by J. T. Wright
Two Graks lunged for her arms and grabbed hold of her. Tersa found herself being dragged backwards, and her feet went out from under her as she was thrown down. She would make them pay for that, the rotten, dirty, little things! If she got the chance.
With two Graks on either side and the big one lifting its tree branch to deliver an answer to her insulting tap, Tersa felt the ever-present fear she always suppressed, surging up. She refused to close her eyes. She glared at the biggest Grak, daring it to strike!
The branch came down, directly onto Trent’s shield! With Dodge and Dash enhanced by Acrobatics, Trent’s Speed increased substantially, but not his Strength. His knees bent under the force of the blow, and he struggled not to step back. Grunting, Trent sent a Thrust towards the Grak’s belly. The Skilled strike forced the creature back, one of its hands letting go of its club to stem the blood flowing from its abdomen.
He’d earned himself some space. He whirled to slash at the two creatures pinning his friend. They scurried backward with a hiss. Trent didn’t pursue them. The Graks were learning to work together. It was time he and Tersa did as well.
“You keep the little ones occupied. Big one’s mine. And stay at my back, no going off on your own!”
Most of these words were delivered over his shoulder. Trent had already turned back around. Tersa scrambled to her feet, awkwardly fending off Graks that lunged at her with her spear. Standing, Tersa assumed a proper stance and grip on her weapon. She didn’t even grumble over Trent’s orders.
Her mind was clear, clearer than it ever was in battle. She had always used Enraging Aura when she fought. She found that it not only drew in the enemy, it also masked her fear. Without it, her hands trembled, but now with Trent behind her, the shaking lessened. She could do this!
They were still surrounded and outnumbered, but things had changed. The Graks darted in menacingly, snarling and swiping with sharp, yellowed fingernails. None got too close. They were unwilling to get within range of Tersa’s spear now that she had rediscovered its steel tip.
The big Grak was furious. The wound in its stomach wasn’t life-threatening, but it hurt! Not only that, its prey, the disorganized tiny female, had been rescued from its clutches. The Grak bellowed its outrage at the Swordsman who had interrupted it. The Swordsman answered its rage by attacking.
Gone was the blow for blow exchange it had been involved in. The Swordsman wouldn’t stand still! His blade flashed, and when it didn’t cut the creature’s flesh, it carved away at the Graks prized club. Where Crushing Blow had been ineffective, the Swordsman’s Thrust and Triple Slash drew blood and promised death.
Before, the Grak had been motivated by the fear it saw buried in the female’s eyes. Now, in the featureless silver mask of the Swordsman, its own terror was reflected. Its breathing was labored, and its chest heaved as it swung its club, desperately trying to crush the human. The Swordsman refused to be hit!
The Grak’s lesser companions were no help. Three had already fallen since the two humans had joined forces. Two to spear thrusts and one to a slash that cut its throat when it tried to aid their leader. From twelve to six, the Graks’ numbers were dwindling. The female’s spear swept the legs out from under another, and her boot crushed its skull, further decreasing their forces.
The Swordsman's attention never wavered from the lead Grak, but when a smaller Beast drew near him, he never failed to knock it aside with his shield. His hilt cracked against skulls, and his blade drew blood again and again. He didn’t try to deliver fatal attacks, he left that to his partner. He was intent on the leader, and that leader hated him.
Spittle flew from the Grak’s lips as it hoarsely brayed in indignation. When had it ever been pressed this hard by such an insignificant foe? When had it ever been challenged this way? For years it had roamed the boundary between forest and plains, but this was the first time it had ever felt outmatched.
It refused to let things end like this! Stepping backward quickly, the Grak created distance and raised its mighty club above its head. The Swordsman set his feet. This was the weakness of the human's formation! The Swordsman couldn’t dodge too far without exposing his companion.
Having wound up its club, the Grak didn’t charge. Instead, it flung the makeshift weapon at the warrior. Shield came up and the branch was deflected harmlessly. However, for just a moment, the Swordsman’s sight was obscured. The Grak seized this opportunity.
Little intelligence meant that Graks had no concept of loyalty. The biggest Grak turned to flee without considering that it was abandoning its kin. It only knew it had to survive. Behind it, the Swordsman shouted something it couldn’t understand but dreaded hearing.
Running was a mistake. Trent wouldn’t allow the Grak to escape. Shouting his intent to Tersa, Trent pushed his body to move faster. The blows that had roused the Grak’s fear hadn’t caused the creature much damage. It was bleeding and in pain, but it wasn’t close to death despite a dozen cuts. Now, presented with the Beasts back, those minor slashes could do real harm.
Tersa screamed and cursed in battle. Trent couldn’t know this, but his own manner of silently floating about as he thrust and stabbed disturbed his friend. In her mind, a fight should be hot and furious. She couldn’t grasp how Trent could be so cold and quiet in the face of the enemy.
He was silent now as he pursed the fleeing Beast. Faster than the Grak, Trent made no sound as he approached. His sword, unable to reach vital points before, lashed out twice, crippling the creature’s legs. The Grak fell on its face, digging a furrow in the earth with its teeth. Twice more Trent’s blade lashed out.
At Level 20, the Grak's Constitution was high. Its skin was naturally resistant to attacks. But there was a limit to all things. It was a fact that once you started taking damage, you were bound to take more. Trent put considerable force behind his blows, and the arteries on the Grak’s neck suffered the same fate as its hamstrings. If he had been of a similar Level as the Beast, he might have decapitated it.
Weakened and demoralized as it was, the small cuts were enough to finish the Beast. Trent left it there and rejoined Tersa. It took a little time for the Grak’s leader to bleed out. By the time it finished struggling and bleating, the two humans finished killing its kin. Oddly, the biggest Grak was the last to die. By the time it had done so, Trent had forgotten all about it.
Watching from a distance, Cullen wondered if his trainees would learn the right lessons from this encounter. Recruits never did, but the Sergeant always hoped they would. There were a lot of things that could be learned here, about fighting above your Level, and the importance of teamwork. Cullen would point most of them out later.
There was one important lesson he would leave out. There were two reasons that Sergeant Cullen and Corporal Francis liked to throw Recruits against Graks. The first, Cullen had already told the two young warriors. Being Basic Beasts, Graks were easy meat for Recruits to cut their teeth on. The second reason was due to the Grak’s appearance. Though vaguely human-looking, a Grak had similar anatomy to man. Learning to kill Graks was an introduction to killing other Awakeneds.
In a civilized duel, actions like Trent’s execution of the Grak leader would be frowned upon. In Adventurer’s circles, they would probably call you a criminal if you killed a human who was running away, but Cullen knew that kind of ruthlessness was necessary. He wasn’t pleased to see it in the boy. In a way, he was saddened. It was a hard world that demanded such actions from a young person.
Cullen was sure that Trent had learned this all-important lesson, if only subconsciously. Overall, Cullen counted this teaching experience a success. They’d been a mess at first, but they got things together in the end. He hadn’t even had to step in, which surprised him.
These two were full of surprises. Two against twelve and they’d won. They had exceeded his expectations. And that big one had been a Greater Grak!
Cullen hadn’t lied. Basic Beasts had a Level cap of 20. He hadn’t mentioned, however, that ju
st like Basic Classes, Beasts could Specialize, evolve, and break through their Level cap. Those that did were not to be trifled with.
Cullen stretched. He had better get down there. Trent’s mind had a way of figuring out when Cullen was skirting around the truth. He would explain later, but for now, a distraction was in order, and the Sergeant had the perfect one in mind.
Recruits balked at killing Graks due to their human appearance. They practically fainted when it came time to Harvest the Beasts! Cullen probably wouldn’t have to put up with Tersa whining for a hot meal tonight. If the girl still had her appetite after cutting Beast Cores out of the Grak’s chests...
Cullen rubbed his hands together eagerly as he strode down to point out how the two trainees had made a total disaster of this fight.
Chapter 8
Orion Embra bit off a piece of charred Fire Bee and chewed it slowly. The Bees were the only part of the swamp that Orion had any fondness for. Both sweet and spicy, the insects were delicious. The taste was only slightly soured by his less than expert culinary talents. After a week of consuming little else, he still wasn’t bored with them. Which was good, he had a great deal of Fire Bee meat in Storage.
He had gathered plenty of other food sources during his time exploring, but none compared to the Bees. All the other inhabitants of the swamp were stringy and tough, hardly edible at all. The roots and plants he had found were filling, but tasteless. He longed for vegetables and meats prepared by a civilized cook. At this point, he would settle for the dried rations that the Warriors of Al’rashia ate during forced marches.
But the Bees were good. They were the brightest point of Orion’s swampy voyage. Not to say that the swamp hadn’t lived up to his expectations. The land was the XP-filled testing ground he needed. Creatures of all types had fallen to his sword. He had regained many of the Skills that had been stripped from him. Communication with his Elementals was still shaky, but he had learned what he could ask of them, and what was beyond their understanding.
All of this should have filled him with confidence. It didn’t. The fact remained that he was still lost. The swamp was endless. His Map became more detailed with every step he took, but Orion never found what he was looking for. He found no end to the swamp. There were no roads to follow, and the trails he discovered meandered pointlessly. There was not a single guide to point the way.
The Awakened race that made their home here, a tribe of Lizardmen, was no help. In fact, they were his greatest obstacle. Lizardmen, while highly territorial, were not inherently hostile to other races. Approached properly, they were open to trade, and welcomed honest, invited guests. However, those that trespassed in their lands were not offered an open hand but given a demonstration in just how effective crude spears and blowpipes could be. Orion fell into the latter category.
He had been forced to run and hide from the hunting bands of the Lizardmen many times over the past week. They ignored his calls for parley and chased him for miles every time they discovered him. It had led to Orion discovering a few useful ways of employing his Elementals but had not furthered his exploration. Most times, he could only flee back the way he had come, to hide in carefully prepared shelters.
He sat in one of those shelters now. A hole carved out by Earth Elementals, several feet below the surface of the swamp, had become Orion’s sanctuary. The dirt around him was hardened and dry, and Wind Elementals provided air for him to breathe. No one would call it comfortable, but the space was large enough for him to stretch out in.
Of course, to be an effective hiding place, the Earth Elementals had sealed him in. That was a good thing. Deep underground, surrounded on all sides by unbroken soil, Orion’s sanctuaries protected him from searching Lizardmen and prowling Beasts. He could hide in them, rest, and sleep peacefully. No matter how it seemed, the holes were not tombs with no escape route and no room to fight back if he was discovered.
Here, Orion could rest and think, something he had often been doing of late. The Lizardmen were starting to stay in areas he had been spotted longer. He imagined they were growing suspicious of his sudden disappearance in territory where they should have the upper hand. So far, they hadn’t caught on to his tricks, but it was only a matter of time.
Despite their bestial appearance, Lizardmen were not Beasts. They were Awakened, and the swamp was their home. Orion was a trespasser and a thief. He had no right to travel through their lands or harvest the swamp’s resources. The Lizardmen were justified in their persecution of him, and Orion was unwilling to fight them.
That moral viewpoint faded a little more every time Orion dug a poisoned dart out of his shoulder to heal himself. He had offered no violence and felt he had earned a chance to be heard. He could explain his presence if the Lizardmen gave him the opportunity.
He didn’t want to kill Lizardmen. He had avoided it for days, but now, his patience was gone. There were people in the world that needed him. He had obligations to fulfill. He couldn’t die in this nameless swamp far from Clan and family, and he didn’t want to kill another Awakened. It was the Lizardmen that were forcing him down this road. Perhaps the next time they encountered a lost Al’rashian Warrior, the lesson Orion taught them today would serve the Lizardmen well.
It was an easy vow to make, but it was harder to turn his internalized threats into reality. He was still just one solitary man whose most powerful Skills were lost. He had no combat Spells stronger than a tier-one Fireball. The Lizardmen were not Undead to be slaughtered by basic Spells enhanced by Elementals. Unlike Trial Beasts whose Levels gradually increased according to ironclad rules, once Orion started killing, the Lizardmen would send their strongest against him immediately.
That would be troublesome. Against Awakeneds with Advanced or Rare Classes, Orion’s resolve was empty boasting. He held two Basic Classes and an underdeveloped Advanced Class. He wanted to save the XP he had earned in the swamp until he had regained some of his stronger Skills and unlocked more powerful Specializations, or gods willing, another Advanced Class.
Orion didn’t care for the options his Status currently offered him, and he couldn’t level Spirit Summoner. As an Advanced Class, Spirit Summoner had requirements beyond channeling a certain amount of XP into it. He had XP. What was not possible was helping three Al’rashians to find their Bond partners. Orion himself was the only Al’rashian in the swamp. He was the only Al’rashian within a thousand miles as far as he knew.
That left Warrior and Mage. Orion naturally leaned towards Warrior. He had several options there, and while his most powerful Skills were locked, he was a fierce fighter. As a basic Warrior, he had the knowledge of the Techniques and styles he had trained in his whole life. Even without the Skill in his Status, Orion could utilize the movements of Oceans Meets the Shore to confront foes many levels higher than him. If he became a Swordsman, all the Skills he had trained in would return along with the bonuses to damage they provided. It was very tempting.
As for Mage Specializations, Orion was limited to Water Elementalist or Mage Apprentice. The former was more powerful, but the latter offered more diversity. Either would provide him with a few more Spells, which he could strengthen with help from his Elementals.
So, with some trepidation, Orion chose Mage Apprentice and channeled the necessary XP into his Status. It was the clear choice. Despite the Specialization seeming to be a demotion, Mage Apprentice was a common route. From Mage to Mage Apprentice to Journeyman Mage, and eventually Master and Archmage, it was a slow path to power. It was much slower than the Elementalist way, but it was his best option. Orion needed versatility.
The Spells Fire Strike, Ice Bolt, and Minor Entanglement added themselves to his Spell List. The knowledge of how to cast the three tier-one Spells appeared in his mind. They were meager additions but nonetheless welcome. Three Spells from Three different schools of magic reassured Orion that he had made the right choice.
He started to level up his new Specialization, curious as to what else he might learn.
Orion was a talented Mage. It brought him no pleasure, but he could not deny it. He hadn’t wanted to be a Spirit Summoner or Mage, but he would be a fool not to recognize how well he had adapted to those Classes. His mother had slipped him Skill Stones for Fast Cast and Dual Cast after exiling him, and with those Skills, a variety of Spells, and a little imagination, this swamp would not hold him for long!
Before he could level up Mage Apprentice any further, Orion’s bias towards physical combat caused his attention to drift to his Warrior Class. He had new Spells! New Spells and Skills could open up new possibilities. A strong Specialization might be waiting behind the familiar Basic Class. It couldn’t hurt to check.
That thought propelled XP into Warrior, and a second later, Orion was staring at a list of possible Specializations. The old standards were all there. Swordsman, Squire, Monk, and Rider all greeted and called to him like long-separated friends, and those friends had brought a few new acquaintances along for the reunion.
Three Classes – Swamp Walker, Spell Sword, and Dominating Tyrant – danced in front of his eyes. Swamp Walker wasn’t even a little tempting. Orion knew it would offer an advantage in his current predicament and was probably available due to his experiences over the last week, but he had no intention of making a life for himself in the muggy conditions of the wetlands.
Orion almost chose Spell Sword immediately. Spell Sword was nearly as powerful as an Advanced Class and paired perfectly with his other Class. If Orion chose it, Spell Sword would combine his Mage and Warrior Classes into one, leaving him with an open slot and, greatly enhancing his abilities. It would be hard to level, but with a freed-up Class slot, Orion could counter that by picking another Class.
It was Dominating Tyrant that caused Orion to pause. He had never heard of the Class. He had no idea what training it would require. That it was Advanced, related to his new Spells, and his past as well as recent ordeals, was all he could say. He didn’t know whether its Skills and Abilities would provide him with an edge over the Lizardmen who were hunting him. Also, the name, Dominating Tyrant, had an ominous feel to it.
