“Hold!” John called to the two figures standing just outside the gates. The rain made it difficult to see far, but it appeared one was leaning on the other for support. The figures ceased their shambling, and the one on the right drew its hood back to reveal a mop of soaking black hair and a pale, angular face.
Ezekiel
Human (F)
Archer
Level 7
“We come at the request of George to help with the defense! He says you have food and clean water.” The man named Ezekiel called out.
“Aye.” John called back. “That we do, if you can afford it. George does his best with the hunting but a bowl of cereal will do wonders after days of meat.”
The figure faltered. “We have no money. Will you feed us for our service?”
John groaned. “Maybe.” He turned to the side, to where Jack stood in his militia gear. “Optio, go out and lead these two through the barricade to the pavilion. Aleks, go get Sarah, tell her to bring some food and meet us there. Gunther, watch the wall and shout if anyone else approaches. Mitchell is watching the South Gate, so you don’t need to patrol, just watch.”
John hopped down from the scaffolding, a 10 foot drop that would have been dangerous Before but was now solved with little more than a bending of knees on impact. Jack, his Optio, scurried down the ladder behind him and went out to the new arrivals. His Tiros leapt to their duties. He could not speak well of their skill, but in passion towards their duties he had not a single complaint.
Soon, he was standing within the pavilion, boots soaked through but slowly drying. It turned out that the System considered wet boots to be in need of repair, and the limited repairing capabilities of the items they’d Systemized also dried them out when he stepped out of the rain. Sarah stood to one side, and George to the other, while before them Kyla and Ezekiel were doing their best to wring out their clothes.
Sarah started. “I’m glad you two came, though I’m a little surprised. Our first impression was… unfortunate. I would like to apologize on behalf of my group for any wounds we have caused you.”
Kyla scoffed, but it quickly devolved into coughing. Sarah stepped forward, but John placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her back, as much as the act made him queasy. The group waited for her to finish, then Ezekiel spoke.
“It was a difficult decision. We’re just trying to survive as best we can. I… I will apologize for our original actions. I could say Singh talked us into it, but we didn’t exactly put up much of a fight. Just… if we’d asked off the bat, would you have let us in? A group of strangers?”
John shrugged. “It wasn’t as cut and dried back then as it is now. Besides, no point thinking on ‘ifs’. We’re here now, and you’re inside the walls. Once you’re all settled in, I can take you to go see Singh, though we haven’t decided what to do with him yet.”
“It’s been days.” Kyla rasped out. “What’s to decide?”
Sarah grimaced. “He has a way of… pushing our dedication to our morals. Either way, you have to decide in what capacity you’d like to join us. John could use you in the defence, and you can leave after. Or, you could join us as Aspirants, and work your way into the Inner clan. Finally, and you would have to find Mitchell for this, our leader has deigned to offer you refugee status through the attacks. He’ll keep you safe, fed, clothed, and secure until the attacks end, upon which point you will be permanently exiled.”
The two looked at each other. “Can we have a moment to discuss it?” Ezekiel asked.
John nodded and began drawing objects from his pouches. “Take your time, but not too long. We only have about an hour left.” The trio left, George having remained silent and watching the entire time. The only thing they left behind was a small water skin, a loaf of bread wrapped in some sort of waxed paper, and two confused but grateful human beings.
----------------------------------------
Mitchell rubbed his temples, stepping away from the window in his room where he’d watched the event. The two newcomers were arguing animatedly, even if one was sitting on the floor of the pavilion. Two more citizens didn’t mean much for the settlement, but it meant the world for the defence. He would leave it to John to organise that part of things. His own input would only be needed to place them in whichever role they’d decided.
He had decided to codify the various tiers available in Old Mill Town. Core members were reserved for him and his party, along with any other people he roped into helping him run a town. They would be the ruling class, so to speak, though he’d made it abundantly clear that these positions wouldn’t be passed down to the children of any members - in fact, for each Core member to have a child, there would be one new addition to the Inner members. If an Inner had a child, it would be Outer, and if an Outer had a child, it would be an Aspirant.
Aspirants having children would just create more Aspirants, as that tier was really just a probationary Outer member.
Rights were universal, punishments universal, and taxes - when they actually started having some sort of economy that wasn’t ‘buy food from the floating crystal’ - were also universal. A flat fifth of all earned coin was to be granted to the settlement, as Mitchell really needed to at least get a Farm going to prevent the steady loss of coin from feeding the people.
He also made it clear how to move into the next rank of the settlement, and ensured that it was entirely possible for an Aspirant to become an Inner member, even if it would take a while to work through the ranks. The Aspirants were promoted simply by living in the town and paying their taxes. He’d yet to decide on what, but he imagined there would be some sort of minimum level requirement and time requirement. Outer’s were promoted directly by the Core group: John would take Outer’s as soldiers, and promote them on retirement. Sarah would take in the healers, medics, and doctors, promoting them based on time of service. The term was short, as Mitchell had wanted to incentivize those professions to come.
Doctors were a force multiplier. A wounded soldier forced to retire would become a veteran instead. Even one life saved was, pragmatically, someone with experience that wouldn’t be lost.
Miriam hadn’t shown much interest in running the town, though she was an excellent springboard for Mitchell to launch ideas from - compared to him, she was much more in tune with how someone would react to something. He still gave her the opportunity to promote if she so desired, based on merit. George had outright refused the ability.
Mitchell would be the one to promote for things like deeds, or as part of trade deals and the like. It was a larger responsibility, but that worked for him, as he’d learned during the first wave of invaders that his secondary class didn’t get any experience from direct combat. Sure, he got a very small fraction of whatever was killed in the encounter as a whole, but after comparing it with John, he hadn’t even gotten one Raccan’s worth of experience. Closer to a half a Raccan.
Instead, his Aspiring Clan Leader class levelled up over time. It had been glacial at first, but as the settlers came in, the rate had increased by a small amount. Not enough to improve the immigration situation, but enough where he was comfortable switching back to semi-skilled workers like Jack. He had more than proven his worth over all this time, and it didn’t seem that quantity was the only factor for his own personal experience gain.
He also recalled the message he’d been given after he’d fought at the South wall against the paltry force of Raccans.
Combat complete!
Enemies defeated: 1
Allies Assisted: 2
Number of retreating steps: 13
Ineligible for Experience Gain!
The stairs creaked as he made his way back down to the room with the longpit, throwing another log onto the embers. He tried to find a comfortable position in the chair he’d assigned for himself, but it was impossible by design - John had argued that being in the seat of command should never feel comfortable, and in the moment, Mitchell had agreed. He only slightly regretted it now, but that regret was outweighed by the truth of that statement.
Still, morals made for poor cushions.
So as Kyla, spearwoman, and Ezekiel, archer, were led into the main hall, Mitchell stood, hiding his discomfort. As John gestured to the benches, Mitchell walked around his chair and accessed the System Shop. As the rest of the Core settled in, he emerged with a tray adorned with crude wooden cups and plates. Alone, he walked around the room and gave one of each to each attendee.
“What is this, communion?” Sarah asked. “I didn’t realise you were starting a state religion.”
“No. In our budding culture, this is how we will show respect. Both to servants and to guests. I present to you all the bread from my oven, and the wine from my cellar. Eat and drink, and know that you are safe as my guests. Well, until the next wave, at least.”
John elbowed George to cut him off, then drained his cup in one gulp. “Not the best, but it’ll do just fine. So?”
The eyes in the room looked to the newcomers, who sat awkwardly on the bench, plates balanced in their laps. Kyla spoke first. “It’s up to Zee. I just wanna say this is the first time I’ve been inside a building in a week. If you have any showers or- Hey, what the hell was that for?”
Sarah had interrupted her with a staff whacking. Rather than say anything, she simply pulled her own robes away from her underarms and mimed sniffing at them. Kyla followed along and with wide eyes, her voice caught. “You have a clean spell? Fuck Zee, I’m in. Wherever you need me.”
Ezekiel frowned at her for a moment, but quickly sighed as he sipped the wine, a visible stress releasing from his shoulders. “Pretty much what she said. We don’t have much of a choice, so we’re here and we’re ready to help, so long as you keep feeding us.”
Looking closer, Mitchell could see. They were on the verge of starving. Baggy clothes and fierce attitudes did much to disguise it, but the sunken cheeks and slight shaking of hands would be more than enough evidence, even if he didn’t see the way they had devoured the bread outside, and kept glancing to the others plates.
“I will not feed you.” Mitchell stated, but he continued before their looks of dismay could grow any worse. Or before Kyla began plotting his death. “I will, however, give you the means to feed yourselves. When we started, we all lived thanks to our Master Hunter. Once we’d gotten settled, we were lucky enough to find a Settlement Stone. Now we pay the price, and that price is violence. Join our admittedly small military as Outer members of the Clan, and you will be paid. You can buy your own food, and be beholden to nobody save your commander.”
“I’ll even front some, so you can get some proper shoes and such.” John cut in, unable to remain silent any longer. He still found it difficult to look at Kyla, knowing he was the one that had injured her so roughly and killed their ally. “And I’d just like to say, I don’t have anything against you or your group. I personally buried that large lad, and we set him apart from the other graves out of respect. I do not apologize for our actions that night… but I am so very sorry for your loss.”
Kyla remained silent, emotions warring inside her, and Ezekiel spoke on their behalf. “I mean, you fucked us up with a stick, dude. That’s bonkers any way you slice it.”
“Yes, well,” Sarah stood and brandished her staff. “I think I’ll requisition these two for the next wave. Gives me a chance to see if they're hiding any injuries.”
As Ezekiel stared warily at the twirling implement of magical power, Miriam finally let out a chuckle. “Yes, that is something you’ll find out about us sooner or later - help or hell both come at the end of a stick.”
Mitchell burst out laughing, surprising all present. “That’s what we should call ourselves! The Branch Clan!”
----------------------------------------
Mitchell had been vetoed and wasn’t all that upset about it. He just thought it would be funny, but that really wasn’t a good way to name somewhere that people would actually want to be. Besides, it would get confusing if they eventually did split off a branch of the clan. As he stood at the north gate, John and his soldiers in their positions and Miriam atop the scaffolding, he wondered on how well the other team would perform. The newcomers seemed more comfortable with Sarah and George, so those two had taken them to hold the south gate.
He would not make them fight alongside John right away. He ran out of time to think, as the timer slowly ran out its last seconds.
“Optio, get us a patrol on the walls, but keep each of them within shouting distance of the gates.” John barked out.
“Keeping them close for reinforcements?”
John nodded slowly. “That, and trying to work something out. They didn’t even bother to try the walls last time, they just came for the gates. I want to see if that was because of the wall, or because we were all guarding it.”
Mitchell’s eyes lit up. “If it’s the wall, we could just barricade one of the gates, and they’d be forced to the other one!”
John hummed. “Maybe. Either way, you’re going to have to do the work of three soldiers.”
“Ahem!” Miriam cleared her throat loudly.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“One and a half soldiers.” John corrected. “I think you’ll be fine.”
Mitchell grimaced, before sliding the full plate helmet onto his head. His voice emerged muffled. “This may get a little bit messy. My class won’t give me experience if I retreat. At all. It counted steps in the last fight. I’m hoping it’ll still count if I hold ground, so once they start to show up, don’t be alarmed if I need to step forwards out of formation.”
John’s eyes set in determination. “Then the formation steps forwards. I got your back, Mitch. Miri can handle the gate if she needs to. Just make sure you call it out if you’re going to Flare them.”
“I’ve got something even better.” She replied smugly, though the imperious effect was ruined by her sodden robes and soaked hair.
Mitchell settled in, raising his round shield in one arm and his class sword in the other. With every level the weapons got lighter and lighter, and by this point it was as if he were carrying foam variants of his gear.
Incoming Wave of Enemies!
Wave 2:
15x Raccan Skirmisher
5x Raccan Brute
Then, they were beset by foes. Eight Skirmishers stepped out of the treeline, with a man-sized Raccan on either flank hulking with corded muscle. It was difficult to see them in the rain, but they looked like raccoons standing upright, with slightly longer forelimbs. Those limbs bobbed with the heavy breathing of the Brutes, and from the rear a third Brute stepped out of the treeline.
“High HP and Stamina, low MP.” John muttered.
“They have an MP ability!” Miriam shouted out.
“Probably some sort of berserk or power attack, from the looks of them.” Mitchell finished. “Disposition: coming to try to kick our asses.”
“Let them come!” John shouted, slamming his javelin against his shield twice.
They came.
Miriam watched in equal parts horror and amazement as the Skirmishers wound up and released their ammo as one. John stepped forwards, glowing red copies of his shield spreading wide to deflect the projectiles away from him and Mitchell. The Brute in the back pushed through the line of skirmishers and charged forwards, even as the Skirmishers reloaded. The charging brute barked something, and the Skirmishers began to fling their shots as soon as they were ready, rather than wait for massed fire.
A faint bark from their back caught her attention, and with a glance she saw that the others had engaged their own, smaller force of Raccans. Then, her vision blurred and she stumbled forwards as something rank and jagged impacted the back of her head, and she had to flail to not fall off the scaffolding. Cursing herself, she cast her newest skill with but a thought, a shimmering blue bodysuit of Mage Armour flickering into existence around her and fading shortly.
A furious look on her face, she pointed her staff over the rampart and let loose with a flurry of Mana Darts, the spell from the wand that she’d managed to duplicate in her last three days of study. Three bolts shot out from the tip of the staff, pulsing and vibrating through the air as they tracked a Skirmisher. She didn’t know which one threw the rock but she’d put them all down, just to be sure.
The Skirmisher had no chance. It rolled out of the way of the first bolt, but the second corrected its path mid flight and impacted against the creatures knee, snapping bone and sending it to the ground. The third bolt tracked this fall and buried itself into the Skirmisher’s chest, the crackling of multiple bones snapping echoing over the rainfall.
The first bolt, which had missed, shot upwards in a loop and came down like a bolt of judgement from on high. It veered downwards, and after impact the only thing left of its face was a furry red mess.
Too much for the small guys, I won’t have the MP to fire off seven more of those. Let’s see how the big boys deal with it.
She popped back up from the rampart, ducking back immediately after as stone after stone pelted the wall right in front of her.
They’re locked in on me. Should keep my guys safe, but stops me from helping them.
“Damnit! I’m pinned!” Miriam called out.
“On it!” John called back, rearing back and throwing his javelin with all the power of a ballista. The wooden weapon impacted one of the Skirmishers, sending it flying back until the javelin ended its arc and sunk into the soil, the corpse of the skirmisher sliding slowly down the cracked spear.
Mitchell had already begun moving forwards, only two steps so far, but those were two steps he couldn’t take back. Even as he watched the other Brutes shout something and the whole force begin moving forwards, the first one reached him and he lost himself in the combat.
Unlike the skirmishers, his Weapon Mastery erupted into his mind, and he followed its suggestions as best he could. A third step forward to gather the momentum he needed to stop the charge, he slammed the shield out into the beasts snarling maw. A reverberating clang sounded, and then a pair of clawed hands gripped either side of his shield and tried to drag him towards the enemy force.
Mitchell slipped the sword under the shield, performing a draw cut that should have immobilised the creature, but its fur was closer to wire, and he only managed a shallow slice before the brute bounded back, releasing his shield. Following the instruction of his Weapon Mastery, he followed its retreat, slamming his shield out again.
With his enemy off-balance, the slam was enough to push it back onto the ground. With a grim smile, he stabbed the sword downwards towards the creatures neck but missed when it jerked to the side. A patch of red still started spreading through its fur, but it was unharmed enough to scramble to its feet. A clanging sound pulled him out of his trance and he saw John at his side, shield extended and doing his best to get between Mitchell and the other two Brutes.
The two were hammering at his shield pushing with all of their might, and Mitchell saw the next events almost as if in slow motion. A vein pulsed on John’s neck and his face was red with effort, but he stood his ground. Almost as if planned, one of the Brutes went high, trying to get over the shield, and the other went low, claws striking out at John’s unarmoured legs.
It was genius really. John would have to either lower the shield and block the claws, which opened up his face to the jumping Brute. Or he lifted his shield and blocked the jump, but got hit in the legs, which could be deadly very quickly. John didn’t hesitate.
He lifted the shield.
Scrambling forwards, Mitchell lunged with his sword, hoping to get the one going low, but his foot didn’t move and he slammed into the mud, his sword being lost in the fall. He raised his head but it was soon pushed down into the mud, and battering fists beat at his back even as claws scrabbled over his armour, looking for any gap or place to pry. Mitchell’s thoughts began to turn to panic, as his face was pressed into mud and he still couldn’t breath.
He slammed a fist into the ground, followed soon by the other, and tried to do a pushup, but a claw quickly hammered at the inside of his elbow and he went crashing to the ground again. At least he’d gotten a breath.
He tried again, this time locking his elbow, trying to ignore the searing pain in his ribs. He waited for the claw and as soon it struck, he collapsed his arm, pinching the beasts paw in between plate, and rolled with the momentum, putting him on his back with the sky above and a Brute below.
Just in time to see John stagger backwards, both legs bleeding and a snarl on his face. “Miri!” He called out. “We need a Flare!”
Mitchell’s eyes widened, then slammed shut as the light-bearing projectile soared overhead. The light pierced through his eyelids, and even when it was gone managed to leave spots in his now-open eyes. The Raccans were less fortunate.
Due to their shorter legs, the Raccan Skirmishers were still at least 20 feet away when their corneas were burned by the light of the sun on an overcast morning. A bolt slammed out into one of the Brutes accosting John, and a second and third hurled it like a ragdoll into the mud where it struggled to stand. The bone poking through its leg prevented that from happening. Taking the interruption, John whirled and stabbed his gladius down, right through the leg of the Brute that was doing its best to keep Mitchell down.
The Page scrambled to his feet, scooping up his sword and charging forwards, trusting John to finish off the one on the ground. With two Brutes down, it was just the Skirmishers - so long as he could take out the last one.
He remembered how he’d fought against the fire ant queen, and called upon that feeling, that all encompassing focus that would leave him victorious or dead on the other side, and pushed forwards with all of his might, reaching the last Brute right as it scrambled up from the ground. Again, small claws gripped the edges of his shield, and he knew it would be a struggle to release it by main strength.
Mitchell planted his sword in the mud and punched at the claws with the steel gauntlets of his armour, crushing the claws and fingers of his foe. The beast hissed and released the shield, yanking it away from Mitchell’s center, and he let it, using the spinning momentum to grab and whip his sword through the air. The Brute took a step back, barely avoiding the whistling blade, and Mitchell’s foot matched its movement, stepping forward and negating its attempt to disengage.
The Brute roared, and a red mist blew out of its nostrils. Then, it attacked.
The strikes were harder, faster, more vicious. Dodges were abandoned in favour of counter-attacks, small cuts ignored, all of its focus was on Mitchell and the act of killing him.
Mitchell was a mirror, not in temperament but in goal. A hammering strike from above was deflected with the shield, the following uppercut landing against his chest plate even as his own fist lashed out, splitting the skin above its eye and causing blood to start dripping down. By then, his shield was coming back around but was forced off-centre again with a vicious kick. The Brute lunged forward, claws reaching for his neck, and Mitchell stepped into it, slamming his helmeted head forwards - inside the arc of its swing - and into the Raccan’s snout.
The Brute grabbed onto his shoulders, bottom legs kicking and long claws screeching against his armoured belly, even as Mitchell slammed his head forward again, stars swimming in his vision. The Brutes strikes weakened, so Mitchel did it again. And again. He lost himself in the motion of slamming his head forwards, the only thing he was focussed on being the death of the Brute.
After John had finished cleaning up the last Brute, and Miriam had been sent off to help with wrapping up, Mitchell finally ran out of energy and looked up, a blood-soaked helm looking almost savage as it quickly glanced around for the next target. On seeing nothing but corpses around him, the tense energy in the armoured figure left, and he slumped atop the mangled body of the Brute. Shaking hands scrabbling, he managed the latch on the helmet and yanked it off, tossing the armour aside and gasping deep breathes.
John slowly walked over and held out a hand to help him up. “You fight scary, Mitch.”
“Don’t have much of a choice.” He gave a pained smile, even as his eyes flicked off to the side. “Besides. I hit level 11 from that. Next time they come, I’ll be ready.”
New Skill Unlocked at Level 10!
Guard - In the March, there is no route to go around your obstacles. You must go through, even if they push back. Increase the effectiveness of Parry, Block, and Riposte actions while on the March.
“Good, because it looks like they’ve given us an hour less prep time for the third wave. It’s coming. Oh, and I hit 14. I should get a new skill at 15 if the pattern holds up.”
Mitchell finally grabbed his hand, and allowed himself to be pulled back up. He kept up the small talk with John, well aware that both of them were incredibly wound up and trying their best not to show it. He couldn’t help but wonder though - in that last fight, who was the real Brute?
----------------------------------------
“Would everyone be quiet for a moment, damnit?!”
The arguments petered out, and John sat back down. “Thank you. Patriarch, if you would.”
Mitchell had refused to have the cleaning spell cast on him, so he sat on his chair, muddy and bloody, which was almost funny compared to Miriam who was sitting beside him, nose upturned and glaring. It was slightly unsettling, but still difficult to see in the dim light of the clan house.
He cleared his throat. “We have three hours. We will debrief, but if this pattern continues, we’ll need to be prepared for less and less time between waves. Luckily, we didn’t have to deal with any more of them due to taking in our newcomers. John- sorry, Master of Law and Order-, how did your soldiers do in the last fight?”
John stood from the bench. “My assumption was correct. None of the Raccans even attempted to cross the wall. I’d like to see if Sarah and the support corps can assist me in blockading one of the gates, so we can concentrate our forces in one spot.”
“Even if it means they’re concentrated too?” George interjected.
“Even so. We’re just short of the manpower needed for an effective defence, and with my new Carpenter skill, I can block that gate in no time at all. I’d much rather have all of us in the fight than have to split up again, even if just to keep Sarah nearby for healing.”
Mitchell nodded. “Then that is what we’ll do. Master Hunter, is there any way we can trim them down before they get here?”
George shook his head. “Not a single trap behind the treeline was set off, and I wasn’t able to track their prints any further than the trees. It’s almost like they’re popping out of nowhere.”
“Noted. Anyone make any gains worth talking about? I got a skill that will help me be in the front line, so I’ll be up there with John.”
“And Kyla.” George added. “She’s a beast with that spear of hers.”
Mitchell mentally shook himself. “Right. How’d they do in the defense?”
George shrugged, but Sarah spoke up. “Kyla fights like she has something to prove, and Zee is a crackshot.”
“He’s alright.” George insisted.
“Right,” Mitchell prodded, “George, keep an eye on them for this wave. I’d expect a higher count of Skirmishers and Brutes. What tactics did you use, and how did they work out?”
George shrugged again, and this time spoke as well. “Ezekiel and I were up on the ramparts shooting arrows, and Kyla was down at the bottom holding the gate. It got a little dicey with the Brutes, but once she had them aggro’d we cleaned up. How’d you guys do?”
John stepped forward. “Between Mitchell and I, we held the gate. With Miriam on artillery, we also only ran into issues when the Brutes made their charge.”
Mitchell nodded. “From my own understanding, I think if we had faced all of the enemies with all of us, it would have gone better. So this time, that is what we’ll do.”
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John’s new skill was called Woodfuse, and it was very much doing what it advertised. As each log was hefted into place - Mitchell had recently gained enough Strength to lift them as well - John ran his fingers down the crack in between the logs and wood fibres sprouted, weaving themselves together and fusing the pieces together. Once he had fused the entire length, they got to work on the next one.
It wasn’t able to split the logs, unfortunately, so returning the wall to a gate would actually be harder than just having the gate moved to an unfused section of wall. That would be something to determine afterwards, though.
Sarah’s support corps finally showed their labour. As the wall was finished and the first hour ended, each fighter was approached by a peasant bearing a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a waterskin. She rounded them back up after, and they made for the river to clean the implements. With the fortification complete, there was nothing more to do inside the walls, but the work didn’t stop.
Outside the north gate, George was directing the creation of the medieval equivalent of a minefield. Two covered pit traps were hidden on the main road leading in, and there were jaw traps dug in a scattered pattern on either side of the road. The jaw traps were particularly nasty - a narrow hole dug into the dirt, at the bottom of which was placed a crude set of wooden jaws that were mechanically designed to tighten as the trapped creature tried to lift their leg out of the hole. They wouldn’t kill the Raccans, but they would keep them in one spot for either Ezekiel or George to fill them with arrows.
Lastly, stakes were sharpened and dug deep into the ground at the base of the wall, where the starting markings of a trench was being dug by the supporting peasants. Mitchell noted that he should probably hold a feast of some sort after all this. They were losing coin quickly, though at least the Brutes had the forethought to carry a coin or two for them to pick up. Kills were claimed and loot distributed, though not nearly enough to replenish what they’d spent on food alone.
A part of him hoped some new, more dangerous Raccan would show up with the next wave. When said wave came, and there was a tall Raccan in the back, festooned with fetishes and piercings and waving about a staff adorned with a bird's skull, that part crawled into a hole and hid.
Incoming Wave of Enemies!
Wave 3:
20x Raccan Skirmisher
10x Raccan Brute
1x Raccan Shaman