Seamus woke up about a minute after they left the tree. He shook and twitched and started cursing until Mason set him down.

"What bloody happened, eh?" He turned and glared at Phuong. "Don't you think I'm not onto you, you slanty eyed bastard. It told me I was bloody stunned. I should..."

"Shut up before he kills you, Seamus," said Mason non-chalantly, Phuong yawning behind him. "Your life is mine for a year, after that you're free to be careless. Now where's that friend of yours?"

"I'm here." The big man stepped out from behind the great tree. "What's the damned idjit done now?" His dark eyes inspected the players, then narrowed. "Where's Mai?"

Seamus was slowly backing away now, as if to get behind Mason for protection.

"Sorry," Mason shook his head. "She didn't make it."

The big man's eyes widened, moved to Seamus, and without another word, he charged. "You stupid God damn fool, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"

Mason caught the tree-trunk arms, and found himself yet again stopping someone from killing the Irishman. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth the trouble.

"It's not his fault," he said, holding the man's wrists fast. "He fucked up in there, but it had nothing to do with Mai. We all did our best for her, but the dungeon...it just..." he shrugged. "There wasn't anything we could do."

After a few long seconds of struggle, the taller man relaxed, and Mason let him go.

"She saved my life," he said, slumping to the ground. "And I never repaid the favor. Now I never will."

"That's horseshit, Mac," said Seamus. "We'd neither of us be here without you. She wasn't some flower, she was a warrior like you and me. And she went down fighting."

Mac glared at the man but didn't have anything to say to that, looking at the dirt with sullen eyes. "Was it worth it?" he said finally. "You're stupid quest, and this stupid tree?"

"Aye," Seamus grinned, holding out his hands. A kind of metal staff appeared out of nothing with a burst of flame, growing out of Seamus' fingers. He tried to twirl it. And dropped it.

"Shite. But yeah I finished my quest, got this beaut of a thing. I think it enhances pretty much every..."

Mac was on his feet again, spitting mad and swearing at the Irishman about Mai being dead and 'all for your stupid fucking stick?' and similar sentiment as Mason held him back.

"Gentlemen, I really don't have time for this," he eventually interrupted. "Mac, is it? We have a settlement to the West. Lots of players, civilians, houses and walls. You're welcome to join us. You never have to talk to Seamus again, if you don't want. But we need to leave."

The big Scotsman stopped fighting and took a deep breath. "Sorry, nothing personal. And it's John. McGregor. But he's a prick Irishman and I'm big so he calls me..."

"I get it. John it is. Well we're going to..." Mason stopped and turned, looking back in the direction of the orc fortress and Sanctuary beyond. He exchanged a look with Phuong, who grinned, and Alex, who...well as usual made no expression at all. But at least now he had some pretty flowers around his neck.

"If you're all up for it. We're going to go take over that town."

* * *

The men, as it turned out, were up for it. Seamus more or less bounced around the group, incompetently swinging and spinning his staff, asking what amazing rewards they'd get for taking a settlement.

"Probably nothing," Mason said honestly. "But I'd feel a lot better killing any orc inside every time we passed by."

"Aye, we've tangled with orcs before," said Mac, er John. "Tough fellows. Especially in numbers."

Mason nodded, but Seamus rolled his eyes. "Ain't nothing. Just watch as old Seamus starts shooting flames, the cowardly bastards run like their Momma's callin’."

That was likely true enough, and a large part of why Mason wanted the annoying man alive. If it helped him save Blake somehow, he could tolerate a great deal.

They went to the fortress first, Mason checking the gates again just to be sure.

[Error. Please try again in 24 hours.]

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He took a moment to hold back his frustration and anger, appreciating Phuong's hand on his shoulder.

"It means he's still alive, Patron. He's clever, he'll find a way out."

Mason nodded, knowing it was true.

"Christ Jesus look at this place," Seamus whistled inspecting the towers. "Should we try another dungeon? We're here, right? Just imagine what kind of rewards must be in a place like this. We've got the muscle, a crack team, no problem! Just leave that wolf to do whatever, and we'll bring in Mac here."

It wasn't great timing. Mason grabbed the Irishman by his collar and slammed him hard enough against the wall to knock out some breath.

"I'm starting to dislike you. Your friend just died, so why don't you at least pretend to give a shit for another minute. And the wolf is Streak, the man is John. I'm also starting to think you don't realize I own you."

He put a hand to the man's neck and squeezed just hard enough Seamus' eyes showed actual fear.

"If we're going to go into a dungeon, I'll tell you. If we're going to go for a nice picnic lunch, I'll tell you. Until then, you're going to treat everyone you meet with respect. Then maybe you get to be a person with dignity and not my whipping boy. Got it?"

Seamus made a sound that seemed close enough, and Mason dropped him to cough and sputter on the ground. It was pretty clear John enjoyed the experience, and though Mason winced at going a bit too far, he couldn't say he felt too bad about it.

There was still no obvious sign the orcs had come out since the attack outside the tower, but Mason took a few minutes to look around. In fact it seemed they'd cleaned the whole place up, removing all their dead and fallen equipment just as any human military would. He looked back at the dungeon, feeling vaguely desperate to know exactly what the hell was happening in there.

Sooner or later, Blake would dreamwalk and tell him. But he needed to actually sleep.

"OK," he thought, looking at Sanctuary. "Let's go clear it. Then we go home."

* * *

Nekosh, newly made Chief of the Blacktusk clan, finished a second helping of his mid-day meal, and took a minute to appreciate his good fortune.

"Should I bring more from storage, husband?" asked his new, young bride, eyes lowered in respect and fear.

It was close to gluttony at this point, but Nekosh pat his growing belly with a shrug. "Why not. Then ready yourself. If I don't sleep, I'll want you today."

"Y-yes, husband." The little Stoneblood female went off to fetch his food, and Nekosh let out a long, satisfied smile. "Thank you, Graak," he said, looking out the window of the chief's hall. When he'd agreed to join the raid on the human settlement, never in his wildest imagination had he imagined gaining a chiefdom outside the towers.

But the unfortunate raid leader had died in battle, leaving Nekosh in command. The grey tower had nearly locked down in some kind of fresh civil war. And none of the lords, it seemed, had the attention or interest to appoint anyone else or fight over the settlement. So the very common born son of a grunt, with no ambition beyond raiding, had kept his position by default.

In the past week he'd accepted the fealty of dozens of new warriors, taken two brides, and begun to modify the settlement to suit him. He'd seen not a single sign of the cowardly humans, nor any other creature that could hope to dislodge him. So now he ate what he wished, and rutted when he wished, and soon his new tribe would be fat and healthy and full of his brood. Life, in other words, was very good.

Nekosh choked on his own spit as an alarm blared in his mind. The settlement warned of danger at the walls on at least two sides. He smashed the table as he rose up, grunting and striding through the door as he yelled.

"We're under attack! Get to the walls! We're under..."

At least two humans stood at the top of the East wall. One was tossing down a tower guard in two pieces, a green sword in one hand, staring down at the settlement with predatory eyes.

Nekosh growled and used his patron power to send an alert to every warrior in the settlement. Then he lifted his axe leaning against the hall, and charged out to meet his enemy.

The East gate, it seemed, was being opened. Nekosh growled and shouted at the defenders there, but realized they were already dead. The gate cracked open, and the biggest wolf he had ever seen came running through.

"Chief!" His captain and bulk of his warriors ran out from the mess hall, armed but not in armor.

"About time," Nekosh barked, gesturing at the enemy. "There's only two of them. And the wolf. Where's Videk and his scouts?"

"Here, Chief," the dangerous archer stepped from gods knew where and raised his bow. "Who is my target?"

"The wolf, obviously!" Nekosh hissed, and his scout drew and loosed.

The arrow struck just as the wolf had leapt on a hapless, shouting guard at the wall. It stuck into the creature's flank, drawing out a low growl as the creature looked up and glared.

"You missed the heart. Keep shooting it!" Nekosh commanded. "And the rest of you, form a line and start moving."

Three more humans came through the gate. Videk's arrows started bouncing off some magical defence, then one of the human's literally lit on fire and started shooting flames.

Nekosh's bowels sloshed with ice. The gate guards were all slaughtered in moments, his line of warriors still standing there, clearly too afraid to attack. The big human and the green-eyed swordsman were coming forward as if without a care in the world, the huge wolf behind them.

"You can all surrender, if you like. Except that one." The swordsman gestured at Videk. "Go ahead, Streak."

The wolf growled and charged, leaping on the scout and easily throwing him to the ground before chewing and thrashing him with monstrous strength.

“Oh! But don’t break his…” The man started until they all heard the sound of the scout’s bow snap beneath the wolf. The human sighed. "Is this all of you?" he said over the sounds of the chewing, looking around the settlement with almost glowing green eyes.

Nekosh found himself lost for words. His warriors had clearly decided it was hopeless, standing frozen with only the barest pretense of being ready to fight. Then they dropped their weapons, and even the illusion was gone.

"Yes." Nekosh said miserably, feeling himself deflate. How quickly fortunes could change.

To the orcs of the towers, surrender meant slavery. He would be taken to some god-forsaken human settlement and worked and starved until his death, mocked and whipped like a pig. He lifted his axe, and felt warmth move through his body as the decision was made.

"But unlike these cowards," he spit. "I am not afraid to die."

He roared and charged at his enemy, axe held high for a brutal swing as he raced for the swordsman.

The big man beside him stepped forwards first, huge fist crackling with a strange sound as it struck him without touching him.

Nekosh blinked as the world shifted, and he found himself looking up at the sky. As his vision darkened, all he could think was: what just happened?