We woke at sunrise, the first light casting long shadows across our camp. The early morning chill felt good on my muscles as I rose, gazing into the glowing rosé that peeked out from behind the adjacent mountaintops. Around us, the land was silent, its rugged beauty enhanced by its seeming desolation. We gathered in silence, weapons apparating to our hands.
With a look from Ike, Kevinar stepped away from the group, his face solemn. He traced figures of ethereal light through the air, his fingers weaving glowing runes as his head cocked sideways. It was just as amazing to watch now as it had been before. Though I knew it was a game skill, the look of deep concentration on his face made me wonder if things were as automatic to all who lived here as they were for me. Red-brown aura clouded over him, pulsing with energy.
“They answer,” Kevinar informed us, his voice cutting through the morning stillness as the last of the runes faded away. “Safety is assured.”
Ike nodded, and we moved out into the mountainous terrain. There was a trail heading out from the cave, invisible by night but now apparent in the rosy glow of dawn, and we ventured over it, myself in the rear as Brandosyeus took up the center with Ike, and Kevinar disappeared to our fore. I could see where a minor landslide had occurred the night before—it was a smattering of smaller rocks now stuck in a drying mud overcropping, something that might well serve a tactical purpose later if we had to retreat. I took note of it even as we followed the path down to a sparely-treed ravine whose creek burbled along mostly barren riverbed.
This would be a bad place to be caught in, I observed to Jeldorain as my eyes rolled over the steep and treacherous walls on our flanks.
Indeed, he answered, and the excitement that followed his answer told me everything.
As I cried out “To arms!”, the once-quiet air erupted with the guttural war cries of orc marauders. They emerged like phantoms, their hulking figures materializing from the cleverly concealed, clay-caked crevices along the ravine's walls. Each orc bore the savage markings of their tribe – dark paint streaked across rugged faces and muscular arms, their eyes burning.
Growling in response to Jeldorain’s rising excitement, I gripped my Titan-Ax-icearigama tightly, feeling its cold power surge through my veins. I charged headlong into the fray, targeting a knot of five orcs. They were dressed in mismatched armor, almost certainly pieced together from previous battles and conquests and their weapons were crude but glinted with deadly, chiseled edges in the shadow dappled light.
I engaged my Whirlwind Attack, my icearigama singing through the air. The first dozen orcs were slashed into wriggling halves, their bodies flopping down into squelching death.
A movement caught my eye, and I glanced up, seeing Kevinar appear from the top of the ravine’s edge. His blades, shimmering with their mystical purple aura, flashed and danced as he leapt down upon another group of orcs. He stabbed and slashed, clearing space around himself.
“We’re coming!” Ike yelled from ahead. The ambush, it seemed, was isolated to my position and nowhere else.
An orc tribesman ducked under the slash of my icearigama, stabbing a short blade into my thigh. I kicked him into the air, slashing the head off his body as it flew to eye level. Another two orcs stepped in, then another, stabbing at me from a horde of at least twenty.
Past my own melee, the clash of steel rang out, echoing amidst the grunts and bellows of combat. I noticed that Kevinar had his own horde to deal with, and I wished him luck as I launched another Whirlwind, felling several of my enemies.
As the orc tribesmen swarmed around me, I quickly scanned the ravine for anything I could use for my Swing ability — a protruding ledge, an overhead branch, anything that would give me a tactical edge. But the sparse, treacherous terrain offered nothing but steep, unyielding clifflike mud.
Gritting my teeth, I went back to what I knew best and launched into another Whirlwind Attack. The ax spun with me, its blade a deadly arc cutting through the air, cleaving them apart even as they inflicted more and more damage upon me. Seven died and an eighth stumbled backwards, falling in screaming confusion.
But the orcs were relentless. More poured in; I wasn’t sure from where. So I engaged my attack again and again. As I spun and slashed, subsequent ranks found holes in my defense, striking against my armor and body, draining my hit points to half their maximum.
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A debuff seared through me, nearly dropping me to my knees.
Tremendous Pain
Reduced Agility and Speed: Decrease by 15%, representing the difficulty in moving swiftly or dodging attacks due to pain.
Decreased Attack Accuracy: Lower attack accuracy by 10%, as the pain makes it harder to focus and aim precisely.
Increased Mana Cost for Spells: Spells cost 10% more mana to cast, as it's more challenging to concentrate and channel magical energies.
Diminished Critical Hit Chance: Reduce the chance of landing critical hits by 5%, reflecting the character's hindered combat effectiveness.
The orcs stumbled over the mounds of bodies, seeing me suddenly woozy and obviously trying to exploit my weakness. I was down to 60 exertion points, and dazedly wondered if I shouldn’t have been casting spells all this time. Picking out a dead orc from the pile, I Summoned Skeleton Ally, then struck out with my icearigama. The targeted orc laughed as he jumped back, but his buddy didn’t as my next attack struck him in the torso . . . and set off Chain Lightning.
Jeldorain cackled, then roared as electricity crackled through them, bolts of lightning arcing outward and cooking flesh. Screams mixed with the sizzle and pop of grievous damage. I readied myself to strike again but found the enemy pulling back, a part of their number stuck convulsing in the mud.
My new skeletal ally gleefully pounced on the quivering and stunned enemies while, past them, I saw Kevinar leaping out of his own mob, his body bloodied. And from my front came the welcoming battle cry of Ike, and the bardic music of Brandosyeus.
As my companions came to my side, the orcs paused, forming up ranks and blocking the ravine, but no longer rushing forward. The ones who’d been stunned by my attack and left in the mud got up, and fled to their tribal ranks.
Crush them! Jeldorain exhorted. I could feel his battle frenzy, his want to use Size of a Tempest and trod forward, smashing them all.
Not yet, I implored, sharing mental images of game battles where hordes of enemies had been the precursor to spectacular boss battles. He shook with rage, but backed off.
“Why is it that everywhere we go, you’re all there waiting?” Ike asked, striding a few paces in front of us. A low wind whistled through the ravine, adding to the tension of the moment.
There was a scuffle within the enemy ranks, and suddenly a goblin was pushed out in front of the others. Unlike the Warg Knights I’d encountered before, this one was dressed in shiny links of stately chainmail that spoke more of sumptuous banquets and parades than actual combat. A blade at his side glowered with dark cloudlike aura, but his body sagged in a way that told me he was not a military threat.
“Bow before the great lordling Nollan of Locke, son of Brentar, and holder of the fabled Meske. Surrender yourselves or be destroyed.”
It was impressive, watching the scene play out with the knowledge of my world. It essentially made me into a metagamer. His words were threatening, and I could feel an aura of intimidation exude from him. Yet I knew that he was not a threat, nor was his horde now that they were arrayed in front of us rather than in ambush.
Jeldorain’s soul nodded beside me. It is that blade he carries, as well as some other attributes I cannot ascertain. But it is the yapping of an insignificant. We should crush him.
Ike, however, blanched and stepped back. I regarded my companions. Kevinar and Brandosyeus were equally skittish, their bodies quaking slightly and ready to run.
Got any suggestions, I asked Jeldorain, my pain debuff fading out in the side of my sight.
He snickered. The blessings of Thrymheimr are many, great champion. Blast them with the holy might of his frost.
Ike stuttered something, but I charged forward, calling upon The Blessing of the Winter Gale. Unholy frost and wind ripped through the orcish ranks, obscuring them in a cloud of subzero arctic. Inside of me, Jeldorain howled like a wolf, eagerly pushing me forward.
I stepped back, instead, wary of becoming surrounded once more. Wounded and horrified cries sounded from the dissipating swirl of icy death, and a full two scores of enemy were revealed to be dead when it lifted.
Including the goblin.
“That son of Thrynheimr bewitched us!” Ike yelled angrily as the effects of the magic left him. I cast an amused look in his direction, and he put his hands up in supplication. “Son of Thrynheimr’s dog,” he amended.
Beyond the bodies we could see the retreating forms of a hundred or more orcs fleeing. We watched as they made their way back the way we’d come from.
Battle Completed. Party experience Gained: 2500XP
“Orcs working for goblins is a troubling development,” Kevinar mused, his brow furrowing above his shaded goggles. “Normal for the cities, but not for the free tribes. Something big has happened. Something tremendously bad.”
“What does this mean for the camp?” Brandosyeus asked, his voice tired and worn.
Ike growled. “Nothing good. Everyone, drink your potions, get your health, exertion and mana back, and be ready for the worst. We’re going to loot this mess here then force march to the Shadowed Vanguard camp, and I’m hoping I’m wrong, but I’m guessing they’re all dead now, and we’re running ourselves into a trap.”