The bard stared at me. “You can’t be serious? You can’t really expect the two of us to take on twenty players by ourselves!”
“I said at least twenty. There may be more,” I murmured. “And it’s better if I did this alone.”
“Saya was right, you are crazy,” Shael muttered under his breath. In a louder voice, he added, “I’m not letting you do this on your own.”
I shook my head. “I’m serious. It’s better if you stick this one out. I’m no stranger to this sort of fight.”
“I can help,” he insisted stubbornly.
I ran my gaze over the bard. He wasn’t in newbie clothes anymore, but he lacked both armor and weapons. “How?”
Shael shifted. “Well…”
“Can you sneak?”
He shook his head. “I can’t, but I have Shadow magic.”
That sounded promising at least. “What rank is your skill at?”
“Tier three,” he replied.
I grunted. “Not bad. What else?”
“I have deception, thieving, and even some fire and life magic—all at tier two. It’s music, though, that’s my strongest asset.” His fingers twitched as if searching for something. “But I’m ashamed to say that I’ve lost my flute. Without it…”
I pursed my lips. “And you still want to help?”
He nodded firmly. “Yes.”
I sighed. “Tell me about your abilities.”
The bard straightened. “Then, you’ll let me help?” he asked hopefully.
“We’ll see,” I replied noncommittally. “But go on, describe your abilities and leave nothing out. I need a detailed breakdown.”
“That’s fair,” Shael acknowledged. He breathed in deeply. “Alright. For starters, there’s guile, which you already know about. It’s a deception ability which…”
✵ ✵ ✵
It turned out that Shael’s Class—red minstrel—was an unusual one. It was a thief-caster hybrid, but with one important distinction. Nearly all of Shael’s magic—both offensive and defensive—had to be cast through his flute.
Meaning that without his instrument Shael was effectively powerless.
Minstrels, it seemed, were prevented from adopting any psi skills and nearly all physical skills. The bard couldn’t even use a wand, nor acquire a simple weapon skill, like daggers, or a basic defensive one, like light armor. All of which, in Shael’s own words from long ago, made the half-elf ‘not particularly combat-efficient.’
On a positive note, most of Shael’s abilities were of the rare and exotic variety. And he did have dodge. And he could use my old trapper’s armband.
“Alright,” I said, when Shael was done. “I think we can make a half-decent support caster out of you—” I paused—“after you’ve regained your instrument.”
Shael nodded vigorously. “I agree, which is why our best recourse is to retreat and find a merchant. We wouldn’t even need to visit the emporium, any old merchant from the knights’ citadel will do.”
I shook my head. “If we leave the area, we’ll give our would-be ambushers a chance to reposition.”
“You don’t even know if they saw us,” Shael pointed out.
“I don’t,” I conceded. “But I also don’t want to risk that they might have. And besides, like I said, I can do this without you.”
Shael sighed. “Alright. Alright. I’ll just sit here and watch then.”
I eyed him speculatively. “Well, there is one role you could fulfill, if you really wanted to. It will make things easier.”
The half-elf perked up. “What’s that?”
I grinned. “Bait.”
✵ ✵ ✵
You have lost a veteran’s trapper’s wristband.
You have cast mimic, transforming your visage into that of Henry, a level 132 human scout.
You have cast enhanced reflexes, load controller, vanish, and trigger-cast quick mend.
A short while later, we were ready.
I had used the intervening time to cast my buffs and change my face. While doing so wasn’t strictly necessary, I didn’t want anyone attempting to trace Actus’ movements—however hard that would be.
Shael, meanwhile, had repositioned and trapped a derelict warehouse. If everything went according to plan, the building would serve as our killing ground.
Nestled in the shadow of a broken-down shop west of the yellow house, I watched the minstrel stroll closer. I’d already scouted the surroundings and was certain that it was only the yellow house that our ambushers occupied. Their true numbers, though, remained a mystery.
Whistling a meaningless, if cheerful, ditty, Shael passed me by. Blades at the ready, I waited to see what the enemy would do.
We were still some hundred yards distant from the yellow house—I wasn’t about to let my unarmed companion get any closer—but even so, striding down the middle of the street, Shael was in plain sight.
Unmissable, really.
But the ambushers did not react.
I cursed softly. Either the players in the yellow house bore Shael and I no ill-will—unlikely—or they really had spotted us earlier and smelled a trap.
Staying where I was, I watched Shael loop back to the abandoned warehouse. We’d planned for this eventuality, even if neither of us had truly believed it necessary.
The bard disappeared from view, and I rose to my feet. Shael would wait out the rest of the encounter in the trapped building. If things took a turn for the worse, I would retreat to him. But if they didn’t, my own mission would be simple.
Search and destroy.
Padding forward, I crept towards the yellow house. It was time for a closer look.
✵ ✵ ✵
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Fifty yards from my target, I paused. None of the twenty players I’d detected earlier had moved. Nor were they talking. Or if they were, their words were too soft to carry to even my wolf-sharpened senses.
Raising my left hand, I rubbed at the side of my head.
You have activated a sorcerer’s coif.
You have detected a hostile spell! The target is a tier 4 ward: proximity warning. This working will notify the caster in the event that a physical object crosses the spelled boundary.
Hmm. The ward’s presence was another sign that the players inside the yellow building were up to no good. They almost certainly had to be here for me or the loot. Or both.
How do I do this?
One option was tripping the alarm. Another was trying to circumvent the ward altogether. Doing so wouldn’t be hard either. The spell only stretched nine yards in height. With windborne, I could easily evade the ward and reach the second floor of the yellow house.
That, though, would put me in the enemy’s midst without a full understanding of their numbers or capabilities. The twenty players I could see were all between rank fifteen and nineteen—high leveled enough to pose a real threat, especially if there were more of them than I anticipated.
I’ll trip the spell, I decided. Shael had failed to draw the players out, but perhaps breaking the ward would do the trick.
Picking up a loose stone, I flung it directly into the ward.
You have triggered a proximity warning!
Tense and crouched, I waited.
But no response was forthcoming, not even after a full minute. Frowning, I released the hilt of my blades. The Adjudicator’s message made clear that the alarm had sounded, even if there had been no audible indication of such.
Those inside had to know I was close, yet they were choosing to remain where they were. Why? Either to draw me in. Or because they were too smart to fall for my ploy.
Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.
Marshaling my will, I sent strands of psi reaching into the mind of one of the twenty players.
You have charmed Hugo, a level 170 human priest.
Despite his level, Hugo’s mental defenses were not up to the task of repelling my casting, and he quickly fell under my spell. I could’ve attempted to charm more of the players in the yellow house, of course, but one minion or ten, it made no difference for what I had in mind.
Sending my consciousness into the priest, I spent a precious few seconds trying to gain a better sense of his position. Mindsight told me where Hugo was and who was nearby, but it did not tell me what lay around him. Nor, sadly, did the charm spell let me see through my minion’s eyes. “Stand,” I ordered.
A shadow crossed a window.
Hugo was pressed up against one of the second-floor windows, and before his bespelling had likely been staring directly in my direction, I judged. Listening intently, I waited.
A second passed.
Five more, then ten.
Finally, someone spoke.
“Hugo, you fool! What’s wrong with you? Sit down and answer Sintar on the farspeaker link.”
My eyes narrowed. Farspeaker bracelets would explain the players’ silence, but the artifacts were not cheap and meant the enemy was well-equipped.
“Hugo!” the unknown speaker barked again. “I said get down! The marks will see you!”
Hugo, of course, did not do as ordered.
“God damnit, Hugo!” someone else hissed.
For a moment I contemplated letting the priest do as his fellows wished, but only for a moment. Instead, I shouted, “Jump!”
Obedient to my will, Hugo flung himself against the glass pane he had so recently been looking out of and threw himself out of the second floor.
You have taken hostile action against your minion and have lost control of him!
The hapless priest landed in a tangle of limbs. The fall was far from fatal, though, and a second later, he rose to his feet, dazed and angry. A face peered out of the broken window, and Hugo’s head jerked upward—perhaps in response to a telepathic query.
I gave him no chance to inform his companions about what had happened, though.
You have cast slaysight.
You have successfully terrified Hugo.
Dread suffused the priest’s face as my spell took hold, and ignoring the cries of his fellows, he bolted heedlessly south, in the direction of the saltmarsh.
Smiling, I rose into a half–crouch and followed after.
✵ ✵ ✵
Hugo is no longer terrified.
I caught up with the hapless priest not long after he became mired in the swamp. I didn’t go to his rescue immediately though. Letting Hugo flail helplessly, I watched our rear.
But no pursuit followed.
Which was not altogether surprising given the enemy’s seeming determination to stay entrenched in the yellow house. Shrugging, I strode toward Hugo. It was time to get some answers.
Too caught up in his struggles to free himself, the priest didn’t notice my approach. Not that he would’ve, anyway. My stealth was too good. Catching hold of Hugo by the scruff of the neck, I tugged hard, pulling him off balance.
The priest fell flat on his back. “Wha—?”
Hugo’s outraged scream was cut short as my blood came alive.
You have cast enslave.
In a manner reminiscent of a casting performed by my void armor, spell weaves rippled into being. Yet this time the spell was not being recreated from stolen knowledge but rather long dormant memories.
Memories residing within me.
Memories whose echoes reverberated across my spirit, blurring the lines between me and my distant forbearers.
Memories that tasted of Wolf.
It was my first blood casting, and through it, I felt a spirit-deep connection to the Primes that came before—to Atiras, to Zumen, and to…
Ole?
Or was that Ordor?
But the name of the distant Prime in question escaped me as my connection to the past snapped and my blood spell took shape.
You have successfully dominated Hugo, a level 170 human priest. Duration: permanent until death.
Hugo is now tied to by bonds of blood that are unbreakable as long as he lives. As your creature, Hugo is compelled to obey your every command, no matter how unreasonable or onerous. While under your spell, Hugo’s ties with all other entities have been disabled, and you will not be able to command them through him. On death—yours or Hugo’s—the blood ties between you and him will be severed, restoring his autonomy and wiping his mind of all memories of his time under your spell.
Enslave is not a telepathic spell, however. No weave of psi has been laid upon Hugo to bespell his thoughts. Instead, you have imposed your will on him through ties of blood. As such, Hugo retains full control of his mental faculties, and for all purposes, including dungeoneering, will be accounted a full-fledged player.
Note, too, that if an enslaved player enters a safe zone, they will be automatically freed.
As the spell completed, a wave of dizziness passed over me, and I almost fell atop the prone priest. Catching myself, I staggered back and let my gaze drift downward to my new… minion.
But calling him that was wrong.
He was more than that, but less too. The priest still lay flat on his back in the mud. Beyond that, though, I could tell nearly nothing of his condition. Unlike when I employed charm, no mental connection had formed between me and Hugo.
He was under my influence, I knew that much. The Game’s report made that much clear. Still, to be certain, I analyzed him again.
The target is Hugo, a level 170 human priest. His health is at 73%, and he is currently suffering under the dominated debuff.
I rubbed my chin, admittedly surprised by the manner in which the blood spell had manifested. I could sense no connection—of any sort—between me and the priest. On the one hand that would make relaying commands to him problematic, but on the other, it meant my influence over Hugo would be more difficult for others to sense.
After all, it would take a successful tier five analyze to reveal the priest’s dominated state. And even amongst elites, such an ability would be rare.
Of course, it did also make me wonder how blood puppet would work on a non-sentient creature. How would I, or Nyra for that matter, be able to command them?
Hugo’s eyes opened, cutting short my ruminations. “What happened?” he asked, staring straight at me.
“You’ve been enslaved,” I replied as I helped him up.
The priest’s eyes narrowed. “By you? Is that why I can’t attack you?”
I lifted one eyebrow. “You’ve tried?”
He nodded.
“Well, don’t bother trying again,” I ordered calmly. “The spell will stop you from doing me any harm.” After a second’s thought, I added, “You will not tell anyone what has befallen you nor warn your companions either.”
Hugo’s brows furrowed.
“You can hear them?” I guessed.
He nodded reluctantly. “They’re shouting at me over the farspeaker link, demanding to know what’s happened.”
“Don’t answer,” I instructed.
He shook his head. “I can’t now that you’ve ordered me not to.” He frowned again. “What spell did you use on me? I’ve never heard of any that works like this.”
“That’s unimportant,” I said, waving aside his question.
Hugo’s frown deepened. “Who are you? And why have you done this to me?”
“Also unimportant.” Swinging back around, I headed out of the saltmarsh. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Hugo asked, scrambling to obey.
“Somewhere we can continue this conversation in more privacy.”