The XP from the hybrid’s death was welcome, but further analysis of my gains would have to wait. I muted the rambling status bot as it rhymed them off giving what was headed toward me required my undivided attention. Petrified, I watched in disbelief as an NPC guard moved to block the raging beast’s path. He was instantly crushed.
Holy crap! It ploughed straight over him to get to me. I am in so much shit right now.
If I was to have any chance of dodging this big ugly freight train, it was obvious that I needed every speed buff that I could muster. I hastily swopped my arcane sword for the Blade of Swiftness, then selected the fury potion Nyx had gifted me. Even if I got clear of the charging mob in time, chances were that it would sweep me up in its remaining tentacles anyway. But my only alternative plan involved being ground to swords-noob soup underneath a runaway boss, so I figured that it was probably worth a shot.
Perhaps if I use both items at the last moment, I can leap aside before it has a chance to alter its course, I pondered.
Thanks to my new status as the mobs most hated, everyone around me was suddenly making a break for it. Given the circumstances, I didn’t blame them. So, the last thing I expected was for someone to join me. Yet join me they did. A hand grasped my shoulder, pulling me to face the steely yet determined gaze of its disheveled owner. It was Medusa, the surgeon-like swordswoman from the rabble, the one who’d sliced through my hybrid opponent’s tendons, and possibly saved my life in the process. Staring at me through unkempt black hair that almost masked her face entirely, she opened her mouth to speak.
“That sword you offered me... give it over,” she demanded. “Before it’s too late.”
Before it’s flattened into scrap along with its current owner, you mean?
“Why should I give up my only chance of evading that thing?” I protested, returning my gaze to my rapidly approaching death. “You didn’t accept my offer to join the war-party. Hell, you ignored it.”
“Only because that shit-for-brains barbarian would gut me if I dared switch sides. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to help. I have a plan. But for it to work, I’ll be needing that sword.”
The obvious question was ‘what plan’, but the charging mob was almost upon us.
Can I trust her? She’s from the Brotherhood, and that hardly speaks for her character. But she’s betraying Tiny’s orders just by entering the battlefield. And she has saved me once already. Would she have put herself in so much danger if she didn’t truly want to help? Arrrrgh, there’s no time to think.
My instincts told me to trust her, so I trusted them, gifting her the Blade of Swiftness. And yeah, potentially dooming myself in the process. The fact that I’d somehow gone from begging warlocks for crappy second-hand swords to gifting epic-class weapons to people I barely knew was not lost on me.
The land shark was now meters away and closing. With no idea what this supposed plan was, I returned my attention to my backup buff, uncorking the fury potion I’d been gifted by General Nyx. I was about to put it to my lips when Medusa’s hand shot out and stayed my own. Apparently, she had other ideas. Using the blade’s speed buff to enhance her movements she plucked the vial from my grasp, downing the contents before I could open my mouth to protest. As she tossed the empty bottle over her shoulder, all I could think was crap, I’ve been double-crossed. I am so screwed. But the next thing that happened surprised me even more: the crazy glitch charged our rampaging opponent.
“What the fuck’s she playing at?” I cried, aghast. “That’s got to be the most lopsided game of chicken ever.”
I watched as, with collision imminent, Medusa banked sharply to the right, trailing the powerful weapon along the creature’s flank as she passed it by. The blade cut deep, driven deeper again by the beast’s own momentum and the unmistakable glint of burning mana. The land shark howled in pain, grinding to a halt as its many eyes fixed on its attacker. Its aggro now successfully switched, the boss awkwardly turned its hulking mass to face her, instead.
“She’s drawing its ire from you,” cried an equally surprised Kriabal, adding: “Brave girl.”
“Dead girl, more like,” added Trok, grabbing my arm and pulling me with him in an awkward retreat to the warlock’s side.
“No,” I protested. “She’s under the influence of two speed buffs, and she was pretty damned fast to begin with. If anyone can outrun that ugly fuck until its enraged buff wears off, it’s her.”
Kriabal nodded. I ignored Tiny’s icy glares and ordered Trok to assist Samusk in carrying General Nyx to safety. Then I pointed my sword to the back of the chamber and ordered the entirety of our troops to retreat. There were few complaints: stamina was low, and morale was dropping as quickly as our numbers. So moments later, we were standing among the panicked zeros and their cowardly associates.
Our war-party’s chance to relish in the moment’s reprieve was short-lived, as we were immediately swarmed by a sea of weakling prisoners. Every one of them was begging for the privilege of our protection. Some offered their paltry coin, others claimed to have rare and powerful items that could be ours if we shielded them from harm. Some even offered their flesh, the only thing they had left with which to barter. As I closed down quest-window after quest-window, I noted that every offer had one thing in common: everyone assembled was determined to convince me to rejoin the fight on their behalf.
“Everyone calm down,” I announced, now shouting to make myself heard over the uproar of competing voices. “We haven’t given up, not by a long shot. We just need a chance to regroup and recharge our stamina, is all.”
Alas, the throng did not calm down upon request. In fact, the opportunity to study our meager forces up-close only seemed to fuel their concerns, especially among the more vocal of the frightened masses assembled. Numerous comments were made by armchair generals, many of them about my fitness to lead. I ignored their criticisms, giving thanks that my ‘troops’ didn’t appear to feel the same way. Granted, they were a pack of worried noobs who would probably follow anyone who looked like they knew what end of a sword they should be holding... so the fact that I apparently looked like I knew what I was doing was a testament to my bullshitting skills, if nothing else. Their alliance to me certainly didn’t say much for their belief in the more experienced Tiny.
“Why are the zeros so riled up anyway?” hissed Trok in my ear. “They have no levels to lose. They’ll just respawn.”
“They’re worried for the exact same reason that I’m pissed with our ‘glorious’ leader,” snarked Samusk, laying an unconscious NYX against the wall of the chamber. And yes, he used air quotes as he said the word ‘glorious’. Because he’s a dick.
“They may not have levels to lose, but they can still lose base points,” I clarified, satisfied that I was the one dispensing the answers for a change. As I spoke, the explanation caused something important to dawn on me.
Shit! What did Samusk lose when I used him as bait, then? Not perception, I hope.
It was a question for another time, and not just because of the land shark. An argument had erupted between my fellow ‘general’ and his rabble. It had gone from ‘heated’ to ‘raging inferno’ the moment the gun mage drew his weapon and pointed it at the forehead of the bull-headed barbarian. Tiny was cussing the spell-slinger out, daring him to try it. The elderly witch stood firm by his side, wooden staff raised and bristling with a weak charge of mana, ready to back up her fellow magic user if required. And the reason for the argument? Both were demanding their opportunity to fight.
“Look at Medusa,” the gunman bellowed, turning his gaze to the brave swords-woman as she worked to draw the boss as far from our position as possible. “She’s making a difference and grinding her skills in the process.”
“Pack of ungrateful fucks,” spat Tiny in response. “I was jus’ tryin’ ta stop ya gettin’ yerselves killed.” He turned to Gary, then added: “We have enough dead weight in this gang already, wivout you lot losin’ a level. Don’t yeh understand? When I kill that thing y’all get to reap th’ rewards-”
“I don’t want yer hand me down XP,” rebuked the witch. “I wanna stand on me own two feet an’ fight.”
Tiny grunted, then began to smile. It was that same sadistic grin that I’d become all too used to, back in the canteen. You know, when he was kicking my head in.
Awww, fuck no, now he’s reaching for his axe. We don’t have time for this macho bullshit.
“You think you’re a leader?” I bellowed, putting myself between the general and his nervous troops. “Then fucking act like one. Your soldiers want to fight, not hang onto your armored apron strings like a bunch of cowardly children. Fuck me, is it any wonder that everyone thinks the Brotherhood are a pack of pussies.”
I wasn’t sure if everyone did think that or not, but I reckoned that it couldn’t hurt to suggest it. Tiny looked genuinely taken aback. He turned to address one of his less vocal minions.
“Oi, new guy. Yeah, you wiv th’ shit hair. Feel the same way, do ya?”
“N-nah boss,” stammered Skullfucker, somewhat predictably. “I’m fine with ah… guardin’ the entrance.” The response caused Tiny to grind his teeth. His fellow barbarian had only served to reinforce the Brotherhood’s cowardly image.
“Hrrrmp. What about you, Pandora?”
A timid looking level 1 swordswoman looked up at the mention of her name. She was about five-foot tall, with blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, in that prisoner-next-door sort of way. She also looked like a nervous wreck, doubtlessly unaccustomed to the harsh violent world she’d recently been plunged into. But fair play to her, she didn’t let that influence her decision.
“I-I don’t know the first thing about fighting monsters,” she began, “but if Medusa is out there putting her neck on the line, then I’m going too.”
“She’s putting more than her neck on the line,” piped up Kriabal, pointing his staff to the distant warrior. “Look what the crazy bitch is up to now.”
I turned just in time to witness the swordswoman cutting yet another huge gash into the creature’s side, taking advantage of its clumsy attempts to maneuver as she literally ran rings around it. The land shark’s HP was now just over 600.
“Fine,” declared Tiny, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “Your choice. Jus’ don’t be expectin’ this gang t’turn inta one o’ them damn democracies.”
Still smarting from the open challenge of his orders (and no doubt frustrated that our circumstances were not well suited to killing those responsible) the barbarian proceeded to call a ‘private meeting’, retreating to a quieter corner of the chamber. As he passed me by, the gun mage gave me a friendly pat on the back. As did the witch (once she was done making an offensive gesture behind her leader’s back, that is). The nervous swordswoman mouthed the words ‘thank you’, then followed. And with those gestures of warmth came a very unexpected dividend…
-[ Congratulations: To make a friend of a similar ilk is all but inevitable. But to earn the respect of an enemy’s troops is unprecedented. Rep +1. ]-
-[ Likeability and the ability to persuade others are talents that should not be underestimated. You have developed a new skill: charisma, level 1. XP required until level 2, 98.
Yes! At fucking last.
I called up my stat sheet and there it was, my first true base point in the precious attribute. And unlike the buff that was lost to me when Grom prematurely joined the cloud invisible, this charisma point was all mine. I felt like doing a celebratory dance but immediately stopped myself. If those I’d won over saw my lowsy attempt at dancing, I’d probably lose their respect again.
“We still need the independents,” declared Kriabal, drawing me from my thoughts. He was pointing into the crowd, pinpointing the five warriors who’d fled the scene the very moment the shit had hit the fan. Every one of them looked nervous.
“I’ll motivate ‘em to fight,” announced Tiny, his head popping up from the nearby scrum.
“Is that your fucking answer to everything?” I gasped. “They’re all scared for a reason. And if they’re anything like me, they probably just need someone to stop and take a minute to explain how things fucking work around here-”
My train of thought was interrupted by another unexpected status message. It proclaimed that my health was rising. And that could only mean one thing: the AWOL apprentice was close. I had no issue with him topping up my HP, hell, up against a boss such a boost was a godsend. But as the only healer in the chamber, I needed him at our side, not hiding at the back of the room where his noobish power-levels couldn’t hope to reach us. I turned and whispered to Kraitos, who confirmed that he too had experienced such an HP boost. I quietly asked the half-orc to track down our wand-waving ally, then continued my address to the crowd.
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“Listen up. I know that death isn’t the incentive to fight that it should be, any more. And yes, I know it must seem that you gain nothing from helping Clan Kronan keep control of this chamber-”
“They get to keep their damn jobs,” slurred a barely conscious Nyx. Unsurprisingly, Samusk was still hovering at her side. Probably pestering her for membership of Clan Kronan, while she was too weak to swat him aside. Surely his ass-kissing skill has reached its cap by now, I pondered. I shooed the dwarf, kneeling down to address the weary amazon.
“You think that job satisfaction is high around here with things like that creeping out of the woodwork?” I declared, pointing to the distant boss, then to the corpse of the shadow stallion. “You speak for Clan Kronan. You can offer real rewards. Give these people a real incentive to fight for, dammit.”
Like membership of the clan, for example…
The Amazon glared at me, her face like thunder. She didn’t like being spoken to like this. Certainly not by a noob, and not in front of a pack of worthless zeros. Samusk looked like he was about to have a canary. But for now, getting her to motivate our AWOL troops was more important to me than kissing her shapely ass. Besides, I could tell that she secretly agreed with me. That, or she didn’t have the strength to argue.
Hang on, maybe it’s neither. Is she fucking unconscious again? With her eyes open? Come on, that’s just fucking creepy.
“She’s bloody crashed,” declared a stunned-looking Samusk, prodding the amazon’s arm.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
The look on Samusk’s face very much suggested that he wasn’t. Great. I’d just lost our most experienced strategist. That was all I fucking needed. And to make matters worse, the entire conversation had taken place in front of the very fighters I’d been hoping to bribe. If I started offering rewards on General Nyx’s behalf now, it would obviously be bullshit.
Think, Shade. There has to be something you can offer them.
I thought of something. It wasn’t much, but they were a pack of noobs, so I reckoned it was worth a shot.
“Listen up, troops. I understand this is new to you. None of you have been on the front line before. But I have. So I know from experience that if we hold this chamber, every member of our war-party will receive a boost to their XP based on their contribution to slaying the bastard, even if they don’t make it to the end.”
“Bullshit, you just want fodder for another charge,” came a voice from the crowd.
“We need greater numbers to stand a chance, I’ll admit that. And I can’t guarantee that you’re going to make it out of this without dropping a level. What I can guarantee is, it’ll be much easier to earn that level back if you bank some boss fighting XP in the meantime. Opportunities to power-level like this don’t come along often.”
The response was underwhelming, to say the least.
“Listen to the man,” declared Kraitos. “I can vouch for his words. I shot up by one whole level when I killed one of those bastard hybrids. I also gained a rep point and received a shitload of XP for my efforts, too. From this point on, no matter what happens to me in this chamber, I’ll respawn stronger than when I entered it.” He turned his focus to two warriors in particular: a barbarian and a swordsman. “Brawn. CutThroatKeith. I’ve worked alongside you both. And I’ve heard the pair of you bitch enough to know that you’re both tired of being lackeys.” The half-orc turned to the other three independents, drawing them into his address. “Aren’t you tired of being builders, laborers and butchers, while the barbarians take all of the opportunities. We’re only asking you to make your own damn opportunity. I had the balls to do so, and now I have the monster hunter trait to show for it.”
Quite a few of the ears perked up at this. My own included.
“It’s true. I earned the trait by killing the hybrid. That means I’m now free to enter mob-infested territory, without a damn chaperon from Clan Kronan.”
Holy crap, is that how it works? I just have to kill a mob to get access to the front line? I really need to hurry up and land my first kill. But one thing at a time…
“This is your best opportunity to get strong enough to survive,” I declared, walking up to Kraitos and placing a hand on his huge hard shoulder. “I’m asking you to endure this hardship today for a much more comfortable tomorrow.”
“Tell them about the stat increase,” hissed Kriabal.
“What?”
“The buff we receive from your leadership stat. They’re noobs, they don’t know about this stuff.”
I hurriedly explained the benefits of pledging themselves to me, but was interrupted as a sweating swordswoman as she arrived by my side. She sucked air a few times, then addressed me directly, ignoring her leader.
“The bastard’s buff has finally worn off,” she announced, proudly. “I *huff* drew it as far up the chamber as possible. We’ve got at least five minutes before reaches us at regular speed.”
“I appreciate what you did for me out there, Medusa. Thank-you.”
The swordswoman held up her new blade. She was looking at it in the way I secretly wished women would look at me.
“And I appreciate the sword, mate,” she replied, beaming. “Epic class. That’s unreal. Never imagined I’d get my hands on something like this so soon, if ever. I even leveled up my own stamina and agility, thanks to the workout that things limbs were giving me.”
As I nodded and smiled, I noticed that Tiny was glaring at us. And I knew exactly why. His minion had defied him for my benefit, in front of all assembled, no less. I prayed that it wouldn’t cost her later. He wasn’t the only witness to our conversation, though: Medusa’s timely testimony of the gains to be had sealed the deal for three of the five neutral warriors. They all messaged me simultaneously, each with a request to join our war-party. Each one was hastily accepted.
-[ You have accepted an offer from TheGreatestSwordsman (Swordsman, level 1). ]-
-[ You have accepted an offer from CutThroatKeith (Swordsman, level 2). ]-
-[ You have accepted an offer from Brawn (Barbarian, level 2). ]-
Three out of five, not bad. My noob army was finally growing again. To my surprise, three zeros also pledged their support: two peasant humans and one peasant orc. Given Samusk’s potential usefulness, I knew it would be foolish to overlook them simply because they lacked combat stats, so I welcomed all six into our war-party. I was about to have a quick look at their stats when something suddenly dawned on me.
“Hey, Tiny. There’re still two independant warriors hiding in that crowd. Feel free to use whatever method you need to to ‘convince’ them to join our cause.”
Tiny cracked his knuckles and began to push his way into the crowd. As I turned away from the inevitable brutality, I realized we were missing one of our allies.
“Hang on, where the hell has the NPC got to?”
“Dumb bastard’s trying to fight the boss alone,” replied Trok, pointing a thick grey digit to the opposite end of the chamber.
The guard had indeed re-engaged the land shark. The outcome was all but inevitable.
“Shit! Why would he even attempt that?” I asked.
“The guards ain’t programmed to expect anything more powerful than a rampaging barbarian or a powerful wizard,” replied Kriabal. “I reckon when he saw Medusa fighting it alone,
The guard lacked the swordswoman’s speed buffs and was quickly ensnared in the beast’s neutered tentacle. The land shark hoisted him into the air, its huge toothy mouth opening wide like a parting steel trap. And we watched in horror as and as the animalistic boss bit down on the last of our NPC contingent, reducing our numbers by one more precious combatant.
“Artificial ‘intelligence’ my ass,” grumbled Kriabal, shaking his head.
“If nothing else, he taught us that the shortened tentacle is still a threat, even without the spiked tip” I added, solemnly. We now had a new tactic to watch out for. One that could finish us off almost as quickly as a bone-shard to the head. “Dammit, that’s three limbs to watch out for. With our numbers so low, how are we supposed to-”
I stopped mid-sentence. An idea was slowly forming.
“Boss?”
“I have a plan,” I announced, gesturing toward my hairy slave. “Obviously, the bone-tipped limbs are our top priority. So with that in mind, we’re going to use Samusk to test the tentacles range.”
“We’re doing what?” spluttered the dwarf. I ignored his concerns and continued to address Kriabal.
“That tactic you used, when you burdened the creature’s limbs with blocks of ice. If you knew the tendrils were coming, could you cast it on two targets at once before it withdraws?”
“I’d probably have to freeze the bait too,” replied the warlock, studying my dwarven associate. “But if he’s gonna be shish kabab anyway, that might actually work in my favor. If I freeze the corpse to the tentacle, it can only help to increase the beast’s load.
“Now hold on one bloody minute-” began the dwarf in protest. I casually ordered him to shut up for a moment. Sometimes the slaveowner trait was a godsend.
“Do you have enough mana to get the job done?” I asked, reaching into my inventory and offering the warlock one of my remaining potions. He pushed my hand aside with the tip of his staff, declining my offering.
“Save that fer when it’s needed, fella. I have nine points in mana generation, an’ I’ve been chargin’ me staff since the moment we began to retreat. I’ll get the job done.”
I thanked him, suggesting that before we head back into battle, he go back to reallocating our party’s items into the most suitable sets of hands. He nodded and got to work. Then I returned my attention to my assembled army.
“Listen up everyone, here’s the plan. We’re going to pin down the two bone-tipped tentacles. If we succeed, you’ll have two stationary targets to attack, without having to risk getting close to the land shark’s torso. We’ll trap the bastard, but until then, hold position. The moment I give the order, charge and give the enemy with everything you’ve got.”
The order was met with nods of agreement. Now came the tricky part.
“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention, but we have two spiked tentacles to pin down and only one decoy…”
The sea of nodding heads suddenly became very interested in their feet, their weapons, and their neighbors avatars, each one desperate not to make eye contact with me. I had only begun my plea for a volunteer when Tiny returned. His rabble had gained another member, a bruised looking level 1 swordsman. The new recruit to our cause was looking much healthier than his fellow holdout, who was now little more than a beaten bloody mess lying nearby. The rabble’s leader didn’t hesitate to order Gary into the role of bait. The scrawny half-orc looked understandably petrified at the prospect.
“I-I can’t afford to losssse another bassssse point,” begged the pathetic prisoner, falling to his master’s knees. “N-not after last night’ssss rather ruckussss ah, election debate.”
And that explains how Tiny rose to power, then.
“Yeh’ll earn yer keep or take yer chances as an independent,” replied the barbarian, coldly. The weakness being exhibited by some of his troops had to be killing him.
“I’ll do it,” announced a human peasant, stepping forward from the crowd.
As quickly as he had appeared, Gary had scurried away. The stranger was one of the zeros who’d pledged to join my war-party, a human by the name of Tarrack. Without my perception buff, a glance at his avatar revealed very little. But I didn’t need to poen the war-party menu to see his level. He was a blond-haired, unshaven thirty-something, and like most of the zeros he was dressed in paltry rags.
“I’m tired of everyone thinking I’m only good for haulage because I don’t have a damn combat stat,” he declared, now standing nose-to-nose with me. “I was once a level 27 rogue-”
“Bullshit,” coughed SkullFucker, earning him a dirty look from the stranger.
“Believe me or not, I don’t particularly care what you think, barbarian. Not after witnessing you run from that hellhound with a trail of piss trickling behind you.” He returned his focus to me and his expression immediately softened, until the point that his determined eyes were now almost pleading. “My life, if you can call it a life, is little more than a spectator sport, these days. I’m tired of simply existing. Let me be useful again. I promise I’ll do whatever you need of me if it helps to bring this mob bastard down.”
And he didn’t even ask for a reward. I have to admit, I’m impressed.
“Thank you for volunteering,” I replied, placing a hand on my new comrade’s shoulder. Then I turned to the other zeros who’d joined our party. “I won’t order you to put yourselves into danger, not without a way to defend yourselves. But I need you to look after General Nyx. If she-”
“Like hell you’re leaving me back here with the damned zeros,” spat the amazon, cutting me off mid-sentence.
“What were you expecting?” I retorted. “You fucking crashed. And barely a few minutes before that, you were lying there mumbling to yourself in machine code.”
“You need my experience-.”
“I have the Kriabal-”
“The warlock only knows how to brainwash things or blow them up,” she retorted. “He’s a fucking mana cannon who needs to be pointed at things. Nothing more.”
“None taken,” chortled Kriabal, rolling his eyes.
“You’re in no condition to join us,” I protested, sticking to my guns. “You’re almost as white as a sheet.”
“If you’re taking a pair of zeros’ into battle, then there’s no way in hell I’ll be left sitting on the sidelines.”
I let out a sigh as I read the expression on Samusk’s face. It was followed by a private message, begging me to give the amazon what she demanded, if only to stay on her good side. But he had a point: in the bigger picture, we needed her. On the flip-side, she was just as liable to crash midway through a sentence as she was to whisper words of support and guidance into my ear. But I relented, ordering my remaining zeros to support her at each side, but giving them strict instructions to keep the weary warrior away from danger. Like Tarrak, the duo seemed glad to finally be of use, hurring to hoist her up and support her weight.
When I heard Nyx cry out I immediately feared the worst.
Shit, have they hoisted her up, or have they felt her up. If one of my followers has gone for an inappropriate choice of handhold, that could reflect very badly on me. Perhaps giving two sex-starved prisoners permission to put their hands on her shapely avatar wasn’t my best idea. Oh well, more fool them if they have. Even in her dazed state, Nyx can more than handle herself. My head’s recent acquaintance with the granite floor is proof enough of that.
To my relief, wandering hands were not the problem. Well, not in the way I’d first imagined, at least. Nyx had finally noticed that my own wandering hands had passed her epic-level sword to Medusa, and she was not a happy amazon. I did my best to tune the argument out, giving thanks when Kraitos leaned in to demand my attention. The half-orc whispered something useful in my ear, and I thanked him for the information, returning my attention to the watching crowd.
“It’s time for us to move. But one last thing before we head back into battle…”
With those words I charged into the startled crowd and plucked the incognito apprentice from their midst, dragging the startled prisoner behind me out by his beard. His hat had conspicuously gone missing, and he was standing in his underwear, not his garish robes of office. But the name hovering above his head still betrayed him: HarryPothead. I tossed him to the floor and stood over the wretched wizard wannabe, leveling my blade to his throat.
“You will put on your robes, get on that battlefield, and you will support us. If you don’t, I will personally find an interesting new place for you to store your wand. Spoiler alert, it won’t be your fucking inventory.”
The apprentice nervously nodded and scurried off to retrieve his outfit. Tiny, appreciating my attempts at intimidation, began to laugh out loud. Samusk on the other hand was not amused. The dwarf’s ‘moment’ of silence had passed, and he was cussing me out again, this time threatening that if I went ahead with my plan, I was officially fired as his bodyguard. The extra coin was too good to forfeit, so I casually ordered him to give me a raise, instead: his entire monthly commissary payment. Furious, but knowing when to back down, he took his place at the head of our formation with the much more willing Tarrak.
It frustrated me, having to use my ‘employer’ as bait once again. But admittedly, this was only because I knew that each death could be chipping away at the perception stat I’d made it my priority to level up. A last-minute attempt to arrange a substitution brought no takers, alas. The former rogue had been an oddity, and there were no other volunteers for death-duty. As the only prisoner I could actually force to do my bidding (without further rep damage, anyway) it would have to be Samusk, after all.
All the more reason to gather more slaves, I thought to myself, darkly. But this time, the urge to fight the thought seemed weaker than it had been before.
With that slightly sinister standpoint still fresh in my mind, I summoned my troops to my side. Tiny mobilized his own fighters in turn. Then, like a group of dead men walking, I ordered my war-party to head out and meet the crippled boss for what I knew would be the final push. I just prayed that the ugly bastard didn’t succeed in pushing back.