by Jamey Sultan
Orichalcum Dagger of Speed:
Rank: Unusual
+ 20% Attack speed
This dagger has been forged from Orichalcum; a dense metal found in deep in the Crimson Mountains.
Perfect! James had been looking for a replacement for his broken dagger, and now he had two! Even better, both of them were much stronger and more durable than the iron dagger.
James tested the daggers by swinging them around, bravely driving back a force of invisible slavers. Or at least that's what he thought he looked like. In reality, he just kind of flailed around a bit. James wasn’t used to the Orichalcum Dagger of Speed and kept mistiming his swings. It was hard to control and felt like someone was pulling on his hand when he attacked with it. At one point while swinging, he almost slashed a gash across his thigh.
After liberating the daggers, James stuck them under his leather clothing and used Shadow Step to return to the inside of the cart without waking anyone else. He’d thought about sneak-attacking the slavers, but decided against it in favor of waiting for an opportune moment. He wasn’t confident in his ability to kill six Orcs that were all much stronger than he was without Nidra’s help.
The next morning came and James realized that he’d made a mistake. Stuffing two sharp daggers securely into his clothing was very uncomfortable. In fact, he would even say that hiding unprotected daggers in his clothing was a poor decision. It was around the fifth time he poked himself by shifting his weight slightly when he did something about it. Carefully, without letting the other slaves see, he slipped the Orichalcum Dagger of Speed out from his jerkin and handed it to Nidra.
Her eyes widened in shock, and she mouthed a word. How?
James grinned. “Don’t worry about it. We‘re going to get out of here. We—” He was interrupted by a prickle on the back of his neck. He turned to Nidra, rubbing at the spot on his neck. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“That twinge on the back of your neck, like you’re being watched.”
Her eyes drifted up and to the left as if she were thinking about something. “You know what? I think I do.”
James glanced around nervously. Is it just me, or is the fog getting thicker? A raven cawed and swooped overhead. James shivered. “I hate this fog.”
Nidra nodded in reply, still looking around nervously.
James pointed at the raven. “That bird’s been following us for a few days. Do you know anything about it?”
Nidra stared at the bird for a second. “It feels… wrong. Unnatural. But I don’t know what it could be.”
As the cart trundled along the dirt road through the Witchwood, James lay back against the bars and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He imagined that the air he pulled in was cool and crisp, while the air he exhaled was hot and humid. That part didn’t work particularly well because they were in the middle of a fog so thick that he felt like he was trying to breathe in water, but he still liked the exercise.
Five minutes of meditation later and James was awarded a prompt.
You have gained the skill, Meditation.
Meditation (Skill Rank 1):
+ 1 Mana regenerated per minute while meditating.
Wow. Clearing your mind is pretty easy when there’s nothing in there.
James grinned. Regenerating one Mana per minute would helpful. His current regeneration was around three Mana per hour. He would never have Mana problems again as long as he could meditate between battles. This new skill answered his previous question about the viability of mages in battle.
Hours passed as James sat, Meditating, listening to the creaks as the cart wound its way along the muddy road through the fog. By midday he’d hit Skill Rank 5 in meditation, boosting his Mana regeneration to one-and-a-half per minute. More importantly, he’d fully recovered his Mana from the previous night.
A short while later, Vegar directed Mandra to steer the cart along a tall rocky wall. They followed the overgrown path for an hour, eventually reaching a well-protected clearing next to the riverbank. The only way in was through the small path that they’d taken.
“Stop here!” he shouted to the group.
A loud caw sounded above them as the raven flew overhead.
Nervously eying the bird, Vegar turned to the other slavers. “Weapons ready. They’re here.”
Chapter 23
Vegar was on edge. Why did the slaves always act up? He thought hiring a mage to subdue them would lower overhead costs because he wouldn’t need to chop off a slave’s head to prove a point with every trip, but it hadn’t worked. He glared at Audun out of the corner of his eyes. The mage wasn’t what he’d been promised by the guild. He’d paid a fortune for a mage with a Sleep affinity, which was an abnormality for orcs. Normally Orcs could only specialize in Blood or Metal magic, but after almost a year of searching, he’d found Audun. Why exactly was he paying the guild so much when Audun couldn’t use magic when he needed it? Ridiculous.
He took a deep breath, trying to find his Zen. His mother had told him he needed to relax more. Besides, he had more important things to do. He glanced up at the raven.
The Shriekers were coming.
The Shrieker clan had once been subordinate to the Bonebreaker Orc clan—Vegar’s clan. They had been the first Goblin tribe to join the Orcs in their quest to escape the Howling Wastes, over the Crimson Mountains and into the East. But when they had encountered resistance from the Dwarves of the Crimson Mountains, the Shriekers had abandoned them. Now, they were sworn enemies.
Vegar ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he stared into the forest, trying to make out movement.
There!
A Shrieker stepped out of the tree line, and Vegar shuddered. Disgusting creatures. No matter how much he looked at them, he couldn’t get over their large eyes with fully black sclera. Their skin was green, a proper color, not like the pink-skinned Humans, but unlike his own tough, leathery hide, the Goblin was covered in scales. Scales! Like a common beast. He spat in the dirt.
“Til.” He greeted the Shrieker Shaman with the correct honorific, ducking his head slightly. No matter how much he hated the creatures, if he could get out of this without a fight, he would. Especially against a group with a Shaman. Shrieker shamans wielded powerful magic, gifted to them from their dark goddess. Fighting against a group of Shriekers led by a shaman was foolhardy. The more you killed, the stronger they got. Truth be told, he wasn’t a hundred percent confident that he could win against the shaman.
“Sssslavemasterrr,” the Goblin hissed in greeting, struggling to speak in the common tongue as it dipped its head.
“Is there any way we can end this peacefully?” Vegar asked. He didn’t have time to make small talk.
The Shrieker let out a barking laugh. “Ssssstraight to the point. Very well. Give ussss the marked one, and you can go.”
Vegar followed the Goblin’s gaze to the cage, his eyes flitting from slave to slave. “Marked one?” He had no idea what the Shrieker was talking about. Aside from the slave brand, he hadn’t seen a mark on any of his slaves, but then again, he hadn’t really checked. It was so much easier to just toss them in the cart without removing their armor and risk of breaking the sleep spell.
The shaman’s eyes widened. “You don’t know?” it hissed in surprise.
Vegar’s eyes stopped on one of the humans. This one didn’t flinch when Vegar met his eyes. He locked gazes with the orc until finally; it was the slaver that looked away.
That one would be a problem, but there was something about him. A strange energy. Vegar was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he was looking for it, it was obvious. “Why do you want him?” Vegar asked curiously, fishing for information.
“Our goddessss has questionsss.” The shaman replied. “Sssso. Do we have a deal?”
He could hand over the slave and head home without a fight. He’d still collect a tidy profit from the three remaining slaves, especially the Elf. It was almost impossible to
find an elf roaming through human territory, and their lands were too well defended for him to even consider entering. With the money he made, he might even be able to hire a more competent mage. But something felt wrong. Why did the Shrieker want the slave so badly?
No, he wouldn’t give the Shriekers anything. His eyes hardened, and he spat on the ground before turning to the shaman to refuse his offer.
Before he could speak, a crossbow bolt sped out of the trees, catching Vegar in the shoulder, a crimson arc of blood fountaining out as he spun from the force of the blow. Vegar let out a pained howl, pointing to the trees where the arrow had come from. “Kill them!” he screamed, frantically backing away from the fight. His skills were great for dealing with slaves, but not as useful in direct combat. That’s what the others were for.
He retreated to the cart, dodging Sinew and Butcher as they barreled toward the shaman, a red glow surrounding them as they activated their berserker rage. He smiled. Hopefully, they’d overwhelm the shaman before he could cast. Normal berserkers were dangerous. Berserkers with hereditary troll regeneration were deadly. Even as Vegar watched, cuts appeared on their skin, caused by their own damaging auras, before healing instantly.
His smile turned into a frown as a wave of Shriekers leapt out of the forest and formed a wall between the shaman and the two slavers. Vegar flinched at the crunch of bone as the two slavers careened into the line of terrified Goblins.
Turning his attention away from the orcs Vegar focused on the shaman. Purple light pulsed at the tip of his staff as the shaman chanted, holding his staff high in the air. For the first time in a long time, Vegar felt fear’s icy grip on his heart. He knew that spell. To confirm his suspicions, he glanced at the minions. They were all small, without the normal physiological changes of higher leveled beings. He’d estimate they were between levels five and twelve. To confirm, he cast Appraise on three of them.
Level 9 (Goblin)
Estimated Value: 13 gold
Level 7 (Goblin)
Estimated Value: 7 gold
Level 11 (Goblin)
Estimated Value: 23 gold
Well, he’d confirmed it. They were all low level. That was bad. “Butcher! Sinew! Kill them before the shaman finishes casting!” He could see the two of them look at each other in confusion, then at the swarm of Goblins on top of them, then at the shaman. Realization struck and the two of them redoubled their efforts. Butcher grabbed a Goblin that had been on his shoulders stabbing him in the back and threw him into a tree.
Vegar returned his attention to the shaman who was still casting his spell. Spirit of Vengeance was a powerful death spell. It would trap the souls of every one of the Shrieker allies who died and use them to create a monster.
Nearby, Mandra burst from the undergrowth and raised her longbow. Above, her falcon screeched as it fought with the shaman’s dark familiar, the midnight raven.
Vegar looked around.
Where was that blasted mage?
Cowering next to me. Of course.
Annoyed, Vegar roughly pushed the mage towards the shaman. “Go. Use your magic,” he hissed.
“But it’s not really—"
“Go!” Vegar ordered.
Audun’s eyes widened in fear, then he squeezed them shut in concentration. A dim purple glow built up between his hands, like he was rolling a ball of dough. Tendrils of mist enveloped him, taking on the same purple tint as his magic. Slowly the mist swirled into the ball between his hands and condensed into a thick cloud.
He released his spell at the same time that Mandra released her arrow, sending the orb through the air towards the shaman.
Vegar felt his heart lift as the spell joined Mandra’s arrow on a collision course towards the Shrieker shaman. Maybe this wouldn’t be the massacre he thought it would be.
But life never works out the way you want it to. Before the two attacks hit the shaman, he slammed his staff into the ground. A bubble of purple energy expanded from its tip and surrounded him. Mandra’s arrow shattered on the barrier, and Audun’s mist exploded harmlessly into a cloud of violet vapor. The wretched beast was already chanting the words to his next spell. The big one.
Vegar stared at the shaman, his hope fading, then turned to Audun. “Do it again. Stronger this time.” He knew it wouldn’t work, but he needed a distraction. It was time to get serious. He hadn’t wanted to use his trump card because it took so long to charge, but if he didn’t…
Audun stared back at him, fear in his eyes. “I… I can try. That staff is powerful, and my spells aren’t designed for combat.”
“It’s fine. Do it.”
Audun sent more of the purple mist swirling around the shaman’s shield, obscuring his vision.
While Audun and Mandra distracted the shaman with their attacks, Vegar rifled through the cart.
Where was it?
He briefly wondered why someone had rifled through the cart, but didn’t have time to interrogate his fellow slavers. There’d be time to talk later. He let out a cry of triumph as he pulled a large crossbow from under a bag of rice.
Drakefire Crossbow:
Rank: Epic
Enchantment School: Fire, Air
Durability: 1,975/1,975
Charge time: 1 minute
Ammunition: 2/2
Recharge Rate: One bolt every two weeks.
This crossbow was lovingly crafted from the wood of a redfire tree and enchanted to produce bolts of pure Drakefire.
Vegar looked at the crossbow in his hands. It was exquisitely carved from a red-hued wood with gold trimmings. Two high-level monster cores had been carved and placed on either side of the catch. The fire core produced the destructive energy while the wind core helped stabilize the shape into a bolt and launch the projectiles. The devastating weapon had cost him over ten thousand gold, but it was worth it. Nothing could withstand the force of the crossbow.
Returning his attention to the fight, Vegar was pleased to see it was going well. Butcher and Sinew were covered in large gashes, their regeneration unable to keep up with the damage they were taking, but they were still standing. The corpses were piled high around them. They stood back-to-back, fighting the last two Shriekers.
The battle with the shaman was not going as well. Arrows littered the ground around his shield. The occasional flash of violet light through the fog would let them know that the shield was still active. Deep inside the fog there was an almost blinding violet light as the shaman neared the end of his spell.
Unable to wait any longer, Vegar stepped out from behind the cart and pointed his crossbow at the shaman. He stepped on the strap, cocking the string to the creaking protest of the rarely used mechanism. As soon as it locked behind the catch, bright orange energy engulfed it. The energy built up and lengthened, taking the form of a flaming arrow.
The shaman cried out in triumph, raising his arms and letting loose his spell. A pulse of violet light radiated from his body, washing over the battlefield as Vegar let loose his bolt. The flaming projectile let out a deafening roar as it punched through the shield and struck the shaman in the shoulder. The arrow exploded, engulfing the shaman in fire.
You have killed Saru-Til (Level 39).
+ 3,467 experience points
Vegar grinned. Getting enough experience to level up at his level without having to tackle high level dungeons was difficult, so every chunk he received was worth celebrating.
His joy was short lived.
An ominous howl pierced the mist as the violet light settled on the Shrieker corpses that littered the ground. For a second, the universe stood still. Then, a stream of light flowed out of every corpse and attached itself to the one still standing.
With a screech, Mandra’s falcon plummeted from the air and landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. She screamed and ran to it, her longbow forgotten on the ground. The raven swooped down and attacked Butcher, pecking at his eyes. The Orc stumbled back, swatting at the bird, leaving Sinew to finish the last Shrieker.
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The sole remaining Shrieker glowed with an eerie violet light, and Vegar screamed. “Kill it! Kill it now!” He was already charging another bolt on his crossbow and he pointed it at the monstrosity that was taking form, a 15-foot-tall behemoth that Dwarfed even Butcher. Spines crawled down its back, and the Goblin’s thin scales had thickened and hardened into a powerful armor. Six arms poked out from its lizard-like body and two cruel, curved horns erupted from its forehead.
A tag appeared.
Soul Collector (Boss: Level 75)
Vegar let out a fearful roar, letting loose his flaming bolt. It flew true, striking the creature mid-chest. The flame penetrated deep, charring the creature's flesh, but the flames didn’t consume it like they’d consumed the shaman. All of its energy had gone into penetrating the monster’s armor. The creature roared in anger and swung a massive clawed fist at Sinew, throwing her into a nearby tree with enough force to topple it. That terrified Vegar—nothing could move Sinew. She was a hunk of pure muscle, over seven feet tall and built like a brick wall.
He backed away. Maybe he could escape and save himself. But Butcher rejoined the fight, blood leaking from his empty eye sockets. The raven had pecked his eyes out.
Together, Butcher and Sinew held back the beast while Audun used the last of his Mana to cast debuffs on the monstrosity to slow it. Mandra rejoined the fight, sending arrow after rage-filled arrow streaking towards the beast. The bolts from her powerful longbow barely scratching its armor, but they drove it back. Vegar stopped retreating and tossed the spent crossbow to the side. He unsheathed his sword.
They could win this.
