Battleforged
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Chapter 85 - Beer And Fireworks For All My Orcish Friends!
🕑 Added 2022-05-10 06:44:56 +0000 UTCIt was effortless for him to avoid the massive red signatures weaving half drunkenly through the city in the darkness, long before they ever knew he was near. And for all that he could have made some easy kills… perhaps a dozens easy kills… now was definitely not the time.
Not when he and Morlekai shared a triumphant smile, having broken into a classy bar tucked away on the upper floor of a high-rise that had once been a favorite of Louie’s, and had miraculously survived free of any signs of vandalism.
That was, at least until Eric and Morlekai totally looted the place, most particularly the many, many kegs of beer they had stored in the cellar, and more than a few stands to mount them on.
“Alright, we got what we came for,” Morlekai said, after pausing a moment to admire the starry night sky along with Alex through the still intact windows, a magnificent starscape showcasing the heavens in all their brilliant glory against a cloak of sable darkness. It was a sight he had never seen, back when the brilliant lights of a vibrant city had forever kept true darkness at bay.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Eric nodded.
“Alright, boy scout. Time to see if our friend Linus came through.”
Eric nodded, knowing Morlekai had also been busy in crow form while Eric had been doing his own thing for the past day. In part, scouting for him, in part, preparation for the plan Morlekai had been against from the very beginning, but had helped Eric prep for, nonetheless.
“You think that area’s still free of orcs?”
Morlekai shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if we see more than a few." He flashed a cold smile. "No doubt at least a few of the bastards have woken up to the fact that most of their human champions have fled. Let's just hope most got away before the chieftain could issue any orders that they stay and fight by his side no matter what, or the like."
Eric winced. “Damn, that would definitely complicate things.”
Morlekai nodded. “For what you’re planning, it would.” His sympathetic gaze instantly hardened. “Just remember, Eric, no one hits our levels, especially fighting for the orcs, who hasn’t drawn blood. If you hesitate to make the kill… they won’t.”
Eric winced, recalling all too well how fluidly Linus had moved and taken out that rat. Even with all his stat bonuses gained by titles, Oblivion's Maw, and growing mastery of a handful of skills, Eric knew Linus to be nearly his equal, stat-wise, if not superior. Which showed just how devastating an edge added levels gave, especially when one had ascended beyond the lowest of Conscript classes.
“Understood. I pray I can do what I have to with a minimum of collateral damage, but if I’m staring into the eyes of a young killer with a javelin in his hand, I’d better be firing crossbows like a madman, and getting under cover asap.”
Morlekai nodded. “Pretty much,” he said, before melting into a massive murder of crows, cawing and spinning through the air, mind-linked with Eric such that he could instantly sense, just as the crows had, where all the nearby orcs, and a human or two as well, were positioned. Which made it effortless to head to Linus’s former home without drawing any unwanted attention from anyone whatsoever.
Thanks to his Soul Reserves and previous experience, he wasn’t even overwhelmed by the information overload, his senses now interpreting the entire area and the orcs wandering through it like pricks he could feel on the metaphoric palm of his hand, neither overwhelming him nor interfering with his infravision in the least.
Which was a good thing, he thought, when a nearby door burst open, discharging a small band of rowdy, drunken orcs singing a guttural song about feasting on the blood of elves, a pair of sobbing human girls held like prizes in their arms.
“Look at these girls, Torc! So fat and plump. Why the hell can’t we eat them, again?”
“Bossman said no eating the wenches. We’ll make more silver breeding them and selling the cubs as slaves,” said one.
“You gotta make sure none of them are mated to our pet Javelineers," said another. "You don't want them challenging you to a deathmatch. And Bossman will allow it, because the humans level fast," said a third.
The first orc snorted. “How strong can they get? They’re puny little humans! I could tear their...”
The massive swine-faced beast blinked confused eyes, as if only then realizing that the human girls had stopped screaming. Now, only frantic footsteps could be heard, racing away in the dark.
“Torc? Grot? Where are you?” Bleary drunken eyes widened in alarm when he tripped over an unexpected obstacle. The bodies of his companions, each staring sightlessly at the starry heavens high above, peering at the endless wonder and horror that was death, leaving only warm bodies behind.
“Grot! What—" The tusked mouth opened for more words before piggish eyes bulged in sudden alarm when confusion turned to agony and all he could do was spit up blood, collapsing beside his fellows, the last thing he would ever see in the dim light being the blood-slicked blade of the bardiche that had ripped him open like a sausage.
Mail hauberk has been ruptured!
You have successfully embraced your fury and cleaved your foe in twain!
Experience earned.
Burst of Strength is now Rank 12!
A rapidly panting Eric glared down at his kills for several long furious seconds, soul-link alone all that kept his weapon from warping under his fearsome grip as he slowly regained control, pulling back from a berserker’s fury as the pair of human girls, girls that couldn’t have been any older than him, he was sure, despite how exhausted and worn they had looked, ran off for all they were worth.
Yet even in their terror, they knew better than to make a sound once they had slipped free of their captors in this world of predators and prey, probably as terrified of the shadowy monster that had shredded their would-be killers as they were of the orcs themselves.
“Focus, Eric. Time to get your head back in the game. Or call it. Your choice.”
Eric wasted only a second glaring at the crimson crow settling on his shoulder, because his friend was right.
He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths before nodding. "I'm good. Let's go."
And in less than a minute, they were before Linus and Peter’s apartment complex, the orc guardians of before noticeably absent. Eric detected no warm bodies during his race up the stairs, though his heart still sped up a bit, an iron band of tension tightening across his chest as he approached their apartment. Because if they had turned on Eric, this would be the perfect place to spring a trap. And if there was anything like an assassin class, and somehow he was certain that there was, he doubted he’d have any clue of their presence at all… until their daggers had already pierced his heart.
When a quick glance all around revealed nothing, he tested the door.
It was unlocked.
Quickness check made!
He yanked it open and leaped back, bardiche instantly at the ready…
And was met only with silence.
Morlekai didn’t hesitate to dart inside, the crow cawing softly several seconds later.
“It’s clear. Get in here.”
And Eric quickly did just that, finding a well lived-in and cared-for home that still smelled of perfume, baby powder, stinky diapers, and loving family. A melody of scents his ever increasing Perception allowed him to instantly parse and analyze… frowning as he scented something else as well… the faint stench of orc.
But a quick search of the home revealed nothing unexpected.
Just a pile of armor tucked under a mattress, exactly as Linus had promised, complete with several javelins and a note.
Took your advice.
Thank you, E & M.
Won’t forget.
P.S. Grapevine got around. Everyone wants a second chance. But a few are in too deep to ever leave. So don’t hold back.
They sure as hell won’t.
L.
Alex flashed a relieved smile. He was glad to know that at least everyone with the capacity to level had been informed that freedom was in their sights, just a single choice away. Best of all, if he understood Linus’s final warning correctly, anyone left weren’t sad sops bound by a clever paranoid chieftan, but those who were perhaps kindred spirits to the orcs, who enjoyed endless opportunities for rapine and slaughter and lording it over one’s fellow humans kept in collars and chains.
Eric clenched his jaw and hardened his heart. Anyone dressed in the armor he was now donning, armor he found, thankfully, he could store in his ES space in a heartbeat before blinking back his proper lizard hide armor back on… he might give a single heartbeat to flee, but would show no more mercy than that.
“If you see anyone left, Eric, best shoot to kill," said the crow having read the note over his shoulder. "Being a boy scout, or trying to play the paladin with assholes who enjoy human misery, will just make you a notch on their belt. And that'd be a piss-poor way to end the story of your life after such a glorious start, if you ask me."
Eric sighed. "I know. It's just..."
The crow met his gaze, slowly shaking its beak. "No, Eric. Don't hesitate. Don't hope that they're struck by a sudden epiphany highlighting the virtues of compassion or mercy. Because this isn’t some epic questline in Skydragon where you can quicksave before doing anything stupid.”
Eric smirked. “Yeah, that much I figured out already, thanks.”
The crow snorted. “I hope so, Eric. Because that heartbeat you spend trying to win them over with a Charisma check is the moment they’ve thrown a brace of javelins straight for your heart. Javelins which nearly killed you the other day, if I remember correctly.”
Eric flushed, lowering his head, humbled by just how right his friend was. Both by how close he had come to getting lanced by pilum thrown with devastating speed and power when he had been zig-zagging across the rooftops the other day, and that could well have been from Linus, who even then might have had mixed feelings about murdering his own kind.
It was humbling to think that Linus might have actually been avoiding making a kill shot, interested only in warning Eric off. That maybe he owed Linus just as much as Linus's family owed him for a second chance.
He swallowed the bitter bile in his throat. “Alright. I get it. No holding back. I see anyone? I do what I gotta do.”
The crow nodded. “Take it a step further. Probably no greater threat to you in this city right now than a human Javelineer. Maybe one who relishes this new savage lifestyle, and who’d love nothing more than to take your head as a trophy before blending in with all the other refugees when and if the Elves actually make good on claiming this city.”
Eric winced, suddenly feeling like there was a glowing target on his back.
“Shit,” he whispered.
Morlekai smiled coldly. “Good thing you’re wearing armor you won’t ever wear in Freetown, and putting on a bit of that face-paint Linus left behind is a good idea as well.”
Eric couldn’t help but nod. Far better that people see a few dark squiggly lines than focus on his all too distinct tattoo-like scars.
When he was finished kitting up and familiarizing himself with his gear, he took a quick glance at himself in the mirror, surprised by what a difference exotic rawhide armaments and face paint could make. He hardly recognized the savage-looking warrior holding his oblong shield with three javelins in his left hand, a gladius-like chopping blade resting on his left hip.
He couldn’t help smirking at his own reflection after giving the gladius a few practice swings. “I can use this well enough to parry enemy blows, thanks to all the hours spent learning basic one-handed sword-play with my saber, though honestly, it's closer to a dagger in how I'd actually use it. But at least with my 28 Strength, this feels as light as a feather in my hands, so I can snap it about almost as gracefully as a fencer’s smallsword. But the javelins, Morlekai...”
The crow snorted. “The javelins he left are pretty much identical to roman pilum, and I already know how well you use a spear.”
Eric nodded. "Sure, I can spar with it in a two-handed grip just fine. Better than fine. But I never practiced spear and shield, or throwing it, and that's a problem if I'm mimicking a class that's great for throwing pretty much anything, according to Peter."
The crow shrugged. "So stick with what you know. This is just to get your foot in the door. If shit hits the fan, I know you'll be pulling out crossbows and who knows what else, in the blink of an eye."
Eric grinned. “True. Alright, let’s just hope my lack of throwing skill can’t just be read by stance and posture.”
Morlekai snorted. “From what Linus says, they still have a hard time telling apart separate humans.”
Eric flashed a cold smile. “That’s good. Because they all look the same to me.”
“Really? With your Perception?”
Eric winked. “All I see is bacon, my friend. Crispy, delicious bacon.”
The crow cawed a chuckle. “You and me both. Come on, let’s get a nice hot reception ready for our friends.”
And together, slipping through shadows and darkness, the pair did just that, Eric’s infravision alongside a scouting handful of crows well able to sense the beating hearts of all their foes made it effortless to dodge patrolling orcs in the darkness, particularly when the latter were half-drunk and happy enough to snooze wherever they comfortably could, oil lanterns highlighting more than one lump of porcine flesh snoring in the dark.
Sleeping boars that were allowed at least this final night of peaceful rest, before the butcher came to claim his due in the days to come.
Eric smiled with satisfaction when they arrived at their destination without any problems, one of the four fortified buildings at the southern corner of the city, the territorial line clearly demarcated by the broken rubble badlands separating what had once been urban sprawl, as lush green forest Eric knew sure as hell hadn't been this close to the city just half a year ago demarcated where elvish territory began, just half a mile away.
Eric furrowed his brow, forced to admit that the massive brownstone monolith, complete with ramparts, arrow slits, and battlements, was indeed impressive, looking like a well-fortified keep, with several others evenly spaced out along the thirty-foot high walls now surrounding the city.
He couldn't help but shake his head at the stark contrast between the impressive defensive structures and the rundown state of the city as a whole, before realizing the System must have something to do with it. Maybe the orc chieftain has access to some sort of Interface of his own, and was able to use the magical potential of the land itself to summon impressive fortifications. Maybe he also used it to ensure that the handful of dungeons Eric hadn't cleared would always be swarming with plump, low-level rats for the human Javelineers to level up while hunting. A grindfest that prepared them for battle while putting those humans that could actually level in the role of livestock farmers, supplying the orcs, and Eric supposed the surviving humans as well, with a steady source of protein.
Eric nodded. The more he thought of it, the more certain he was that that was exactly how it had gone down.
An insight that seemed to be vindicated by the pair of orcs completely covered in steel plates and armed with poleaxes, glaring at him suspiciously by the steel-reinforced hardwood door leading to the keep proper.
“Why are you here, hunter?” said the first, the second sniffing him suspiciously.
“Are you Linus? You smell like Linus. But you also smell odd.”
Eric smirked, gesturing at the cart carrying beer kegs in the grocery cart he had pulled out of storage a block back, not even trying to hide his squeaking presence.
"Damn right, I smell odd! I'm under orders to supply beer for the troops who will be manning the roof when the elves hit!”
This earned a bleary-eyed blink under the lamp-post beside the keep entrance. “Wait, Elves are coming?” said the slightly larger and stupider-looking orc.
Eric snorted. “What, you couldn't tell? How many champions have fled like cowards already? The chieftain is awarding those of us bold enough to fight for prizes and glory elevated positions. Mine is becoming the brew-master for the entire clan!”
This earned a bemused snort from the larger orc. "Brew-master is it? A pip-squeak like you? Ha! Let me try this brew and judge for myself!"
Eric smiled and nodded, happy to make use of an already spigoted keg, handing each of the guards a foaming tankard of booze.
A large snuffling nose frowned at the scent before chugging the whole thing and giving an impressive belch. “Taste’s like sweet piss,” the first opined at last with a thoughtful nod.
“Completely undrinkable,” said the second, before waving with a sausage-fingered hand for a refill Eric promptly delivered.
“I know, right? We humans love this stuff. It’s the best! Best of all, it’s weak enough that you’ll still be sharp enough to hit your target without dying of thirst under the noonday sun.”
The first orc snorted. “Rat-gut’s better.”
The second orc nodded. “But the fools with guns can’t level for shit, so it doesn’t matter. Anything will get those idiots drunk. Ha!”
The larger orc then banged on the door, and a couple grunts and squeals and a few more free drinks given out for sampling purposes later, and Eric found himself facing the rooftop battlements, peering through the crenelations at what was, admittedly, an impressive field of view.
For all their flaws, it was clear that the orcs knew what they were doing. The ground below was rough, full of jagged, broken rocks, and with zero cover. Any archery formation would be moving at a snail’s pace, easy prey for the musketeers above, whose shot would have a considerable range boost with the added fifty feet in height.
The orc behind him yawned, seemed halfway inclined to offer to help Eric set up his beer kegs, before shrugging and saying only. “Come back down when you’re done. And you better save an extra drink for me when you do.”
“Yes sir,” Eric said, knowing the pig-faced monstrosity couldn’t see the cold mockery behind Eric’s smile as he quickly got to work, setting up multiple mounted beer kegs and a nice assortment of steins and mugs to go with them.
And if several keg mounts happened to be filled with grapeshot, black powder, and a furiously hot soul-linked steel ball covered in blood-soaked rags, carefully shaped for maximum damage in a casing of undead lizard hide, well, that was just icing on the cake, as far as Eric was concerned.
And even if he did break out in a cold sweat when he set up his third shrapnel bomb, he still had the presence of mind to give everything a final cursory once-over, to make sure nothing looked at all out of place.
And that’s when he noted the odd silvery tingle in the corner of his eyes. He frowned, taking a closer look, again noting nothing out of the ordinary.
Magesight modified Infravision check made!
Wait… silvery tingle?
He swallowed a suddenly dry throat, suddenly forced to accept the possibility that magical invisibility might be very real thing.
Quickness check made!
He immediately dodge-rolled away on the hard stone tiles, shield and saber in hand, readying himself for anything…
And there was nothing.
Nothing save a large part of the rooftop platform his eyes just brushed right over.
Cold shivers raced down his spine, but he already knew what he had to do.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to step forward, gritting his teeth against sudden dizziness… a wave of nausea as his steps wanted to twist, even his infravision twisting in his mind. He grimaced, holding back his bile, as a hand thrown out for balance abruptly clanked against something hard and cold.
His eyes snapped open with a curse, finding himself looking down the massive barrels of not one but two cannons wrapped under tarpaulins covered in crimson sigils.
The cannons weren't of bronze but of cold iron, far more massive than the ones he had seized in the train station. In fact, they almost perfectly mirrored the 24-pounder smooth-bore cannons once used to defend forts against sieges in centuries past.
And it made perfect sense. A dozen light, if expensive smaller bronze cannons to be maneuvered wherever they’d be needed, and a pair of massive monsters, probably on each keep, in perfect position to make mincemeat out of any charging force.
And thanks to those crimson sigils covering the tarpaulins, not even elven scouts and rangers would spot the danger before it was turning entire platoons of elven archers into bloody paste.
Sigils his Magesight and rapidly evolving Necromantic skills pinged as containing the shaman’s own life essence.
Eric flashed a grim smile, somehow not surprised to find that humans weren’t the only ones using Non System-Standard classes or abilities mirroring his own gifts with Necromancy and blood magic. Of course, the hideous pod plant which the shaman had been attempting to twist into an ungodly horror by stealing what Eric now understood to be extremely precious and rare essences from the handful of survivors who could actually level up… at least before Eric had successfully claimed that power for himself, should have made the shamans’ own penchant for dark soul-linked arts clear from the start.
For a heartbeat, he was tempted to claim the tarpaulins right then and there. Perhaps there were lessons to be learned by studying the shaman's exotic blood magic. It was all he could do to force his hand to stillness, just an inch before claiming them.
Because now was most definitely not the time to alert the surviving assistant shamans to his presence or what he was doing.
So he crept very carefully around the tarps supported on a boxlike framework protecting the cannons from prying eyes and the weather both. He frowned down at the monstrous wheeled boxcar-like frames both 24-pounders were mounted on, noting as well the complex series of cogs, leafsprings, and counterweights he suspected would be used to counter the kick of these far larger cannons.
He shook his head, having no doubt that each weight thousands of pounds, considerably heavier even than the bronze cannons, presently nestled so comfortably in an undead pillbox-like bunker in his mind's eye.
But these monsters…
He furrowed his brow, peering thoughtfully at the faint indentations he spotted in the reinforced flagstones. Massive as this was, the orcs themselves were expected to pull them forward to the crenelations, no doubt when a shaman was there to suppress the blood-wards making the cannons all but invisible to any spying eyes.
Which meant that they were most definitely distinct objects from the keep itself, and were intended to be moved.
So he took a deep breath, went to the rear of the closest cannon and braced himself with a Burst of Strength, attempting to push it forward, even an inch.
He blinked in surprise at how easily it moved forward, if huffing and puffing and pushing his Strength to the absolute limit could be called easy.
But it was enough.
Enough for him to smile with fiercest satisfaction, smack the side of the cannon, and watch it disappear in the blink of an eye.
Before stumbling to one knee, hit by sudden dizziness, an awful weight that after long seconds where all he saw was blackness, and all he heard was the strain of his thinly stretched soul and pounding heart… everything snapped back into place as it should. Eric slowly stood up, dizziness leaving as fast as it had come, humbled by how close he had come to peril, as interface messages flashed across his mind’s eye.
You have introduced 2.5 tons of additional weight to your Extra-Dimensional Storage Space.
You have successfully saved versus rupture!
ESS Manipulation is now at the cusp of Journeyman Rank! You have successfully saturated your skill! Do you wish to burst through Bottleneck?
Eric blinked at the notification, before recalling all his experience forging and storing explosives in his interface, recalling all the system messages he had pushed aside then as well. Clearly, his abilities blossomed the closer he put himself to peril, which was both a wonderful boon and tragedy all at once. And as much as he winced at the sight of another skill that he would have to push to an extreme in order to push through a blockage… considering the massive boon he had already garnered from a skill far beyond what anyone else he had encountered had, a skill forcefully implanted in what Eric was halfway certain was the hopes of killing him while still skirting the bleeding edge of System-allied pod propriety… he could only imagine how sweet the boon would be, if a skill already this awesome actually ascended to the next tier, whatever that might be.
Because he was increasingly certain his mad gambles would catch up with him one day soon, such as attempting to burst through whatever that blockage might be.
He might burst through a blockage and unlock incredible power…
Or burst right through his own soul.
He winced at the thought.
Still, he had zero desire to leave his enemies anything that could be used against him, so he traded a second cannon and multiple water-tight casks of black powder and grapeshot for what was now a good dozen orc bodies and just enough miscellaneous junk that he was somehow able to fit that second monster gun without risking rupture.
He then stepped back on wobbly feet, looked at his handiwork with a smile on his face, as pleased as punch to find his eyes still sliding over a tarp now covering a dozen of his orc victims and untold quantities of junk before heading back the way he had come, even having the presence of mind to present a full stein of frothy beer to the smirking orc who finally nodded him through.
A crimson crow fluttered on his shoulder as he smiled warmly at the pair of sentinels, passing full steins of beer to them as well before making his way into the gloomy night once more.
“Eric?”
He turned to glance at the preoccupied-looking crow on his shoulder. "What's up?"
“How did you disappear back there?”
Eric smiled, wondering how it had looked to his friend.
“I didn’t.”
“Then how...”
“Tarp enchanted with shaman blood magic. It was hiding two large bore breach-lock cannons. 24-pounders, if I’m not mistaken. I claimed the cannons and left some presents behind.”
The bird whistled. “How much can you fit in your ESS again?”
Eric grinned. “Just enough that we have two massive big-boys to drop off in a sewer somewhere, before hitting the other pair of forts, here at the northwest corner. And then, as much as I hate to say it, we better tell our Sylvan friends that it’s all going down tonight.”
Morlekai tilted his avian head. “Why is that?”
“Element of surprise. Otherwise, there’s no telling if any of the surviving shamans will stop by to check on their cannons, or the tarps. And if they see their beauties replaced by a pile of corpses… yeah. They might get suspicious.”
The bird dipped his beak. “Good point.” He then tilted his head. “Eric?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve already done more than enough. You know that, right?”
“Have I?”
The crow looked cross. “What do you mean you haven’t? Even heroes have their limits, Eric. At least, if they don’t want to end up martyrs.”
“It’s not about heroics, my friend.”
“No? Then what’s it about?
“Conquest.” Eric grinned, his eyes twinkling with a fey light all their own.
The crow snorted. “Of course it is.” He cawed when it all clicked. “Wait, you’re not kidding! Are you planning on claiming this land for your own? After that deal with the Sylvan Alliance? Do you really want to make enemies of them?” The crow twisted his head in curiosity. “Or is this about earning a place beside Lady Valorn? Having her see you as an equal, not just a cute boy-toy, when you slip into her bedchambers?”
Eric snorted at the thought.
The blood crow all but seemed to glare after Eric effortlessly popped open a manhole his infravision had caught sight of some distance away, surfacing less than a minute later with a satisfied smile. “No one who isn’t me is putting those bad boys back in play anytime soon, that’s for sure.”
“Eric… level with me. Is this all part of some convoluted gambit of your mother’s?”
Eric laughed at the thought as they approached their second stop for the night, summoning a once-more full shopping cart with multiple kegs of ale for thirsty guards and future musketeers alike. “Come on, Morlekai, I do believe those guards could use a drink, and the night’s not getting any younger.”
