MERCS:

Leonard ‘Cap’ Babler | Wilson ‘Twerk’ Turk | Usain ‘Usa’ Bizra | Izildra ‘Izil’ Bizra | Bletcher

Georg ‘The Hoffmeister’ Hoffman | Victor ‘Pecs’ Balinski | Eddie ‘Fortune’ Rich

They studied Darkspike Dungeon. Given it was a mountain, Wilson wasn’t surprised to find it looked impregnable.

‘The main entrance is out of the question,’ Cap decided. ‘There’s just no way the eight of us stand a chance walking in the front door.’

No one was about to argue with that.

‘Which leaves us with that tower.’

It was a small lookout tower, built into the mountainside. It wasn’t possible to make out any details from this distance. Wilson thought it unlikely there’d be more than a few guards on duty. The trouble was, those guards would see the eight of them approaching in plenty of time, and call for reinforcements.

Everyone stood in silence, waiting for Cap to arrive at a solution. It seemed inspiration wouldn’t come.

‘I’ve got the best chance,’ Wilson said at last.

‘How’s that?’ Cap asked.

‘I’m small. My night vision is excellent; better than those orcs, probably. I have the best chance of getting into the tower unseen.’

Cap looked at Wilson, then up at the tower. ‘Much of a climber?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Huh.’ More silence. Cap fixed his gaze at their objective. It was possible a thousand stratagems were spinning through his head, as he narrowed in on the one most likely to succeed. It was also possible he’d turned into a statue. ‘You could help him get inside, Bletcher?’

‘The gods might deem him worthy of their aid,’ the wizard said.

Wilson didn’t appreciate the doubt in the man’s voice. ‘Don’t plead with them on my account. I’ve got by this far without their help.’

Cap raised a hand. ‘Let me think.’

Wilson wasn’t inclined to stop talking on anyone’s say so. On the other hand, the way in which Babler had dispatched the two orc captives was a persuasive counter argument.

‘Alright,’ Cap said at last. ‘That’s our best chance. We’ll ascend the north face, keeping out of the tower’s sight lines. We’ll get as close as we can. Then it’ll be up to our gnome friend to get us inside.’

In the darkness, Wilson peered around a rock shelf at the tower, gathering as much information as he could. The more he saw, the more his confidence grew. At closer quarters, the tower was a roughly built piece of architecture, and he wondered whether the orcs had built it themselves. Constructed from giant lumps of rock, there were plenty of climbing routes where one rock sat next to another.

Then there were the orc guards. Occasionally, he would see one appear on the battlements, from where they would look out in all directions. But these appearances were irregular. It was clear to Wilson that the orcs had no expectations of an attack; it was probable that the tower had never been attacked in living memory.

It was time to go.

He turned to his companions. Cap waited with Bletcher and Fortune. He wondered whether the wizard would really provide him with some mystical aid; wondered if he’d even try.

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He took the contraption they had made from Cap. Cap’s spear and Victor’s pike had been lashed together to create a ladder. He held it in the centre and set off. It didn’t enhance his stealth, having to carry something so long. Halfway to the tower, he saw a head appear, followed by a shoulder, as a guard walked the circular steps to the battlements. This was where being so low to the ground was a benefit. He placed the ladder on the ground and lay down next to it. At this distance, with the lack of light, he was pretty sure his tiny prone body would resemble a rock.

There was no cry of discovery. He waited for the orc to return down the steps, and resumed his progress. When he reached the base of the tower he looked for the best route to the top. There was an unpleasant, orc-like smell, even this close. The rocks at the base were the largest, and hardest to climb. He jammed the two spear blades into the rocky ground and leaned the improvised ladder against one of the rocks. It reached the top, while still providing him with a reasonable climbing angle.

He clambered up, then shifted onto the tower wall. Using a spot where two rocks met to provide him with grips, he began to climb. He had to shuffle along the top of one of the rocks, his hands pressed against flat stone, before he reached the next route up.

Two thirds of the way up, he heard several roars of delight and excited chatter from inside the tower, as if the orcs were playing dice or some other game. That was soon followed by the sound of heavy feet slapping on stone.

Wilson kept still as the orc appeared on the battlements above. There was a lot of sighing coming from the guard, and then a fountain of water appeared a few feet from his position. He realised the beast was relieving himself over the edge; then realised he had probably stood in the orcs’ toilet down at the bottom.

Perhaps Bletcher’s gods worked their magic now. Because if he had bothered to look down, the orc could have seen either Wilson clinging to the wall, or the ladder propped against it. Instead, with more sighing, and a rip of gas that sounded like an explosion, the orc finished his business and returned to his games.

The last part of the climb was the easiest, until Wilson reached an overhang to get over the battlements. No doubt someone of human size would have found the manoeuvre straightforward, but he had to hold his full bodyweight with his hands until he could scrabble over. He collapsed, placing a hand over his mouth to quieten his heavy breathing.

Once he had recovered, he found the tower had a simple set up. A walkway did a full circuit of the battlements, while stone steps circled down all the way to the base of the tower. Inside, the orcs were engaged in quieter muttering now, engaged with their latest game. Judging by their voices, he reckoned there were half a dozen guards in all.

Wilson waved from the northern side of the battlements. He then unfastened his rope, looped it around a merlon, ensuring he tied a strong knot. He picked up movement, as Cap and Fortune began to cross the distance to the tower.

All he could do now was wait.

It was just as his companions were reaching the base of the tower, that another series of raucous shouts erupted from below. Someone had won, and was celebrating. Then someone else, perhaps the loser, began to make his way up the steps.

Oh, shit on it.

Wilson pressed himself into the shadows as the orc neared. Somehow, it worked, the orc arriving on the battlements without noticing the gnome. Then, with a confused expression, it stared at the rope tied around the merlon.

ACTION ROUND

Orc

Orc

Warrior

Action Stats

EXP Level

3

Action Points

5

Hit Points

23

Wilson had to act, driving at the warrior from behind.

One of his axe strikes hit, tearing into the back of the orc’s leg, and dealing ten points of damage. He struck again. Another successful strike saw the orc collapse to the ground. If it wasn’t dead, it soon would be, its blood pumping onto the walkway.

The rope strained, as the first climber pulled on it.

Below, shouts rained out. It was only as the battle mist cleared that Wilson realised the rest of the orcs weren’t coming for him. He wished he could understand what they said. The celebratory tone was replaced with a more insistent one. If he had to guess, it would be that they were calling up to their fallen colleague.

Wilson readied his axes for more slaughter.

Cap appeared, clambering onto the walkway. Wilson gestured down to the orcs and he nodded, quickly taking in the scene. He carefully drew his sword.

The blood began to drip down the steps.

Then they heard orc footsteps.