In a long section of the otherwise smooth and unbroken walls, there was a fortuitously difficult to reach patch where a mudslide had shoved a large boulder up against the structure. Recent heavy rains had largely washed away the silt and sand along with a little manual assistance from eager fingers bearing small shovels. The darkness and heavy rain from the storm served to reduce or altogether eliminate the risk of a patrol spotting them and making the already well-hidden figure next to impossible to spot.
At last, enough of the material was cleared away and their informant was proven reliable, for there definitely was a deep crack from the boulder’s striking. Gathering the arcane within himself, Oro Foxkin channeled through the appropriate spell memory, feeling it burn away until the next time he could meditate upon his spellbook. The already damaged stonework grew soft and pliable beneath his hands and another, weaker spell, served to accelerate the process of removing the material which squelched and stuck like overly wet clay.
An onlooker might have thought it foolish to spend almost an hour shifting most of the gritty and jagged materials by hand to expose the wound in the fortress’s wall. This onlooker would not have realized that every spell, no matter how minor, would be needed for the task ahead. Even the usage of two spells to widen the chance entrance was wasteful and permissible only due to the short duration of the Stone to Mud spell.
It was a tight fit and the opening was full of rough and sharp edges. Oro concentrated inward. To a bystander it would have looked as if the tall, slim man was meditating, or trying to remember if they’d left the campfire on. After several minutes, the slimly fit nightsuit of magically dark Void Newt skin conformed to the rippling shape of its bearer; Slim man grew grotesquely elongated and flexible, wriggling and bending through the widened crack more in the manner of an invading eel than that of a humanoid species.
It was the effort of another minute to emerge inside the dark space beyond the thick wall, dropping into the inner patrol space and allowing his form to shift back to normal. His hands, normally carefully maintain soft and nimble and now raw from digging, touched the smooth stone and rough grout floor. Here the risk of patrols was much more significant and there were torches flickering in their sconces, eliminating most of his opportunities to hide. According to that same informant who had revealed the location of the small breach, the guard regiment was severely understaffed. Oro had as much as perhaps another thirty minutes and more likely only a few before a patrol made their way into view.
He needed to be swift. That and mud that had dropped to the cold stone floor had congealed back into soft looking lumps of stone. That wasn’t conspicuous at all, no! Oro’s soft soled feet padded lightly along the stone. Luckily for Oro, no patrol passed by before he’d located a door and carefully picked the lock. Who said monk-wizards didn’t need thief skills? They were coming in handy on this mission so far.
Body tense in anticipation of a sudden fight, Oro opened the door ever so slowly, wincing as its rusty hinge cracked and popped in that annoying way doors are inclined to do when you most wanted them to be silent. Namely, while attempting to infiltrate into a heavy fortress so that you can assassinate the demon possessed warlord that was attempting to open a portal to Hell. A universally relatable experience no doubt.
Heavy booted footsteps and the muted sounds of conversation approached from just around the bend. There wasn’t time to check thoroughly through the partially open door. Oro opted instead to slip inside and quickly close it behind him. The short annex lead to two other doorways, one further inward and one to the side, possibly a storeroom. There was no time to lock the door again, so he opted to try for the storeroom.
The door opened with an even worse sound, one of the hinges literally coming partially off the rotting wooden frame set into the stonework. Bootsteps sped up and he slipped into the unlit space, crawling behind rotting crates in the corner. In this, his race’s elevated senses served him very well indeed. The sound of a door bursting open, two pairs of boots thudding into the small annex. Heavy whispers. The storeroom door opened and fell truly off of its frame, one of the two guards cursing at the sudden cloud of dust that wafted into their faces.
After both men had coughed and cursed to their satisfaction, the dust had settled somewhat, and torchlight sought further into the space. Despite his care in the dark, Oro had left an obvious trail in the dust. Cautiously the two guards made their way to the crates he hid behind, shortswords drawn and pointed before them in steady hands. One hung back far enough to bolt and call for help if whatever it was would overwhelm them.
Smart. Smart guards were a problem. It was a good thing their informant had proven reliable so far, because otherwise Oro would have no reasonable option but to simply fight and hope he could overwhelm the first guard before the second called for others. Instead, when the lead man carefully nudged a box aside, sword raised to pierce the hidden foe, he froze with a look of bewilderment.
“Please, don’t hurt me! I’ve been lost for days since my father and I were separated by a mudslide. I… I don’t think Papa made it out. Our wagon had our whole life in it and he was on it when the… when the mud swept over it!” The elf girl cried several large tears, which traced the delicate features of her inhumanely beautiful face. “The storm was bad and I saw an opening in the wall and it was dry inside. Please, I just need something to eat, something to drink. A place to sleep? I would be ever so grateful if you would… help me?” The two men stared dumfounded, their crotches twitching beneath their studded leather armor at the sight of the curvaceous elf girl cowering, somehow suggestively, in very tattered traveling clothes.
“We uh…”
“I have some wine and bread and,” the second guard looked the girl up and down and wet his suddenly dry lips, “some reasonably comfortable blankets for you to rest and get your strength up.” The first guard gave him a sharp look and they went through a silent exchange of facial expressions. At one point the second guard made an attempt at a subtle gesture indicating just what two guards who hadn’t seen a woman for months might do with said woman.
The choice was swiftly made after that. The elf thanked them profusely and clung to the more hesitant lead guard, putting her weight upon him and limping a little. The two men looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Clearly the elf needed to be ‘rehabilitated’ for at least a few days. Their superiors didn’t check out their tiny guard station that often. So long as they made their regular reports and didn’t pull too much extra wine, bread, and ham from the ration stores, an extra body might go unnoticed for a bit. Even when they found out, it wasn’t exactly a kind group that they were part of. The girl would just get shared around to the rest. That she was conveniently without relatives only made the decision that much easier.
Unfortunately for them, their plans would never achieve the anticipated climax. The silence spell took ahold unnoticed but for the momentary confusion about what had changed. Of course, the clomping of boots was such a common litany to their ears and yet the absence was not an immediate source of concern, even though some change in sound was noted. A sharp claw on each of the delicate looking elfin hands effortlessly plunged into the guard’s throats, dragging deeply across their jugulars.
They tried to fight, flee, shout, but all was for naught for these two brothers in love. They didn’t even get to enjoy one last flash of pale elf flesh as their evening entertainment rippled disgustingly, revealing a thinly built and toned body, the tattered clothing closing back up and taking on an unnaturally black hue that appeared to be a void of darkness tightly fit to their assailant’s skin. Oro wiped his claws clean on the course woolen padding beneath the guard’s armor before allowing them too to shift back. Shifting back with blood still present was at best disgusting.
There was no chance to hide the gore even if the bodies were moved. It was going to need to be good enough. If the quality of the guards was an indication, then it would be. Oro took in a calming breath and sought his most complex spell memory. It was the only one of this level that he would be able to cast for an entire day, but it was critical to the mission. From a hidden pocket in his suit, he pulled out the expensive elements which would be consumed by the spell. Methodically, letting the memory guide him, he went through the gestures and audible elements of the spell.
It took several minutes, cast carefully so as not to fail and lose this chance, but in the end it was a success. A doorway opened before Oro and from it stepped three figures. First, the Paladin of the neutral god of wealth and markets, Komarce.
“Well done Foxkin.” Sir Lochlan Roberts patted Oro on the shoulder with a heavy steel gauntlet. The lighter monk-wizard winced at the bruise that would likely be there as a result but nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment. Sir Roberts was as sparing with such recognition as he was with his 'hard earned cash.’ Sky-blue eyes from within the heavy helm barely even noticed the bodies. The tower shield hummed a little with untriggered enchantments. With a god-awful clanking that was somehow dramatically quieter, or so Sir Roberts insisted, than most heavy plate, he moved to guard the inner door at Oro’s gesture.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Next through the portal was the intimidatingly muscled Barbarian and their most devastating warrior. She bore a much too large sword in one hand, bearing it as if it were half of its size and seeking any threat that yet breathed. Her orange eyes flicked over the cooling bodies of the guards and found no threat there. She nodded to Oro and stepped further into the room to allow the final entrant to emerge. Oro couldn’t help but wonder how chainmail bikinis could actually serve as a defense, a debate which would only result in the Barbarian giving him a concussion. Better, he supposed, to knock your opponents out with both your curves and your blows. It was all the more comical given that she was by far the shortest of their group, barely reaching Oro’s chin with her short cropped red-brown hair.
The tall man who came through last was built almost as slimly as Oro and being a fellow monk and magic caster, it was no surprise. While their two bulky counterparts stood guard over both entrances, Gwoth Heart-Burns-With-Fire having barely glanced inside the decrepit storeroom, the other two grasped forearms in a show of mutual respect for practitioners of the arts. The martial-magic arts, that is. Stovius Sparkphist was a sorcerer rather than a monk. Oro couldn’t hold his sloppy method of magic against him however, Stovius was a genius at employing simple spells to turn the tide in combat. Never before had Oro realized just how deadly the much maligned ‘cantrips’ could prove against even powerful foes. More often than not when they sparred, it was Oro who was the loser.
Now that they were finally together and prepared to make good on their mission, it was time. Time for the Dungeon Master to go home.
“Wait, we finally just got to the good part!” Alan threw his hands up into the air in frustration, the mouse pointer jerking across the various sheets and notes open on his laptop and settling on the ‘Delete Character’ button. Quickly he moved the mouse again to a safer spot. Oro Foxkin was safe for another night from the perils of data loss! Truly all of humanity could breath a sigh of relief.
“We? You did all of the fun infiltration! All we did was schmooze with townfolk until that guy doing the supply runs connected us up with his third cousin to find out about how to even get into the fortress!” John poked a finger at Alan. Unlike Alan, who did, underneath a spare eighty pounds of fat and short fifty of muscle and a pair of cat/fox ears, John didn’t look anything like his character ‘Gwosh Heart-Burns-With-Fire’. Alan couldn’t help but shrug at his actually very fit friend with his too-good-looking face and expensively cut brown hair. Some things weren’t entirely different from his character. At least John didn’t wear bikini armor.
While John might have voiced a complaint, he could tell from the man’s posture that he was mostly doing it as a joke. They’d been at it for most of the afternoon and it was getting close to dinner time. Everyone was more than ready for a break. Speaking of break, the mock annoyed look on John’s face broke out into a self-satisfied smirk. Somebody thought their acting was good, huh? Alan gave a smile in return and the smirk turned into a genuine smile, much more common on John’s face.
“I thought it was fun.” The one person in the group Alan might have wanted to see wear the bikini, armor or otherwise, was none other than Stovius Sparkphist. Naturally Stovius was just her character, Lucy being the label which one applied to the real-life woman. To an outsider it might have been noted that Lucy was the only mixed person in the group, though it hardly would have registered to them as odd. She was a quarter Filipina and a quarter Mexican, and exactly how white or not white her absentee father had been was always up for debate. Her mother had never wanted to speak of the man. An attractive, though not spectacularly so, professional looking woman with a smart short business haircut, nearly black hair, soft brown eyes. She was the penultimate ‘mixed-something’ person, the hypothetical future ideal for heavily integrated racial genetics. She’d also had an a ‘secret’ on and off relationship with John for the past ten years.
It was always funny to think about her being a mid-level attorney at a decent civil case firm in town, specializing in non-violent civil cases. It gave her a way to stand out from the contract and corporate law focused culture in the tech heavy region and also kept her from mixing business with friendship, since John and Aaron were both in the tech executive side of things. Alan could remember when they’d all met in undergrad, different majors but all in a few of the same General Ed courses. He’d held a small flame for Lucy back then and he hadn’t been nearly as padded as he was now. She’d only really had eyes for John though, almost from the get-go.
“I think it’s a good stopping point. Care to join us for dinner, Ms. Owens?” Aaron, aka “Sir Lochlan Roberts”, was unlike his character in a critical way, that he was generous to a fault with his friends. Otherwise… well, he wasn’t a hulking tank, he was just the typically well-built, yoga and meditation and personal trainer managed tech CEO you would expect him to be. Good looking, well cared for, not quite the sexy male model level that John was pulling off, but definitely got him a fair bit of attention. The sandy blond hair and green eyes paired well with the expensive clothes, latest smartwatch, immaculate shoes. Unlike John, who seemed to have a new woman on his arm every few months, when he was in an ‘off’ period with Lucy, Aaron hadn’t ever really been with anyone since college. Even during college for that matter.
Nobody cared to pressure him about it. He was always stable, happy, and a phenomenal friend. If anything, he fit the bill as their group leader so well it was only natural that was the character he played as well, when they were doing, well, whatever they were doing as a group. Ms. Ellie Owens was their ‘Dungeon Master’ and despite her incredible penchant for making the play so immersive you stopped hearing the dice rolls or the mumbled calculations from around the table and started just experiencing the game, she was the most stereotypical looking soccer mom. Her no-nonsense mom hair, utilitarian clothing, mom-jeans, even the immaculately clean mini-van that had more than a few miles and a number of unidentifiable old stains on the interior fit the bill.
She’d asked one day about what they were talking about, when they were discussing starting a new pen and paper campaign in the bakery downstairs below Aaron’s apartment. Ms. Owens left that day with a dozen cinnamon rolls and an invite to come join them to ‘see what this was about’. They’d thought nothing of it until that Saturday the woman showed up, right at 1PM on Saturday, whipped out her DM books and references, and just dove right into it. Their shock had faded as they had the most fantastic first game they could ever remember having, especially since one of them wasn’t having to play the DM. When they asked her to come back she’d said, “I had a blast, but I didn’t think these games took so long. I can’t really afford to take the time away from home, Saturday is when I do most of my chores.”
Aaron had done that wealthy CEO thing immediately and offered to hire the woman as a DM. Alan and the others thought he wasn’t serious until Ms. Owens and Aaron got down to business and discussed a contract. Apparently, Aaron had considered doing something like this before without saying anything, which was, well, honestly it was very like Aaron. If it was for himself or his friends, he spared no expense or effort. The effort, not the expense part, was part of why they loved and trusted him so fiercely. The expense part was nice sometimes, though it was a little embarrassing to have your friend pay for something like he was your dad taking you out for a treat. ‘What’s the point of being rich except to be able to do what you want?’ he would often say in response, if they complained.
“Thank you sweety, but I really have to go get dinner put together. The children get a bit fussy if I’m gone too long.” The four friends glanced at each other with expressions of amusement. They often wondered just how old Ms. Owen’s children were. While the woman was an incredible and immersive DM, she was very private otherwise and treated interaction outside of the game like it was with strangers.
“So, we’ll see you next Saturday like usual?” Ms. Owens smiled politely in response to Aaron’s query.
“If Saturday comes, then of course.” If Saturday comes? Alan could see everyone was just as confused as he was. Shaking his head and figuring it must have been a strange attempt at humor, Alan joined the others in thanking Ms. Owens. Alan decided to see her out so he could grab something from the bakery downstairs to pair with the dinner he new Lucy and John were already planning to put together in Aaron’s luxury kitchen. Aaron would probably be leafing through his Blu-Ray collection and trying to select something they could all agree on.
“Thanks again, Ms. Owens, drive safely.” The woman smiled, then hesitated for a moment after she’d started to walk away. Why was she suddenly so tense? She looked around at the street and the storefronts that lined the bottom story of the mixed use luxury apartments and daytime shopping space as if committing everything very carefully to memory. “Ms. Owens? Is everything ok?” She looked at him with an expression of warmth and perhaps, concern. Very motherly. It tugged at the hurt in his heart that was attached to his own parents.
“You’re very sweet to be concerned about me. I do hope to see you again next Saturday. If I don’t get the chance, well…” She let it hang for a long moment, looking at his face with a frown. Then Ms. Owens did something he’d never seen her do, though it hadn’t occurred to him to notice the absence until faced with the presence. She looked him over with intense scrutiny, head to toe. It made him blush a little actually, to be appraised with such focus. He was acutely aware of his less than athletic frame, more than borderline obesity level of excess fat, five days of beard growth due to laziness, disheveled clothing.
“I find it very fascinating, the characters you each play. In many ways it is a window into your souls that one does not otherwise enjoy.” Alan choked a little. If the characters they played were a window into their souls, then what did that say about John? Or Lucy? Or him? He did always like to play a character that was a bit fluid in their identity. That was because he was very static in his own real person. Right?
“I don’t know about that! I can’t imagine John wanting to be a scantily clad lady warrior!” Ms. Owens tapped her chin thoughtfully. The smile that followed was very mischievous. Something about the woman was off. The behavior was different. Did she look different? She didn’t look different, she’d always had that, uh, that hair. That color of eyes. What was the color again?
“You know, I’ve got a feeling you’ll be seeing one of my daughters very soon. If you do, please put some sense into her thick skull for me, would you?” Alan tried to think of a response, only to find Ms. Owens had already walked away. Which way she had walked, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew she’d walked. Somewhere. Anyways, she was an adult woman, old enough to be his mother or just about. Huh, he was in his mid-thirties, but she needed to get home to feed her children? She must actually be a lot younger than he thought.
What was he doing again? Oh right, cheesecake!