Spy: Reborn
Page 15
Activating Morph… select target to emulate.
Argo glanced quickly toward the brawling orcs, holding the image of one in his mind’s eye.
Target selected… Argo is Morphing into Level 3 Orc Grunt!
He held his breath as the enchantment took hold. Grey smoke poured out of his thin, lanky limbs—solidifying into thick, meaty chunks of muscle wrapped around leathery green skin.
More smoke poured out of the glass pane, draping around his new orcish body and forming into the rough loincloths around his groin. Some smoke chained around his neck, forming the bone necklace of the orcish grunt. Another cloud of smoke covered his feet, forming sandals and leather greaves, while another cloud solidified into leather bracers around his wrists.
His Morph disguise complete, he felt something else tug at his reserves and begin draining some part of him. He called up his HUD and discovered a new timer counting down in the upper-left-hand side of his display:
Mana
19/20
Level 3 Orc Grunt disguise draining 1 mana every 30 seconds…
Estimated Morph duration remaining: 9 minutes, 52 seconds…
Argo inhaled sharply, then nodded to himself, grateful to have found a relatively low-level monster in this group. Experiments with the Morph ability revealed that the mana drain and drain rate depended on the form he was trying to assume.
The higher the level and rank of his target, the more mana required per interval. The larger the target, the more mass needed to maintain the disguise, the shorter the drain interval. 10 minutes to hold the form of an Orc Grunt… that wasn’t so bad, really.
Argo the Level 3 Orc Grunt started to dust himself off, then stopped almost immediately. He remembered how orcs normally behaved, and realized that none of them were big on cleaning themselves up. He then stood up from his shelter, straightened himself out, picked up a small casket of ale, and proceeded to carry it down from the captured wagon. His eyes twitched toward his invisible HUD, reviewing his timer.
Mana
18/20
Level 3 Orc Grunt disguise draining 1 mana every 30 seconds…
Estimated Morph duration remaining: 9 minutes, 14 seconds…
“All right! Break it up!” yelled a loud, authoritative voice from outside the storehouse. “I said BREAK IT UP! Get this ale unloaded NOW you stupid dogs, or it’ll be your putrid meat that I roast up for the feast!”
Orc Pillager
Level
05
Health
300
Stamina
40
Argo felt a cold sweat drip down his real body even as his Orc Grunt body continued carrying his casket of ale. 300 health on a level 5 monster? He knew orcs were tough, but this Orc Pillager possessed enough health points to be considered a mini-boss of sorts.
Argo watched, transfixed, as the Pillager landed a savage punch in the teeth of one of the Grunts. “You got something else you want to mutter, huh? What, you want to go? Just say the word, dog.” The fierce orc glared at the other for a moment.
“Nothing, Gutsboy. Just gonna do what you tell me to do now.”
The Orc Pillager known as Gutsboy sneered at the chastised Grunt, then turned his beady yellow eyes to Argo. He strode forward, the sneer still on his face as he narrowed his eyes at Argo.
Argo’s heart skipped a beat, and he thought straightaway that his disguise had been seen through. Although he looked exactly like an orc right now, he expected at any moment to be uncovered and killed. He was completely out of his depth and now fiercely regretted ever agreeing to go along with Henk’s plan. He braced himself for Gutsboy to come over and rip an arm off, beat him to death with it.
Gutsboy, however, just huffed at Argo right in front of him and wrenched his cask away from his hands. “What are you looking at, grunt? Get back to work.”
Argo nodded wordlessly, turned right back around, and hefted another casket out of the wagon bed. The other monsters, now intent on storing the caskets and grumbling at how unfair it was that they couldn’t enjoy a taste of their booty, paid him no attention.
All three of them moved quickly, fearing Gutsboy’s attention. Soon enough, all the caskets of ale were stored against the wall of the ramshackle wooden building. All except a couple of stray caskets stowed away by the two grunts working alongside Argo in his disguised form. He remained behind while the two orcs left the storehouse, too busy watching out for their precious treasure to care about the industrious grunt they were leaving behind.
Mana
09/20
Level 3 Orc Grunt disguise draining 1 mana every 30 seconds…
Estimated Morph duration remaining: 4 minutes, 41 seconds…
Argo deactivated his Morph, relying on the darkness of the storehouse to mask his true human form. He nibbled on some Manaroot and nodded as the buff registered in his HUD:
Manaroot consumed… regenerating 1 mana every 30 seconds for 300 seconds.
The cheap little root was perfect for helping regenerate mana outside of combat. Too bad the root’s buff canceled the moment he used up mana; it would have perfectly canceled out Morph’s mana drain.
Now alone in the storehouse, he started rummaging around to find items of possible value—to no avail. Nothing but old and rusting gear, with not much else but garbage and rotting vegetables. Clearly, all the quality loot the gang had stolen from travellers through the mountains was kept elsewhere.
Crouching to lower his profile, Argo cautiously peered out of the doorway of the storehouse to take in his surroundings.
The central courtyard was empty, except for a couple of orcs and trolls putting out trestle tables and stools. Argo moved out and started walking as nonchalantly as he could around the perimeter of the settlement. The compound was made up of mostly dilapidated shacks and earthen huts surrounded by vast swathes of bones—both animal and human—and trash.
The smell was horrendous and Argo buried the lower part of his face into the folds of the ragged cloak he wore. Seeing no one around, Argo waited for the Manaroot to refill his mana reserves before triggering his Morph ability once again. He closed his eyes, recalled the image of the Orc Grunt he mimicked earlier, and let his Morph work its magic.
Mana
19/20
Level 3 Orc Grunt disguise draining 1 mana every 30 seconds…
Estimated Morph duration remaining: 9 minutes, 54 seconds…
Now in his Orc Grunt form, he set to explore the compound. He observed the orcs around him, noted the way they carried themselves. Heads held high, chins jutting out, canines aligned along their upper lip. They glared at one another, snorting in disdain when they encountered a stronger orc and simply frowning in displeasure when their betters sneered down at them.
Argo inhaled deeply, drawing confidence in his magical illusion, and straightened himself up. He matched the glare of another orc that gave him the stink-eye, emulating the frown of a lower-ranked orc tolerating the disdain of its superior. The other orc snorted and went back to its job of tending a firepit.
Argo had to catch himself before he sighed in relief, because orcs don’t sigh. They glare, grumble, snort, and boast. Not sigh. And so he did the same as he walked around the camp, pretending to rush as if carrying out an errand.
He soon reached the eastern end of the compound, noting that the dwellings there were slightly better than those in the south-western side. There were several larger cabins grouped together, overlooked by what might pass for a house made out of rough blocks of sandstone. Argo guessed this was where the bandit chief resided—the bulky orc with the pet buzzard.
Henk had said that his name was Urzug and he was a Level 7 Reaver, classified as the boss monster for this camp. Henk made it clear that it would be a very, very bad idea for Argo to catch his attention—much less figu
re into a fight. A level 1 Bard/Spy wouldn’t last five seconds against a boss like that.
Hell, even Henk was hoping to avoid fighting Urzug altogether. If things went according to plan, the bombs they intended to plant should do the killing for them.
Mana
02/20
Level 3 Orc Grunt disguise draining 1 mana every 30 seconds…
Estimated Morph duration remaining: 43 seconds…
Making sure nobody was paying any attention to him, Argo slipped into the narrow alleyway formed between the chief’s residence and the cabin next to it. He deactivated Morph and began chewing on another piece of Manaroot, sticking to the shadows.
He clenched his jaw as he tried and failed to avoid the piles of dung that filled the alley. He grimaced at that, worried that the smell of feces would give away his disguise. He remembered that the orcs didn’t smell any better, and he smiled to himself as he just wiped the excess dung on a wall and continued skulking down the alley. That’s when he spotted the backdoor leading into the chieftain’s house.
Argo stared at the entrance for a long time, considering his next move. If this was where Urzug lived, it stood to reason that all the loot the gang had stolen would be stored in there where the orc boss could keep an eye on it. Argo’s job was not just to map out the camp, but to get eyes on the booty so that the rest of the Crew would get straight to it when he let them in at nightfall.
If he couldn’t confirm the whereabouts of the booty, he would simply tag the likeliest locations where the chief would store it. The crew would then take advantage of the fiery chaos to storm the likely storehouse, do a hit-and-run before the orcs organized enough to pen them in. This latter plan was far riskier since they had to waste time searching for the treasure. Yet, if Argo was caught snooping and his real identity was exposed, the orcs would lock down the camp—making it virtually impossible for the crew to force their way in.
At least, not at their current levels.
Common sense told him to go back to the storehouse and lay low until nightfall. It was a perfect hiding place, and it wouldn’t be long until the bandits started feasting and drinking the ale. He contemplated waiting until the orcs and trolls were all drunk, then he would just open the gates and guide the rest of the Manticore Crew into the compound. He would hang back, let them dig around for the loot.
It was smart, safe, sensible… yet strangely unappealing.
He had been terrified on the long uncomfortable journey to the compound—doubly so when he first appeared in front of the other orcs in his disguised form.
Now that he had successfully infiltrated the base, tricked the orc bandits into thinking he was one of them, a feverish excitement gripped him. He just wanted to find the loot right then and there. He found himself hungering to test the limits of his new class, to prove to Henk and the others that he could be a valuable part of the team.
He’d never have the strength, skill, magic or technical knowledge the others brought to the table. He thought he could play it safe as the team’s Bard, just hang back and strum at his lute for buffs while they did all the work.
And yet this, infiltrating the bandit camp and finding the loot, actually applying his limited acting skills to do something more than just leeching in the backlines… it was exactly what he needed!
Before his nerves could kick in and make him scurry away and hide, he forced himself to sneak right up to the rear entrance of the chieftain’s cabin.
Argo heard a crash from inside. His earlier courage deflated a little bit, cooling his jets, but he refused to give up—not at such an early junction.
He hesitated for only a moment before trying the latch of the heavy wooden door. It was not bolted and he slowly opened it, peering inside while doing so. The hinges creaked loudly, making him wince and feel like someone was sliding razor blades along his nerves.
What looked like the wrecked remains of a kitchen greeted him on the other side. Rusty pots and pans littered the floor and the large wooden table in the center of the room. Dozens of melted-down candles covered the table and lined the shelves, providing a sickly light that let him see the gloomy interior of the room. Over to the left of him, a large antique kitchen dresser had toppled over—clearly the source of the crash he had heard outside. Argo stood by the doorway, looking at the upturned furniture and breathing in the rancid stench of the house. It smelled worse in here than outside and he felt his skin prickle the longer he stayed here.
He sensed danger and he realized this was a bad idea. It would be better to go back to the storehouse, hide out instead of risking discovery. His chance to prove himself would come later.
As he backed out the door, he suddenly heard loud guttural voices shout out from outside. Panicking, he stepped right inside the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He stood against it, his heart beating fast, and listened tensely. The voices sounded like they were arguing, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.
That’s when the punching started.
Argo breathed a sigh of relief. Just a couple of grunts finding some quiet, out-of-the-way spot to settle differences in the orcish way… not a search party looking for scrawny little human disguised as one of their own.
No way for him to get out that way now, what with the orcs blocking his escape route. He was already inside the chief’s house now, so he might as well check for loot.
Stepping away from the door, he focused on the kitchen once again. It was difficult to see much by the weak light of the candles and he proceeded cautiously toward the table. He noticed a flight of wooden steps leading up to another door at the far end of the room.
Moving as quietly as possible, he headed towards the inner door. He was several feet away from it… when there was another loud noise as a cooking pot suddenly went tumbling to the floor from a shelf up above. Argo jumped back as it clanged on the floorboards, right before he heard a sharp hiss from the shadows.
He drew his short sword and pointed it in the direction of the hiss. In the dark, he picked out two gleaming eyes peering back at him. Very slowly, the unknown creature edged forward into the candlelight.
Argo watched in horror as he made out the twisted misshapen face looking back at him, its whiskers twitching. It looked like a giant rat about the size of a Doberman; it had hideous growths covering the length of its body and its legs.
Plague Rat (Mutated)
Level
01
Health
30
Stamina
10
It hissed again and bared its greening, chipped incisors at him. Its thick tail raised and swishing left and right, knocking another pan to the floor. The creature was clearly the cause of the tipped dresser and the other pots and pans that lay strewn about the floor.
This is just great, Argo thought. My first mission as a Spy and I’m going to end up as lunch for vermin.
An ordinary plague rat’s diseased bite was bad enough, but a mutated rat? That was just downright unfair—especially since he was just at level 1 with 15 health points.
He slowly backed away and raised the short sword up to threaten the oversized rat. The Mutated Rat pounced forward, gnashing with its teeth.
Plague Rat (Mutated) bites with its canines! It misses its attack, dealing 0 damage.
Slash! Argo misses his attack, dealing 0 damage.
Plague Rat (Mutated) bites with its canines! It misses its attack, dealing 0 damage.
Stab! Argo’s attack lands true, dealing 6 damage!
He silently cheered as he scored a hit on the monster’s flank, shaving off 6 points of health and cutting it down to 24 health points. It let out a squeal of pain and twisted round to counterattack. Argo attacked again, chopping at one of its forelegs and taking another nine points. The odds looked in his favor and he drove in to end the job.
The Mutated Rat was not quite finished j
ust yet, though.
Plague Rat (Mutated) uses Lash! It deals 3 damage, knocking Argo back!
The rat spun round and lashed out with its powerful tail, sweeping at his ankles. The strength of the blow took him clean off his feet, and as he lay sprawled on the floor, the monster slashed at him with one of its distorted clawed feet.
Plague Rat (Mutated) slashes with its claws! It deals 4 damage!
7 precious health points were lost to the attack, reducing him down to just 8 HP. Argo winced as the pain of the attack registered, the sharp claws tearing through his doublet.