and the spill of white ringlets tumbling out of it.
“What?” she asked finally without looking up from the board book of Rog verse she was reading.
Telling her the truth—that he was fascinated by the contrast of her white hair on the midnight blue of her skin, and curious what the face she kept hidden from the world looked like—was out of the question. Better a good-natured needling.
Roark shrugged his uneven Changeling shoulders. “Just thinking how to the untrained eye it might look like a certain assassin was wrong about getting Trolls to work together rather than sabotaging one another.”
“If you’re looking for an apology, the smartest thing to do would be hold your breath and wait,” she said, turning one thin wooden page.
With a chuckle, Roark went back to reading the Magical Properties of the Trees of Hearthworld. He’d nearly finished the chapter when she spoke up again.
“Why didn’t you execute the Thursrs and bats who refused to join you?”
His face twisted in disgust. “I’m not a tyrant.”
“They’ll see it as weakness,” she said, voice filled with steadfast certainty. Clearly, this was a woman—no, a Troll, he reminded himself—who had tasted the sti
ng of betrayal cruelly and often. He’d met plenty of resistance fighters who’d been like her: pessimistic, sour, and certain that change was impossible, even though they fought on all the same. It was that same attitude which permeated the Rebel Council. The same attitude which prevented them from taking the bold action required to seize victory. “And chances are at least one of them will come back later to kill you,” she finished softly.
Roark closed the leather-bound volume on his forefinger and stared down at the cover while he considered the best way to answer.
“I knew of a soldier once who’d been a part of a massacre in a small village,” he said after a moment. “They were supposed to raze it to the ground in retaliation for hiding a fugitive from a tyrant. In the midst of this attack, while his comrades were hewing down farmers, women, and children like trees, the soldier came across a tiny, golden-haired girl hiding under a table and scared out of her wits. He saw her there, clutching a corn husk doll to her stomach, and though his orders were to kill every living thing in the village, and he’d already cut down her mother and father and older brother, something about this child stopped him in his tracks.”
Roark paused, struggling with the swell of emotion brewing in his chest. He hadn’t been there to see Danella’s story played out, of course, but he couldn’t help but think of his own sister, Talise, who’d died by the manor well house confused and terrified. Felled by a merciless Ustari blade. “This man, he couldn’t bring himself to kill the little girl. He shoved her out the back and went on as if he’d never seen her. Years later, the soldier’s garrison was attacked in the night, every man slaughtered in their sleep. He was the only man among them to wake up the next morning, and when he did, he found a dirty, battered corn husk doll lying on his pillow. The golden-haired girl recognized him all those years later and stopped her fellow assassins from killing him.”
Rogue Dungeon Page 19
