I didn’t know what to make of what had happened after my not-orc lover woke up. He had been so peaceful, vulnerable, and dare I say, delicious in appearance beyond how my kind normally see the other races, despite how he remains rather puny. The way he effortlessly overpowered me and stood upright upon his awakening, the whole maneuver of wrestling his way out of my grip seemingly a mere afterthought, served to disabuse me of any notion that I would find myself superior to him in a contest of strength. So small, yet so strong and capable of violence; I felt my heart beat all the faster at the thought of him ravaging me to his delight.
Yet we were on the job, so our dalliance would have to wait for a more appropriate time. Well, appropriate for non-orcs, as the battlefield can serve as well as the inner chambers of a brothel for those with skin more green than not, at least if rumors were to be believed about other greenskin races. The line between violence on the battlefield and foreplay gets rather blurry for orcs, but since he is not currently in an orcish form, he may not be in the mood.
He thanked me for my efforts to protect him while he tended to the ogre, but somehow I doubted he needed me with a monster like Skull around. The speed with which she had dashed across the distance from where we entered the dungeon and towards the ogre with the boulder was beyond what I have ever seen before. She deftly cut both hands off the ogre, and with the boulder no longer supported, it fell down and crushed him, his head bursting like an overripe melon when he hit the ground. The other ogres were dispatched in what I can only describe as child's play. If anything, the woman appeared bored, but with her helmet on, I could not ascertain any more truth to that beyond her body language. Humbled by her prowess, I remained thankful she was on my side.
Introductions were made, and my lover and our rescued ogre casually walked along as they chatted about current events and the world at large, the pair of them getting along amicably with all the comradery of lifelong friends, despite this being their first meeting as far as I am aware. How would a dungeon-bound person have been able to leave to make friends on the outside? Yet, I could feel a spark between the ogre and I, as if I too had known him my whole life. Was this a Skill on his part, or did some deeper secret lurk inside this mystery?
I had expected the ogres of this dungeon to pose a threat, and perhaps if I had led my own men and women under my command in here, I would have been hard-pressed to conquer this place. Yet, Skull dispatched one brute after another, sparing none for Alterez or myself, not that the goblin showed much interest in testing his mettle. By the time we arrived at the chieftain’s hut, all the ogres were dead, with Skull having culled the lot of them before the rest of us arrived.
Bellwright, the gnome whom I recognized for how he had given me and many others rides on his various summoned vessels during our migrations, likewise remained relaxed. What purpose the two stunties served on our little expedition, I knew not, but I could feel a bond between all of us. It was no more than a spark, but certainly real, and I wondered if the dungeon was the cause. I had never entered a dungeon before, so I knew not the answer, but it merited further investigation.
We set up a little camp in front of the chieftain’s hut as we waited for sundown. Stories were told by everyone as we got to understand one another and get an explanation. Apparently, Nabonidus, an [Oracle] of all things, the lucky duck, had figured out a way to slip the bounds of the dungeon, and he needed our help to do it. Each dungeon’s party of Adventurer’s was to destroy the chieftain’s fire at the same time, and then destroy the malevolent spirit of fire that was summoned forth from it. He had somehow deduced, most likely through his probing of the future, that such an outcome would result in a special Raid becoming available, one that would allow us to destroy the dungeon for good and free him permanently. We took him at his word that considering him part of our party would give him temporary leave of the dungeon, which is why we entered with only four “people”, if I could believe that Skull counted as a “pet”.
I almost missed the action as the sun slipped past the horizon, for it was over in but a handful of seconds. One moment Skull stood next to the fire, the next she was slashing at the spirit that materialized from its doused flames when Bellwright and Alterez extinguished the fire. No monologue, no waiting for it to finish manifesting, just cutting it down with her blade imbued with the power of a god. Within the same minute of its defeat, the camp was packed up and we walked out of the village proper. It all looked a little eerie, for the corpses that had been there before had disappeared, with not even a bloodstain to denote the violence that had occurred here.
“So, I get why Alterez was brought along,” started Bellwright as we exited the village. “You just wanted to sample his cooking. But why am I here?” he asked Nabonidus as we made our way down the short hill to the relatively flat scrublands around the village.
“Oh, that question has a simple answer, my little friend. I didn’t want to have to walk to the exit, so if you wouldn’t mind summoning up one of those fantastic rides of yours that I have only ever witnessed in my visions, all of us would be eternally grateful.” The ogre gave his best beaming smile at the gnome who was probably one-tenth his weight, complete with hands grasped together in supplication.
“Is that all I am to all of you, a glorified rickshaw driver?” he asked with exaggerated incredibility.
Blank stares all around answered his question as a light breeze pushed a tumbleweed past us. It felt too coincidental to not be someone working a Skill for dramatic effect.
“You could also fit through pipes or into crawl spaces for us,” Skull offered in her best attempt at diplomacy.
“You are the best rickshaw driver we have ever seen, one whose glory and prestige will resound through the ages,” the Emperor added almost immediately.
“You drive, I cook, that’s how the world works,” Alterez contributed as if it were the inescapable truth.
The gnome looked at me with pleading eyes in a silent petition that I say something to his defense.
“You could serve as emergency rations if we get desperate,” I tried with as much uncertainty in my voice as I could muster.
Laughter from the group and curses from the aggrieved gnome followed, but after a bit of grumbling, he conjured up his flying vessel that he had used many times now. Nabonidus thought himself clever as he ‘oohed’ and ‘awed’ as he examined the conjured craft, complimenting Bellwright at the wondrous and glorified “rickshaw” before us. Plenty of orcs are dumb, and plenty more play dumb to try to get out of things, so I know a bullshitter when I see one. Nabonidus played the role of the ignorant savage and stroked the gnome’s ego with gratuitous amounts of praise in order to ingratiate himself with his transporter both present and future. He even slipped me a wink when Bellwright waxed on about all the features of the ride, to which Nabonidus bobbed his head in approval and offered platitudes of appreciation. The sly devil cares not for appearances, only for results, and I made a note to keep an eye on him in the future lest he try to use one of his tricks on me.
With Bellwright sufficiently praised and offered ample opportunity to flaunt his knowledge, we finally boarded and departed. Honestly, it may have been faster to walk after all that exposition, but I suspect that building relationships was the true goal all along for Nabonidus. We were the first group to leave the dungeon, but not by much. Within five minutes, other groups started to trickle out, with the last group having arrived an hour after ours.
I don’t know if I expected a rousing speech or a celebration, but no sooner had we assembled than we organized ourselves into a cohesive army. We were in four groups of 24, with each group having a leader standing up front. I thought we would be entering the Raid in groups of 25, but as we marched forward as one, I found that we had entered the dungeon for 100 people. I know this because of the greeting that sounded in my mind.
[Now Entering “Test Ogre Village Please Ignore”. Current difficulty set to “100-Man Raid”]
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I have no experience with dungeons other than what we had just left, much less Raids. I don’t know what the strategy is supposed to be normally, but to say we “cheesed” it, as the Emperor put it, remained an understatement.
He and Nanu transformed into dragons right away. I had never been so close to him before when he was in his true form, and the sight of him was simply breathtaking. We orcs delight in things that are “bitey” in nature, for a critter that tries to murder you makes for a good pet, but a dragon exists on a scale far beyond what even orcs would dare to attempt domesticating. If Death itself had designed the perfect murder machine, a dragon was it. The Emperor, though still small for what he would be someday, exemplified that concept far beyond his kin. A wave of fear washed through those of us who, like me, had not seen him this close before, and quietly, I whispered a short prayer of gratitude to the gods that the dragons were my allies.
The pair of them quickly departed for the village as the rest of us hustled over in formation, our pace slowed because the hydra lagged behind. Itself another example of peak performance in murder, overland speed was not part of the prowess in its design. By the time we arrived, a fort had been assembled from the strange black stone the Emperor called “obsidicrete” and “obsidisteel”, which seemed to be magical obsidian.
We each took our places within the fort and the tall tower within its bounds. The dragons flew off, and in their wake, a wall followed, made of the same stone. At least 30 feet high, it remained outside the means of even the tallest of ogres to scale if one stood upon the shoulders of another, not that we expected the brutes to be so coordinated in any efforts to escape their confinement.
Two hours later, the only way out of the ogre village was via a path between two parallel walls that led directly to our fortress. Towers along the way created a kill zone, and even the hardiest of ogres would find it challenging to run the gauntlet. If any did survive, they would have to deal with a hydra that appeared all too eager to see what these ogres tasted like.
Strangely, not a single ogre had poked its head out to see what we were up to. Perhaps they were too dumb to post guards at night and all were asleep, blissfully unaware of how they had been boxed in. Either way, they could scarcely be prepared for the onslaught that would be coming for them as midnight approached. With two of the six moons providing illumination, this night battle would not be in complete darkness, not that such conditions would bother half the races or Blessings out there.
About a quarter of us were positioned along the perimeter of the investment to pick off any ogres that tried to find a way under or over. Another group of [Artillery Mages] manned the towers, ready to rain down hellfire upon the ogre village in the distance. Other [Mages] of various shapes and sizes erected protective shields, empowered us with various boons, or warped the terrain into a nightmare of mud and vines. Bellwright seemed to be in charge of that lot, while I commanded the more martially-minded individuals. I suspect any one of those under my command could have kicked my ass in a fight, but I possessed the best leadership experience for large engagements and sieges, so this ragtag assembly of Adventurers deigned to listen to me.
The Emperor, when he returned, appeared tired, muttering something about “inefficient mana expenditure for expedited construction”, so I guess he expected the rest of us to hold the fort while he rested. Skull and Nanu remained at his side, each of them serving as our heavy-hitters in the reserves should we need them.
Then, when the signal was given, the [Artillery Mages] opened fire with all manner of nasty spells, most of which were of some fire or meteor variety. Many seconds later, flashes of light illuminated the distant village, followed shortly by the booming echoes of the reports that had launched those same spells earlier. I can only imagine that chaos ensued, but after a full five minutes, ogres finally started to pour out of the village in the only direction available to them, which is to say, straight down the gauntlet to us.
Normal ogres, like Nabonidus, stood around 8 feet tall, but these bastards were 10 to 12 feet tall. Each was still built like those hulking wrestlers that try to throw one another out of the ring; just walking blobs of thick fat over steely muscle and no brains. However, these ogres sported “armor” of sorts, if I am being generous. Well, some of it was actual armor, with breastplates being worn as pauldrons, shin guards, and just generally attached via rope or leather to their bodies. I can only imagine the previous owners parted with those breastplates under dire circumstances. Some wore cooking pots for helmets, one had a great big gong strapped to his chest, and generally all manner of cobbled together bits and bobs from the spoils of their raids had been converted to arms and armor.
A tide of anger, stupidity, and the foul stench of unwashed bodies stormed our way, each one bellowing a promise of violence and a desire to feast upon our flesh. Dozens fell within seconds of entering the kill box, with dozens more ready to trample over the bodies of the fallen with their ravenous hatred spurring them onwards. Hardy bastards, many magical attacks that would instantly kill lesser men just buffeted them around, their capacity for violence no worse for wear and their physical appearance at times improved, such was their hideous nature. Yet, as they approached closer, the mid-range fighters unleashed their attacks, and the progress of the ogres slowed.
I would come to learn after that battle that, as a general rule, monsters and other denizens within a dungeon have limited awareness of their surroundings and a minimal social sense of community. Ergo, one can be murdering things within one room, and as long as one keeps the ruckus to a dull roar, other enemies will not be bothered to investigate. As such, a smart group can systematically dispatch enemies in smaller and more manageable chunks. Our artillery barrage of spells had effectively pissed off every single ogre at once, and generally speaking, that was a suicidal move from a strategic standpoint. However, it seemed to be working, for the ogres got in each other’s way and made for unavoidable targets for even the worst shots among us.
Despite the losses, they just kept coming. Hundreds of them, perhaps even a thousand, ran screaming into the fray, each oblivious or uncaring of the danger as they recklessly and inexorably inched their way towards us. And the sad thing is, despite how grossly outmatched a bunch of brutes were compared to ranged attackers behind fortifications, the ogres did manage to make it to us. And by us, I mean of course, the hydra.
Breath attacks of blazing fire, high-pressure water, decrepifying poison, and thunderous lightning crashed into the rushing horde. By my count, one head did not unleash its fury, so maybe the fact that we fought a night battle contributed to that discrepancy or it held its attack in reserve. Either way, what ogres that had made it to us had perished, yet more rushed in. At this point, it remained dubious that the village could even hold this many ogres, so something must be spawning them continuously. I trusted that others were well aware of this fact and were assigned to resolve this issue before we were exhausted and overrun.
The novelty of the Raid wore off within half an hour. After the first hour of fighting, the ogres offered their surrender, yet the artillery never stopped. After the second hour, we detected no more signs of life, yet the artillery never stopped. After the third hour, the dungeon provided us with a message that the Raid had been cleared, yet the artillery never stopped.
By sunrise, our [Artillery Mages] and their [Battery] assistants were exhausted, and only then did we cease firing. Those of us holding the line had grown bored hours ago, but I maintained vigilance and discipline among the ranks lest those who dared to relax be the doom of us all. We expected some great spirit of fire to come attack us at the end, but if it existed, it never showed up. We waited an hour for the smoke to clear, and another half hour for reconnaissance teams to report back that the village had been obliterated. We rested for half, with Alterez, gods bless him, cooking up hearty meals for all of us.
Reasonably rested and well-fed, we grouped up and advanced slowly, the tension mounting as we each suspected that some trap lay in wait for us. Sweat ran down the full length of my spine as I advanced my formation forward, all eyes and ears alert for any sign of danger, yet all that greeted us was ash and ruin. We moved through the village, or the smoldering remains of one, without encountering any resistance, until we arrived at the remains of what had once been the chieftain’s hut.
There, an exhausted Nabonidus lumbered forward and pointed at a spot on the ground, where the Emperor dug a hole and excavated a glowing orb that oozed malevolent fury at our audacious trespasses upon its domain. With a nod from Nabonidus, the Emperor crushed the red orb in his hands, and an otherworldly wail of hatred and despair sounded out in contempt before silencing completely.
[Dungeon notification for “Test Ogre Village Please Ignore” - “100-Man Raid”. Dungeon core has been destroyed. This dungeon will self-destruct in “4” minutes.”]
The voice had sounded monotone, as if it had been a canned phrase used by a sales clerk thousands of times until it lost meaning, with the exception of the dungeon name, the Raid size, and the time until destruction seemingly sounding more enthusiastic in nature. Either way, I had no time to ponder that, for a retreat was sounded immediately. Bodies piled onto two dragons and various summoned mounts as we hightailed it out of there. I don’t know for sure what happens during the “self-destruct” of a dungeon, but everyone appeared to be of the same mind that it would not behoove us to stick around and find out.
Either we made it out in time or the destruction of the dungeon did not impact us. Regardless, the forward operating base suddenly came into view as if it popped up right in front of us. There was no explosion in the direction of the dungeon, just a sense of… negative pressure, as if something powerful and oppressive had withered away into nothingness. The dungeon was gone, and construction on the road could continue south.