He cast another round of Infernal Invigoration on the Changeling, then pulled free his rapier and dagger and sprinted across the chamber and up the stairs. He caught movement in the corner of his eye, then felt an invisible shoulder bounce off him as he passed, but paid it no mind. It was either the Reaver Champion or the Reaver Champion was about to deal with it. He raced up the stairs, undeterred.
A chuckle filtered down from the Executioner as he cut off the Changeling’s escape route again. The hero swiped his axe in a broad arc, nearly taking the small blue head off at the shoulders, but the Changeling ducked and rolled away. It was almost as if the Executioner were toying with the tiny Troll.
Roark reached the top just as the Executioner swung his axe overhead, trying to chop the Changeling in half. Roark plunged his Kaiken Dagger into the Executioner’s kidney. The Executioner howled with pain, his axe burying itself in the flagstones where the Changeling had been. While he tried to wrench it free, Roark attacked with the rapier, riverso and mandritto tondo, opening yawning bloody slashes across the Executioner’s ribs and back and carving away at the hero’s red Health bar. With the movement bonuses Enchanted into the blade, Roark looked like a blur, and he planned to take full advantage of that.
As powerful as the rapier was, Roark knew it wouldn’t have a chance against the heft and solidity of the axe. The moment the Executioner freed it from the staircase, the odds in close combat would shift drastically away from Roark’s favor. Unless … unless he could land a Hex-Touch.
Roark feinted left then darted right, driving his closed fist into the side of the Executioner’s head, triggering the dastardly new Curse! Roark focused on the attribute he wished to curse—Constitution—as stomach-churning power, like raw sewage, rushed out through his knuckles and into the man’s body.
The Executioner lurched and stumbled, swaying on uncertain feet. “What the fuck, bro? What did you just do to me?” he shouted, eyes bulging.
“I evened the odds, mate,” Roark shot back with a grin.
“Now!” a voice shouted, slashing Roark’s triumphant moment short.
Roark cursed. He knew that voice. PwnrBwner_OG.
A trio of heroes—none of them the High Combat Cleric in question—charged into the antechamber from the shadowy recesses of the doorway. Too late, the Executioner’s actions made sense: he hadn’t been toying with the Changeling, he’d been luring Roark into a trap. An ambush, cleverly set by Roark’s greatest Hearthworld enemy.
One of the heroes—a woman with a pair of gleaming kukris—stepped in and mercilessly chopped off the Changeling’s head, ending the little blue creature on the spot.
Roark backpedaled, covering his face with his arm.
As soon as the Changeling hit the floor, its corpse exploded in a shower of gore and bone spikes of various sizes.
The Executioner yelped as the spikes imbedded themselves in his shins, groin, chest, and throat. His Health bar flashed a sickly green as the corpse’s diseased blood poisoned him. He dropped backward on top of Roark’s Kaiken dagger, dead.
But Roark didn’t have time to enjoy the Experience gained from the Curse-killing.
The new trio of heroes advanced on him, their movements precise, well-rehearsed. It seemed Roark and his Trolls hadn’t been the only ones practicing. One of the heroes swung a pair of gleaming kukris, another a flail, the third a heavy warhammer—forcing Roark back down the stairs one step at a time. He battled back the best he could, parrying their attacks, but unable to regain his ground.
Over their shoulders, Roark caught sight of their leader. Now a level 26 High Combat Cleric, PwnrBwner carried a colossal blue-black mace radiating wicked, razor-sharp flanges shaped like sapphire flames.
“I wondered where you’d slunk off to,” Roark shouted up at the High Combat Cleric, trying to affect an air of nonchalance in spite of the three thugs he was struggling to keep at bay. “Beautiful mace. I’m looking forward to disenchanting it, too.”
“Why don’t you just code yourself in one, you modding prick?” PwnrBwner_OG sneered. “Afraid you’re going to break the game? Or do you just not want anything that a more skilled player could loot off your ugly-ass corpse?”
Roark smirked. “Based on your record so far, I’m not that worried either way.”
Pain like a bright red poker lanced through Roark’s side. He winced. The thug with a kukri had managed to score a hit. Carrying on a conversation while fighting three opponents—contained though they were by the width of the stairs—wasn’t the easiest activity he’d ever engaged in.
“You like that?” PwnrBwner_OG gloated. “These’re my new boys—”
“Hello!” the feminine thug snapped.
PwnrBwner pointed his blue-flame mace at her. “Don’t start with me, Irena, you know I mean that shit as gender-neutral.” He grinned back down at Roark. “We’ve all been on the wrong end of your bullshit cheating, modder, and we’re here to put a stop to it.”
“Yeah,” the female thug, Irena, agreed. “Hearthworld is the last mod-free haven, a throwback to the glory days of gaming, and you’re fucking it up!”
Roark pulled back suddenly, opening his stance to invitio. Irena took the proffered bait and lunged with her kukris flashing. Roark dodged a deadly slice from the warhammer-wielding thug to his right, then carved Irena across her cheek with his rapier. She screeched in fury, then lunged again, leaving herself open to another thrust, this one imbroccata.
A flash of motion overhead drew Roark’s eye as Mac dropped down from the ceiling, plummeting toward PwnrBwner.
But at the last second, the High Combat Cleric stepped back and gripped his mace with both hands.
“Not today, Gojira!” PwnrBwner swung the mace. Its blue-flamed head connected with Mac’s shell with a sickening crunch. Mac tumbled off the side of the crumbling staircase, landing below with a meaty slap. “I know your tricks, dickweed.” He paused, eyeing Mac’s evolved form. “Though I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting whatever the fuck that is. Still, I’m not gonna fall for any of that shit again.” He offered Roark a wicked grin, his eyes cold and hard and full of murder.
Roark narrowly avoided a swipe of the flail, then drew a deep red furrow across the wielder’s wrist, just in front of his bracer. Down below, it looked as if Mac were struggling to get up.
“Is Roark in danger?” Kaz. He must’ve heard the commotion from the kitchens and come running.
“Holy shit,” PwnrBwner muttered. “It’s Evolution city up in here.”
“Why is no one helping Roark?!” Kaz thundered, surging forward.
“See to Mac!” Roark shouted down, his gaze still fixed firmly on his nemesis.
Irena took advantage of Roark’s momentary distraction to plant one kukri just under his ribs. The weapon stuck like a red-hot fire poker and pain surged through his body. His Infernali Magicka absorbed the damage, though it was eating through his power at an alarming rate.
Infuriated, Roark lashed out with his free fist. Her nose snapped under his punch and her hand slipped off the kukri’s handle. A solid hit, though it was a shame he’d already used Hex-Touch on the Executioner, DeathBySnuSnu. Before she could recover, Roark jerked the kukri out of his side. He wasn’t trained in the kukri, but its small size compared to the length and reach of the rapier made it perfect for the Off-Hand Combo attack.
Roark whirled, slicing into the woman’s upper arm, throat, and defensively thrown hand before she could counter. PwnrBwner’s other two thugs hacked at Roark, but his entire focus was on removing Irena from the fight. The last sliver of her red Health bar flashed out a warning. She grabbed for a Sufficient Health Potion, but Roark chopped into her arm with the kukri, forcing her to drop the concoction, then lunged, piercing her chest with a stoccata di quarta thrust of his rapier. She shrieked and tumbled from the staircase in much the same way Mac had. Except she was dead.
Thunder boomed overhead. A jagged bolt of blue-white lightning streaked out of the ceiling and slammed into Roark’s chest
. For a moment, he saw nothing but pink. His serrated teeth crashed together as his muscles all seized at once.
[You have been Stunned. Dexterity reduced by 26% for 26 seconds.]
[You are burning in Rajthorne the Mighty’s Purifying Flame. (2 burning damage x caster’s Divine Favor level)/second for 10 seconds.]
When Roark opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back at the foot of the staircase. His Infernali Magick was completely empty along with half his Health vial, and the red liquid inside was dropping by the second. Blue flames engulfed his vision, searing the flesh on his bones. His hands were empty, his rapier gone.
“Pretty baller, right?” PwnrBwner taunted from somewhere nearby. “Where’s your fancy cheater’s spells now?”
Roark could’ve slapped himself. He’d gotten so caught up in the back and forth with the High Combat Cleric that he’d forsaken his magick grimoire, which still had a number of spells waiting for him. Spells that didn’t require Infernali Magick to utilize. Back in his home world, magick was a powerful force, not lightly tossed around. It was so natural to fall back on his fighting prowess instead of resorting to this world’s magick, which was much more reliable and readily available than his own—though far more restricted.
“Eat a nutsack, loser,” the Cleric snapped.
Roark rolled away from the direction of PwnrBwner’s voice, fumbling a Sufficient Health Potion from his Inventory as he did. A whiff of air ruffling the blue flames covering his body told Roark that he’d just missed having his face ripped off by the Cleric’s new mace. He bolted the sickly sweet health brew, then tossed down the bottle. As his filigreed Health vial refilled itself, warmth and vitality flowed into his limbs, chasing away some measure of the pain from the flames.
Roark pulled out his Initiate’s Spell Book and wand, blinking until he could see through the blue fire. First, some pre-written damage control, then to put this spoilt brat playing war back in his place.
But before Roark could fire off his first spell—a level 3 Acid Bath—at PwnrBwner_OG’s feet, a volcano of pain exploded in his lower back. He spun, prepared to douse his attacker instead, but found nothing but a puff of inky black smoke awaiting him.
The telltale sign of a Reaver Shadow Stalking.
Behind Roark, PwnrBwner cried out, “What the fuck?”
Roark whirled around and fired off the Acid Bath. But PwnrBwner wasn’t the only one to splash down into it. The pair of Thursr Knights joined him. One thrashed the High Combat Cleric with his wicked-looking morning star. The other splashed and fought through the bubbling acid, slicing at Roark with his battle-notched scythe. Roark fired a level 1 Fireball at the bastard.
Across the chamber, Kaz howled in fury, the sound accented by the clash of steel on steel.
“Death!” the softhearted Brute Thursr cried. “Death to the SALT-HATING TRAITORS!”
THIRTY-SIX:
Outnumbered
Freezing pain exploded in Roark’s shoulder as the sharp end of an ice javelin protruded from his chest, covered in his blood. The blue fire from PwnrBwner’s Obliterating Lightning disappeared immediately, counteracted by the ice, but Roark’s movement slowed to a crawl.
At a glacial pace, Roark turned, wand ready to fire off a level 2 Chain Lightning, but before he made it halfway around, a dagger landed in his back. The Shadow Stalking smoke hadn’t even dissipated before he felt another blade plunge into his chest.
Unfortunately, his Hex Armor had lapsed, so every blow ate through another chunk of his rapidly diminishing Health vial.
The Shaman shot another icy javelin at Roark. His Infernali Magick had recovered to a quarter during the course of his hellish beating, so he had enough power to conjure an Infernal Shield. The spike smashed against the violet barrier with a sound like breaking glass. He cast Chain Lightning. The Shaman tried to dodge, but the level 2 spell came with a 50% attraction to moving targets. The Shaman flipped in midair and landed on her face.
Another strike from the Champion landed in the ball of muscle in Roark’s shoulder. Coming from behind, it missed his Infernal Shield entirely.
“Bloody bitch,” Roark cursed, his charred lips cracking and spewing blood. He had to find a way to slow the Champion before she killed him.
He fumbled a quill and inkpot from his Inventory and scribbled out a spell in a level 1 slot, casting it the moment he finished writing it. The floor beneath his feet turned into a deep pit of sucking mud fifteen feet across, and it would stay that way for thirty seconds. Where the mud pit and bubbling acid bath met, the substances frothed and sizzled.
The Reaver Champion skidded to a halt, mired in the muck. Not wasting a moment, he inscribed a level 1 immunity to fit, casting it on himself.
[Target is unaffected by sucking mud for thirty seconds.]
Roark swapped his spell book for the Bow of the Fleet-Fingered Hunter, a quiver full of arrows suddenly resting against his back. He backpedaled across the sucking mud as if it were solid flagstone and fired one arrow after another at the trapped Reaver Champion, winnowing away at her red bar.
A cry arose from the acid bath. The corpse of one Thursr Knight had fallen on PwnrBwner_OG, trapping him underneath. Immediately, the Knight’s Cursed Kite Shield called down a cloud of flesh-eating beetles on the struggling High Combat Cleric. The buzzing of their wings filled the air with a droning hum as they tore into the Cleric.
“You cocksuckers!” PwnrBwner screamed. The beetles hadn’t been enough to kill him, but his Health bar was flashing out a critical warning. “I’ll be back!”
“We’re counting on it, mate.” Roark fired an arrow into the side of PwnrBwner’s skull, killing him instantly.
A second later, a pair of ice javelins slammed into Roark, one lodging in his useless right wing and pinning it to his back, the other going through his thigh. Movement speed dulled by the spikes, Roark returned fire at the Shaman too late, his arrow bouncing off the wall where she had been.
Wasted effort. He had to take out the Champion before the timer on the sucking mud pit ran out. Just as he was nocking another arrow, his hands and arms moving at a slug’s pace, the acid bath disappeared, depositing the corpses of PwnrBwner and the Thursr Knight on top of him onto the stone floor. Roark loosed his arrow, watching it arc across the pit and sink into the Champion’s gut. He drew again.
Pain sliced diagonally down his back and cut away a tenth of his already low filigreed Health vial. Roark craned his neck to find the other Thursr Knight stood at the edge of the sucking mud, using his huge arms and long-handled scythe to reach Roark at the center.
Before Roark could turn and draw his bow, Kaz slammed into the Knight like a battering ram, his dual-hand scythes dealing out mighty doses of Fire and Ice with every blow.
Another ice javelin landed in Roark’s chest. He cursed the family line of every poxy Shaman in the citadel effusively as he adjusted his aim with maddening slowness and fired at the gangly wench. She snickered and dodged his arrow in that weird scuttling gait all the Reaver Shamans seemed to share. A glance around the antechamber confirmed that between them, the three Shamans had managed to take out the remaining heroes from PwnrBwner’s raiding party. They were deadlier than they’d been letting on during the afternoon of griefing. Luring him into a false sense of security.
He fitted another arrow to his bow and fired just ahead of the one who kept shooting him with ice javelins. This bolt landed true, but shaved away only a minor fraction of the Shaman’s health.
The now-familiar explosion of pain in his spine let Roark know the Champion had finally slogged her way through the sucking mud close enough to stab him again.
This wasn’t going to work. He and Kaz couldn’t take down all five of these Azibek supporters alone. But he couldn’t see Mac anywhere, and there were no Trolls loyal to him nearby. The closest were probably cooking with Mai in the kitchens or training with Griff, and Roark didn’t want to involve either of them in this. Trolls bent on taking him down wouldn’t have any compunc
tions about slaughtering the human outsiders he’d brought into the citadel.
Roark fired off another arrow with ponderous slowness. It struck the Shaman across the chamber from him at the same moment her ice javelin impaled his bicep and bone, icy-hot pain radiating up and down the limb.
[Your left arm has been injured! You cannot equip two-handed items, cast two-handed spells, or equip single-handed items, spells, or spell books in your left hand for 30 seconds.]
“Damnation!” Roark hissed.
In the corner of his eye, his filigreed Health vial had dropped to less than a quarter of the red liquid remaining. He couldn’t even cut a blood cantrip into his arm without draining away the last of his Health and killing himself. At least if he died, he wouldn’t lose any levels since he’d hit 26 not too long before. That was the single silver lining to this outhouse slog.
But the diminished Health triggered a flash of inspiration. Roark returned the useless bow to his Inventory and grabbed the Lash of the Waning Blood Moon. The boon he’d received from Azibek what seemed like a lifetime ago.
╠═╦╬╧╪
Lash of the Waning Blood Moon
Damage: 29 - 36
Range: 20 ft
Durability: 63 of 66
Level Requirement: 4
Dexterity Requirement: 16
Constitution Requirement: 20
Whip Class Weapon – Enchanted
When wielder’s Health drops below 25%, wielder goes into a blood rage, dealing 2x damage to opponents while taking 50% damage.
╠═╦╬╧╪
As soon as Roark had the whip in hand, a pulsing bloody red aura exuded from his ghostly pale skin. A fury like he’d never felt before filled him. Where he normally felt rage as a cold, deadly simmer just under his skin, this was blindingly hot, molten metal rolling through his veins, a complete forsaking of all reason and calculation.
Civil War Page 27