Seamus groaned softly as he slowly came to, his vision blurred as he looked at his surroundings. He was currently on the move, fast footsteps crunching over the snow as the icy wind hit his exposed face. Seamus blinked, realizing that he was being carried. He looked up at his carrier, blinking as he saw the focused look of a young woman, her face dirtied and covered in specks of blood as she focused ahead. He tried to speak, but he had no strength to, his vision blurring again as he blacked out once more.
Seamus slowly regained vision again, his eyes blinking as he tried to get his bearings. He wasn’t being carried anymore. Instead, he was in what looked to be a bear’s den, lit up by small holes in the dirt ceiling, illuminating the den in a dim light. This strange place seemed to have some amenities, Seamus spotting what looked like a small clay pot of water in the corner. There was also a makeshift cot made up of fur nearby and what looked to be dirty blankets.
Seamus winced and rubbed his hurting head as he tried to remember everything that had transpired. He had been about to be struck by an orc’s flailing ax before that berserker woman unceremoniously killed the green-skinned brute, the visceral and bloody sight causing Seamus to pass out of pure shock.
‘Guess I’m still not so used to the sight… huh?’
Seamus frowned, remembering how he had to try his hardest not to puke his guts out in the clearing. The young man remembered what had happened the last time he passed out, back when he fought against those marauders.
"Oh gods,” Seamus muttered, his hand moving to where his sword lay beside him. He unsheathed it, sighing in relief at the reflection of his dirty, tired self. He had killed no one, it seemed, since his sword remained relatively blood-free, and there were no bodies scattered around him. Seamus blinked, realizing that he was gods know where on the island. He looked at his supposed savior, who had saved him after he had fainted.
The berserker woman, however, was nowhere to be seen, the den empty as he looked around.
‘Did she leave me to fend for myself? No… this seems to be where she lives… So, where did she go?’
The young man slowly stood up, examining the place that seemed to be this strange woman’s home. He came across a dirty-looking cot on the ground nearby, with blankets made of what looked like scraps of cloth and fur.
“Who the hel are you?” Seamus asked as his eyes spotted what looked to be a grayish object, slightly hidden inside the makeshift cot. He crouched, his hands gently picking up the object in question, which turned out to be a child’s stuffed doll resembling a bear. The bear looked as if someone had mauled it, with weathering and ripping from time and use. Seamus was about to investigate some more before the sound of footsteps grew near the open den, coming from behind the bushes that hid its entrance.
Seamus quickly placed the doll away, standing up as he turned to the entrance, seeing someone emerge from the snow-capped bushes. It was her. The same woman who had killed all those orcs back at the clearing. The same person who had also saved Seamus. Kidnapped him, sure, but saved him nonetheless. She wasn’t covered in blood anymore, her hands, face, and torso relatively clean, along with her two axes. The woman had what looked like a fur-lined jacket on; her sleeves ripped from what Seamus could assume was battle. She stopped at the entrance, her eyebrow raised questionably as she looked at Seamus. The young man tensed up, feeling his natural radar go off as the woman tilted her head slightly.
Just as Seamus thought she was going to lunge at him, the berserker shrugged and walked on, ignoring him. She set her items down at the edge of the den with her axes and what looked like another pot of water. Seamus noted how her pale skin and red hair glinted with moisture, hinting that she had gone off to a source of water to clean the blood off. He could also see crude bandages on her arms and body, blood staining the ripped cloth.
‘What’s with her?’
Seamus couldn’t understand why she was so… docile. He could’ve sworn this was the same person who had brutalized those orcs back at that clearing, chopping through them as if they were nothing but meat. More importantly, why did she save him? Seamus had never seen her nor recognized anything about her. That red hair was the closest he could think of being remotely familiar to him, but he shook off that thought since it was such a ludicrous assumption.
As Seamus was thinking about leaving, he winced again, gritting his teeth as he brought a hand to his head. The woman started at that, looking at Seamus with a furrowed brow. She stood up, grabbed him by surprise, and dragged the young man to the other side of the chamber, where she sat him down forcefully.
“Hey!” Seamus complained, watching as the woman poked at him, examining him as if she was looking for something. She examined his head, moving his messy black hair away from his forehead, revealing his birthmark. The red-haired woman raised an eyebrow, her green eyes curiously examining the small marking as she rubbed her thumb against it as if to see if it was fake.
She moved her eyes up to his scalp, poking at it with two fingers. Seamus winced as he felt some stinging, watching as the woman’s fingers came back red with his blood. He blinked, moving to touch his own head, his own hand coming back red.
‘When did I get hit in the head?’ He wondered curiously before looking up at the woman, who frowned. She went still, her eyes widening as she looked back at the entrance of the den. Seamus watched as the strange woman crept to her cot, retrieving her axes as she emitted a low growl at the entrance. Seamus soon heard it. Footsteps over crunching branches and snow.
‘More of those orcs?’ He thought fearfully, hoping that they hadn’t followed the two out of the clearing. Seamus held his breath as he watched the den’s entrance, his hand moving to grab his sheathed sword nearby.
Just as Seamus was thinking about escape plans, he heard a familiar voice coming from the entrance.
“Seamus? Are you in there?”
It was Miles’ voice, followed by his slow footsteps. Seamus felt himself relax at the knowledge that the mercenary was here but saw how the berserker didn’t back down. Her eyes trained on the entrance as she prepared to lunge at whoever was about to pass through. Seamus then realized she would not be as helpful to Miles as she was to Seamus. The young man hurried to the entrance, watching how Miles slowly emerged from the bushes, unknowingly putting himself in danger. Seamus looked back to the den, extending his arms as he blocked the woman from attacking Miles. The berserker stared at Seamus with a confused and angry look, both axes in hand, as she scowled.
“Friend!” Seamus exclaimed, making sure that she couldn’t get past him. “He’s a friend! No danger!” He hoped that this insane woman would understand him since he had no other way of knowing how she communicated. The berserker gave him a look before scowling behind the young man. She shook her head, her hands lowering her axes before she headed back to her side of the den. Seamus sighed in relief, his heartbeat clearly audible in his ears.
“Interesting…” Miles commented, nearly making Seamus jump from surprise. The young man turned to look at the mercenary, frowning.
‘He must have followed her after the clearing. But…’
“Where the hel were you back there? At the clearing, you could’ve helped us. Yet…” Seamus trailed off as he noticed the second person by the entrance. The stranger’s tiny figure made him barely noticeable.
“I was freeing him,” Miles explained, stepping aside to allow Seamus to get a better look at the patched-up gnome, the same one who had been taken by the orcs back at Aldren. Seamus stared at the gnome, whose graying beard signified him as an elderly one. His oversized clothes were partially burnt and ripped, some of the baggy parts held up by straps of cloth and belts. If one didn’t know better, this gnome would’ve looked to be a lowlife living on the streets of Vindis or Bernis. Still, Seamus knew exactly that this gnome was far from that kind of man since he had known this particular man years ago.
“Lowe?” Seamus asked, his eyes staring down at the disheveled gnome. Lowe’s eyes widened at the sound of his name as realization hit his gaunt face.
“Seamus? Is it truly you?” The gnome asked, stumbling towards the young man. “I thought you had died with your father…”
There was confusion and relief audible in his voice. Seamus didn’t know what to say, his mind desperately searching for words. The gnome in front of him was Lowe Arclite, the one who looked out for this island. Seamus’ father had assigned Lowe to run things at Aldren and its ports and keep Yorn’s old vault hidden from prying eyes.
Seamus himself had met the gnome years ago when he was a child, fearfully clinging to his father for protection. Lowe had been a younger-looking man then, but years later, the gnome looked frail and much older, his black and gray hair signifying this more than anything.
“What the hel happened?” Seamus asked, his eyes focusing on the fresh bandages on Lowe. He could see clearly that the gnome had been through hel, judging by how the man’s eyes were glassy and unfocused.
“Best if we rest first. I must have some water,” the gnome spoke out, licking at his dry and chapped lips.
Seamus nodded, his hand moving to his waterskin. “Come in then. Tell me everything.”
----------------------------------------
James could feel his lungs burning, his feet stepping over rocks and raised roots as he ran through the dense forest. He had his arms raised, feeling thin branches and leaves whip against his upper torso and face. He gritted his teeth, squinting as he tried to see where he was going. He could see from his peripherals how Haggard was ahead of him, obviously much fitter than James.
‘When I get back to Yorktown, I’m going to have Harald train me like hell.’
James knew damn well that he needed to get into much better shape. His lungs were begging for a break, the sharp stabs of the cold air not helping. Still, he couldn’t afford to stop, not when he was sure that those orcs were on their tail. James looked to Haggard up ahead, wanting to call up the man to ask if he knew where he was going. Suddenly, Haggard disappeared, surprising James. Before the young man could wonder what had happened, he felt the ground beneath him disappear, gravity quickly sending him tumbling down a rough slope.
James felt his weight drag him down the slope, not allowing him to stop. His hands instinctively covered his head as he tried to form his body into a tight ball, his body pelted by rocks and small bushes. He rolled down the steep and snowy hill for a couple more seconds before a snowy bush finally stopped and softened his fall.
James blinked and felt the uncomfortable sensation of small branches and leaves beneath him, replacing his brief fall and tumble. He slowly uncurled from his protective ball, clenching his fists as the pain finally settled into his body, emanating all around him. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask Haggard if he was alright.
“Un… Agh…” was all James could manage out. He opened his eyes, wanting to get a better view of his surroundings. All James could see, however, was the tumbling figure of an armored dwarf.
“Oof!”
James felt the dwarf impact him, air rushing out of his lungs as Bjorn landed on top.
“Ugh…” Bjorn groaned out, dazed. James panted as he rested his head back onto the bush, staring up at the sky. He could feel how his body slowly cooled off from the sudden heat his Carapace spell had emitted during his fall and Bjorn’s impact.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Thank you, Nathan,” James softly muttered, sighing as he rested his aching body.
‘Get up…’ Faust’s voice rang out in James’ head. ‘You probably won’t have much time until they catch up.’ The ethereal voice carried a worried tone.
James groaned, forcing himself to sit up as he rolled the heavy dwarf off of him. He looked at his surroundings, noting Haggard’s form sticking out of a bush nearby, his hushed cursing audible from where James was.
“Haggard?” James called out, forcing himself to stand as he stumbled his way to the other man. He watched as Haggard slowly emerged from the bush, plucking small thorns from his arms and upper torso.
“Ugh… What is it?” The drifter asked as he stood up again, his face covered in small red cuts and a couple of thorns.
“Orcs,” James panted. He slowly caught his breath as he grabbed at his side. “They’ll be here any second. We need to keep moving.”
“To where?” Bjorn groaned out in response to James. Both men turned to look down at the dwarf, who was already getting up, his hand reaching for the brass flask he kept on his belt.
“The port,” James managed out, remembering their fallback. “If everyone else is still out there, they’ll meet us there when they can… We need to head there and—”
“No, we don’t.” Bjorn interrupted, scowling as he took a swig from his flask. “If those green idiots are still on our asses, then we cannot return to the ship.” the mercenary’s breathing slowly went back to normal as he took another swig, his lips grimacing at the taste of it.
“What about everyone else?” Haggard asked, plucking the last of the thorns from his face.
“Hopefully, they’re smart enough to know not to regroup at the port until they are sure it is safe,” Bjorn answered, holstering the brass container. James frowned as he looked around at their surroundings.
‘Archibald and Edmund shouldn’t be too far… Maybe we can…’
The sound of distant voices interrupted his thoughts, their owners shouting over each other as they grew closer.
“Damn! Hide!” James hissed before moving to the dense forest as the voices slowly increased. All three of the men rushed to hide, either behind a bush or fallen tree. James himself was secluding himself behind some dense bushes, doing his best to get a view of where the voices were coming from.
Suddenly, Archibald emerged from the treeline above the slope, the elf skidding to a stop right before the steep drop. James could see how the mercenary looked scratched up but relatively fine. He held the urge to call to the elf as more voices sounded out.
“There he is! Get 'em!”
James could recognize the shouts of the orcs, their heavy rustling through the forest growing louder. Archibald visibly panicked, his feet moving slowly but hastily. He walked down the steep slope, rocks and dirt coming loose as he tried to get down safely. Unfortunately, he would be too late, as two of the ugly bastards emerged from above, one rushing to grab Archibald.
“Get back, you disgusting mongrels!” Archibald shouted suddenly, using his rapier to stab at the orc’s outreaching hand. The green idiot howled in pain, recoiling as it suddenly pierced his hand in the blink of an eye. Oily blood stained his injured hand, but the orc didn’t quit his attempts.
James could see how Bjorn readied himself as if he was planning to scale the steep slope and gut the orc himself. The blond man caught his attention, shaking his head furiously. The dwarf gritted his teeth, seemingly against the idea of standing by.
‘Don’t,’ James mouthed to the dwarf, hoping Bjorn would get the message. The dwarf shook his head, moving to raise his axe before he paused, the sound of more voices approaching the area. James looked up to see even more of the bastards emerge, all armed and some even wearing armor.
James didn’t have to be a tactician to know that they were horribly outnumbered. The elf seemed to realize this, his panic setting in as he tried to hurry his way down the slope, using his rapier to fend off as many of the bastards as he could. Unfortunately, he was too slow, and they eventually caught him. The elf’s weapon was forcefully ripped from his hands as he kicked and shouted in an unfamiliar language.
James watched as Archibald was bound and gagged by the orcs, who were growling at him.
“Shut it, you little dungheap! We just have to bring you alive, not unscathed!” One said.
“So quit your bitching, or we’ll take those pretty little fingers of yours!” Another comment was followed by some excited murmurs from the other orcs.
“Why can’t we just do it, anyway? I’ve been starving for some actual flesh for months!”
“Yeah! Be better than all that crap back at the main camp.”
“Eh, but he’s an elf. Not very tasty. Too stringy and lean.”
“Ah, but what about that human we caught earlier? He seems ripe for the picking!”
“Yes! Be perfect for stew and roast that one!”
They all seemed to overlap with their suggestions. Archibald struggled even harder as he yelled through his gag, his voice coming out muffled and panicked. Then, the orc who was tying up the elf shouted, his voice shutting them all up.
“Quiet! You’re all making me hungry! We take them both to Blood-Irk and hope he lets us eat them after he’s done,” the orc stated. He slung Archibald over his shoulder as if the elf were a potato sack. The other orcs groaned but didn’t complain.
“What about the ones who got away?” One of them asked as they all retreated into the forest.
“We deal with them later. For now, we must get back with what we have. Not much time left to waste,” One answered, his voice growing distant.
James slowly stood, his hand clenched around his short sword’s hilt.
“The hell was that?” Haggard asked, emerging from behind a tree.
“A reason to follow them to their main camp,” James answered. He checked his sword as he sheathed and unsheathed it, making sure it slid in and out easily.
“Follow them?” Haggard asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why not free the two now and get the hell out of here?” Haggard added as he followed James, who was climbing up the slope.
“Because those damned orcs have other prisoners over there,” James answered simply. He checked to ensure a spot on the slope was sturdy enough before resting his weight on it.
“So we’re going to save them?” Bjorn asked, the dwarf’s voice grunting with effort as he climbed the slope below James.
“Of course we are,” James answered, lifting himself up on the slope’s edge. He turned to Haggard, giving the man a hand as he pulled with all his strength and weight. “Do you have a problem with that, Bjorn?” James asked as he watched the dwarf approach on the steep slope. Bjorn shook his head, a small grin forming on his face as James reached down with Haggard to grab the dwarf’s arms, pulling him up.
“Nah, it just gives me more reasons to fight,” Bjorn answered as he was hefted up. James grinned back, patting himself down as he pulled his wool hat down on his head.
“Good, because I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of that today…”
----------------------------------------
Seamus held back a wince as he felt Miles clean his head wound, his eyes glancing up at the mercenary before moving back to Lowe, who was still telling his story.
“I hid in that town for a couple of days. Scavenged for food and made sure those orc bastards couldn’t catch me… Until today.” The gnome had a grim look on his face as he looked towards his bandaged arm. “Brutes burned it all down, almost killed me.” Lowe looked down at Seamus’ waterskin, his small, dirty hands shaking as he brought it above his lips, letting the water flow out into his open mouth. Seamus frowned as he felt Miles wrap a bandage around his forehead. The ex-follower had been quiet throughout the entire time, most possibly listening to the gnome’s story.
“What are they looking for?” Seamus asked, remembering what the orcs had said about needing them alive. He had a couple of guesses but wanted to be sure.
Lowe scowled, closing his eyes as he clenched onto the waterskin. “They’ve been searching for the old vault, the one your father left behind when he still hid his wealth here.”
“His father?” Miles interrupted, already done with his bandaging. “As in… Yorn?” Seamus felt a cold, electric-like shiver run through his spine, causing him to wince as he realized what Lowe had done. He turned to Miles, who was sitting down now, his masked face staring at the young man. Despite not being able to see Miles’ facial expression, Seamus was almost certain that the mercenary was grinning in amusement.
“It’s a… difficult story,” Seamus explained, unsure if Miles had put the pieces together yet.
“I bet it’s a pretty interesting one,” commented the follower, his hands packing up his medical supplies.
Seamus sighed. “If we get out of this, I’ll be sure to tell you the full story… as of now—”
“We need to get to that vault!” Lowe interrupted, not seeming to care about what the two were talking about. He seemed to regain some of his vigor from the water, his eyes sparking with energy as he looked at Seamus.
“What?” Seamus asked, confused.
“The vault. We need to find it before those green-skinned bastards do,” Lowe explained as he stood up.
“Wait, we’re separated from the others. We need to find them,” Seamus protested as he stood, taking his waterskin back as he did so.
“That fellow you’ve been following, the one leading you all. Is he a capable leader?” The gnome asked, looking up at Seamus.
“James?” Seamus questioned. He pondered momentarily but stopped when he saw Lowe limping towards the den’s entrance. “Hey!” Seamus called, stopping the gnome. “Yes, I’m sure he’s capable, but I think it would be best if we—”
“Then it’s settled. He can take care of himself and the rest of your friends. We need to get to the vault now!” Lowe was adamant, tugging Seamus aside as Miles and the strange woman watched.
“What? Why?” Seamus asked, digging his heels into the ground as the gnome pulled his arm. “The vault was cleared years ago. What value does it have?” The young man asked, furrowing his brow. Lowe stopped at that, his head turning back to Seamus to show a worried expression.
“Not everything was taken out of it,” Lowe revealed. “In that vault lies a very important artifact. One that these orcs shouldn’t have,” the gnome muttered. Seamus could see the desperation in Lowe’s eyes as he spoke, a slight tremble in his words.
“What is it?” Seamus asked. Lowe opened his mouth, ready to explain himself. Unfortunately, the gnome held himself back, shaking his head as he pulled away from Seamus.
“I can’t explain it all to you, not now. We need to get to that vault as soon as possible,” Lowe explained, forcing his feet to move as he headed to the entrance of the den.
“Hey! Wait!” Seamus called out behind Lowe, moving to stop the injured gnome from leaving.
“There is no time to waste! We must head quickly to the vault’s entrance! Before those brutes find it!” The injured gnome was already out of the den by the time Seamus reached him, small flakes of snow falling from the partially cloudy sky.
“Lowe, we can’t just go on this wild chase if we don’t know what we’re dealing with!” This time, Seamus held onto Lowe’s arm, keeping the gnome in place. Lowe struggled but quickly gave up, obviously realizing it was pointless.
“This is something that not even you should know,” Lowe said softly, looking at the young man with determined eyes. “This is something that must be done. It does not matter what you want, young Halvorson. What matters needs to be done. And what needs to be done is to keep this artifact from orc hands,” the gnome explained.
Seamus blinked, stunned by the elderly gnome’s words, so much so that Lowe was able to break from his hold. The young man watched the gnome limp off, who winced now and then as he slowly made his way. Despite the gnome’s insistence on going to the vault, he was far from being physically able to, judging from all the wounds that Seamus could see.
“You won’t be able to get far,” Miles pointed out, catching Seamus’ attention. Miles and the berserker woman were outside the den, who hung back to watch the spectacle with curious eyes. “Just because I patched you up doesn’t mean you’re invincible.” The ex-follower stepped up to the gnome, kneeling down next to Lowe. “You’ve even reopened one of your wounds,” Miles pointed out, his fingers poking at a reddening spot on Lowe’s bandages.
Lowe swatted the mercenary’s hand, scowling and wincing. “I’ll be fine. What’s important is the—”
“Vault, yes, we heard you,” Miles interrupted, sighing. “Let’s look at it this way, say we go with you on this quest. You have two choices. You can either go out of your way to lead us to the hidden vault right now without treating your wounds. Not only will you die on the way there, but you’ll leave the two of us lost in the middle of the island, with no way of knowing where the vault is or how we open it," Miles explained, already moving to grab at the satchel that hung near his belt.
“Or I will help bandage you up and carry you on my back like last time. That way, you can be safe, and we’ll be able to find the vault with your guidance. Which choice do you want to make?” Miles asked, tilting his head as he brought out a copper vial and a roll of bandages. Lowe seemed to hesitate, his teeth gritted as he shook his head.
“Fine. The second choice.