When I awoke, I expected just a few familiar faces. I had been knocked out before, gone asleep from exertion, and my squad was there to awaken me each time. The eyes that wished me good morning or night were the last I wanted to see.
Jude's eyes peered down like a hawk as Astra stood to her side like the puppy dog she was. My squad surrounded them; the rest of the 40-man raid party covered them. The whole damn place was packed, waiting for me to open my eyes. Talk about an awkward awakening.
"I take it we've started the delve."
I said in an attempt to break the anxious dread that filled my bones, the same feeling that would rather have me die than awaken to this scenario.
"You went ahead and cleared the first act. But before we continue. I want to hear it from your lips. What happened?"
Her eyes glued on mine did not allow me to search my men's faces for answers. I didn't know what they said or how much they saw. So, I went with what was natural to me—I lied.
"Damn thing exploded. I got lucky, hit a spot, probably a hidden clear, and took it out with sheer luck."
Sheer luck, huh? Well, that's the only thing that makes any sense. Luck is the only thing that can trample reality, ain't it, boy?
I nodded wearily. This was no lie. The fatigue had begun to set in. My bones began to ache, and my muscles were ready to scream.
Before I could make the suggestion, Jude Chimed in.
"Secure the perimeter. Set up our first camp here. I need the scouting camp to go into that side cavern. The foragers need to pilfer the bodies and return with the drops while the main tanks traverse down the main hall into the next area to spot what lies ahead. Do not engage more than a handful of mobs; there are no packs to be hunted. Am I clear? And get this man a couple of pocket healers and the best tonics available. He's the reason we haven't lost anyone yet.
And where the hell is Paul!"
The Stoney commander from before was kneeling over the fallen golem, muttering some words to himself, words that I couldn't decipher but could get the general gist of. He didn't believe my lies—not one word of it.
I'm over here, commander.
His voice broke out as everyone else moved according to their orders. The hustle and bustle of life took over the moment and swept the awkward silence away.
Yes, yes, you are. Leave that corpse for the foragers; you must head off with the main tanks. Make sure no one pulls anything like this.
Her words were sharp at the end. The two assassins who had started this debacle were at her sides, heads down, hidden behind cloaks that masked their emotions. No doubt they wore the faces of bad dogs.
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They would undoubtedly be whipped like the loose dogs they had acted like running amok and triggering an event that should have whipped us…but hadn't. Stretching out my hand, I looked at it as if I was going to find something. It was as if my body had changed, transformed into being capable of the feats I had accomplished, but it was still the same, unchanged, if anything, just older than before.
Without any more words, I was led to a side tent where I was to be healed. A medicine tent with a good room meant I could lay in the hammock they had set up. At the same time, over me, two women with garbs of healers, red crosses on their fringed dresses, told of battle healers with experience in the frontlines, and golden crosses around their necks said of the Christian Gods they believed in. They began to hum with that dissipating green aura as they channeled their power into me. Slow, it burned in a rejuvenating sensation. The burning feeling was the healing, burning away the dead flesh and cells and replacing it with a new coat of skin.
This was beyond healing; they exceeded the common healing properties and restored me to a pristine condition. At the citadel, a process like this would require a pouch full of gold and the connections necessary to acquire master healers. Looking at the two women again, this time with an attention to detail, I found their faces odd. Two elven girls with hazel eyes, green speckled around their center. They looked young, far too young to be master healers. But, then again, eleven blood aged like wine. Old and slow, they wore the years well.
How Jude happens to not only two master healers but of elven blood is beyond me.
My words flew out like a river without a damn.
The older of the two, the one who wore her hair in a tight braid that ran the course of her back and kissed the start of her ass, answered.
How a man can solo a dungeon boss is beyond our realm's understanding.
I laughed- a brief boom- then responded.
If that were a solo boss, you'd be picking up my pieces and having no chance of putting them back together.
They looked at each other, still holding the concentrated faces of two healers who weaved one of the realm's most complicated incantations and smiled. Two beauties smiling over your words was something I had never thought I would live through. I had my fair share of attention in the past, but never to this magnitude or from a pair of stunning elves.
Red all over, I looked for words to wash away my flustered state. Like a kid given his first taste of the opposite sex's attention, I floundered around, stumbling for words on other words that I said, then immediately corrected. A babbling fool I must have looked, but still they smiled.
Like two gentle moons, they floated overhead, casting their radiating healing glow on me, the undeserving planet.
Without any more words, I laid back and closed my eyes. The darkness came, and my consciousness did as well. When I awoke, the tent was empty. Around me, I could hear the scattering of men walking to and from. Orders came out as the adrenaline could be smelled in the air.
Nothing beats the energy of a raid—the thick, purposeful atmosphere of forty men working towards a common goal, the way each piece and role played a part in the bigger picture. Each burning with the possibility of glory or gear. Either they prove themselves and earn a rank higher than they currently possess, or better yet, they prove themselves worthy of one of the upgrade drops, becoming someone greater overnight. Gear upgrades were scary and always would be because they are intertwined with man's natural inhibition toward greed. Many fights between best of friends and brothers in arms came from a lucky drop. One would think that a lucky drop should be cherished, something everyone can agree is a great event and excellent for the guild; on paper, it is. In actuality, it becomes a bickering brawl of who is more worthy, who deserves the upgrade, who deserves the glory.
One second, everything was normal; the raid was a success, and you held each other in the joy of victory; then the table of loot appeared, and there was something odd. At the top is a glowing item in text and color that isn't normal. Its text shimmers in a rainbow pattern and humms in the system with a power that shatters reality.
Congratulations, the system screams in its boisterous nature, accompanied by animated ribbons, bells, and confetti.
Reality hits as everyone realizes the sought-after one-in-ten-thousand runs piece has dropped. What was a simple farming run for materials and practice became a lottery. Then came the terrible realization: Who gets the drop?
Who deserves the drop?
Who wouldn't be mad if we skipped over them in line?
We know that X guildmate has seniority, but his skills have been faltering lately, and our new budding guildie is young, hungry, and full of potential. A drop like this could elevate him even further. The guild leaders would bite their nails, happy with the drop but also stressed out by the social decision that it presented.
Well, I said to myself as I got up from my hammock and stretched a long, deep, full-body motion. My bone cracked and popped in that cathartic way that comes from being wholly rejuvenated as if brought back to life.
That wouldn't be a problem here. The gear would no doubt go straight to Jude, and she would do what she deems fit. Everyone else expects gold and some glory, but not the ultimate reward, that which drives our realm and will continue to do so forever: gear.
My words fell on deaf ears as the tent was alone, and I was talking to myself again. Suddenly, as if an aspiration might appear, I turned around and stared at the space that gave off that shaking feeling, that ominous wind of change.
She isn't there, I mumbled as I grabbed the Reaper, which rested on a stand wrapped again in sacred linen, placed it over my shoulders, and walked out into the raid's opening.