Ogre Tyrant

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 27 - Stalking the sands - Part Two

In hindsight, the new hunting strategy really wasn’t fair on the Sand Stalkers at all. This was good because reduced risk improved morale, but it was also starting to make the more junior warriors overconfident. Forming two ranks of ten, the hunters would form an inverted crescent to draw in the giant spider. Once it was committed, the flanks would wrap around and block retreat while the hunters hacked and stabbed at the spider with halberds.

Group Synergy only made the fighting even more one-sided. With access to both Kestrel and Clarice’s Determination and Resilience Racial Abilities, as well as my own, the veteran hunters we invited into the group became comparatively superhuman compared to those who were not in the group.

It wasn’t all a one-sided exchange either. Inviting the veteran hunters to our party finally confirmed the Orcs subspecies and shared its unique benefits with us as well. As we had more or less expected given the terrain, they were Desert Orcs, and in place of the Contempt Racial Ability of the Deep Orcs, they had Xerocole. The Xerocole Racial Ability, true to its name, drastically reduced the Desert Orcs need for water, depending on their Toughness, and also gave them a damage-dealing bonus when Dehydrated or give a minor increase to their resistance against extreme temperatures when otherwise hydrated.

As helpful as the ability was, it did raise the question about what ability the Mountain Orc’s had instead. If they had an ability similar to the Deep Orc’s Contempt, dealing additional damage to those smaller than them, it would explain a lot. In fact, I hadn’t properly thought about it at the time, but only the Mountain Orc I had killed personally registered as a Variant. The rest had been Labyrinth clones...

Over the course of the first day, we managed to hunt down four Sand Stalkers without issue and spotted no signs of the Mountain Orc Slavers. The hunters explained that the Slavers only made a raid every month or so, but would probably attack again when their previous group was assumed missing.

With the first pit more or less filled with dead giant spiders, the workers covered them with the excavated dirt and then gathered alongside all but the essential wall guards in the village centre by the well.

Using the manastones gathered from the spiders to power his ability, Mors began channelling his mana. A single root extended from the olive tree and slowly coiled around the splintered wood of the hanging bar above the well. After coiling back on itself, the end of the root slowly began excreting water. At first, it was one drop every few seconds, then every second, and then a trickle.

Even after Mors slumped in exhaustion and stopped channelling his mana, the water continued to flow for around ten minutes before gradually tapering off to nothing.

Initially worried that the villagers wouldn’t be impressed, I was quickly proven wrong when cheers erupted shortly after the last drops descended into the well.

I suppose, after getting so close to running out of water entirely, being able to proactively generate even this much was seen as a pretty big deal. The meat and vegetable rations, as well as the olives being introduced to the local diet, might have had an effect on morale as well, but it was difficult to tell for sure.

Rather than soaking in the village’s drinking water, Ril had reluctantly transferred to a large cast-iron cauldron sent through with the supplies. Some of the villagers hadn’t been happy about her special treatment, but most were willing to look the other way or even argue that it was justified given Ril’s connection to Toofy, or ‘the water bringer’, as they were calling her. Which was a fair point. Even if the cauldron was large enough to fit an average human sitting down, Toofy had provided many times over that amount to the village as a whole.

Still unable to sleep through the entire night, I spent the final hour before sunrise sitting on the roof and watching the stars and waiting to mark the new day by shifting a day marker on my necklace. In all likelihood, today would be a repeat of yesterday and so would the next month as well barring retaliation for the Slaving party we killed.

The Mountain Orc Tribe was a wildcard that could cause problems at any time, and I didn’t like it. The longer I was left alone with my thoughts, the more convinced I became that Stone Well needed to be officially founded sooner rather than later. In fact, the enemies drawn by the quest would provide water for the village without requiring us and the hunters to go searching for them, resulting in a substantially greater yield. Furthermore, being officially brought into our alliance would mean being able to extract oaths and teaching them Classes to better defend themselves. Until they were officially members of our alliance, it wasn’t worth the risk.

With the sun beginning to rise in the distance, I had just about made up my mind when I spotted a familiar-looking disturbance in the distance. A dust cloud in the east was growing larger with each passing moment.

“KESTREL!” I called out and dropped down to the terrace of the second floor.

A light sleeper, Kestrel had been woken up hours earlier when I climbed up to the roof, and despite having fallen asleep since, she was up on her feet and alert, “What is it?” Kestrel asked as she slapped her cheeks to get her adrenaline flowing.

“Dust clouds to the east,” I pointed and gave her an expectant look, “We need to know if they are friend or foe!”

Kestrel nodded and hurriedly retrieved her spyglass before coming out onto the landing.

I lifted her onto the roof to get a better view, doing my best to ignore the fact that she was dressed only in her underclothes.

After tracking the movement of the dust cloud for a few moments, Kestrel frowned, “Looks like Wilds,” she reported, sounding more than a little confused. “Gimme a sec,” Kestrel focused her mana, causing her eyes to emanate a faint silvery light before she closed one eye and looked through her spyglass with the other. “Looks like giant birds being chased by those Sand Stalkers?” Kestrel reported somewhat uncertainly, “Can’t see any sign of Variants or Guilders.”

“Giant birds? You're sure?” I demanded.

Kestrel nodded.

“Get armed up!” I ordered, “We are going to try and catch as many of them as possible! I’m going to go gather the hunters, meet us at the gate with the boars and the taming necklaces!”

“Yessir!” Kestrel snapped a salute and began shimmying off the roof.

Jumping off the landing, I rushed towards the village centre to the Chief’s new dwelling. Jarwal was my primary contact to the hunters and I needed them gathered as fast as possible. While the dust cloud had been headed in this general direction, the spiders and birds would both divert course if they came too close.

Rousing Jarwal and tagging along as he gathered others, I gave them a rundown of our primary objectives and how we would accomplish them.

Put simply, we would intercept the fleeing flock of birds and the pursuing spiders at the same time. Those intercepting the birds would be incapacitating as many of them as possible with bola while those intercepting the spiders bought them time to attach taming collars. Stone Well was located in hostile territory and in dire need of fast-moving scouts to accompany their hunting parties. So securing just two or three D-Raptors would make the risks more than worth it for the long term gains.

While none of the hunters were particularly familiar with bola, I was honestly expecting sheer numbers to carry the day, not skill. Keeping the wagon light, Kestrel would steer while I run with the hunters and Clarice rides Dhizi. Similarly, Clarice, ten most veteran hunters armed with halberds and myself would be intercepting the spiders, while Kestrel and the remaining twenty or so more junior hunters would try to incapacitate as many D-Raptors as possible.

Rushing out into the morning twilight, I could feel endorphins flooding my system in anticipation of combat, the minor aches and pains fading to the background as we drew closer to the enemy.

As we drew closer to the oncoming dust cloud, I was somewhat relieved to see that there were only four Sand Stalkers chasing around a dozen D-Raptors. The spiders didn’t seem particularly energetic at this point either and seemed to be slowing down.

As if on cue, the fleeing flock of D-Raptors split in two, circling back around and falling upon the giant spiders from the rear.

Raising my arm to signal for everyone to halt their advance, I continued a little further ahead to confirm what I was seeing was really happening.

The flock of D-Raptors were literally tearing the spiders apart, ripping their legs off and hammering their beaks into the spiders’ bodies.

“NEW PLAN!” I called out, “Swap halberds for bolas! Stick together and focus on non-lethal takedowns!” I hurried back to the wagon and swapped out my halberd for four taming collars. There was close to no chance I would land a hit with the bolas, but I was fairly confident I could tackle a D-Raptor long enough to fix a collar around its neck. Worst case scenario, I would collar D-Raptors bola’d by the others.

With everyone but Clarice Having swapped out their equipment, we began a slow staggered march towards the flock.

Our approach did not go unnoticed for long. Before coming within a hundred feet, two D-Raptors had left the flocks feasting and began screeching a warning to the others while flapping their surprisingly large wings in an attempt to intimidate us. As we continued drawing closer, more of the flock disengaged from their feasting and joined the intimidation effort. When it became obvious that we wouldn’t be intimidated, four of the large D-Raptors suddenly charged straight for the centre of our formation.

Standing right at the front, I raised my arm to signal the others to stop and slowly continued alone.

With the air thrumming from the collective spinning of the bolas, I was reasonably confident that these first four birds would be brought down before they had a chance at bringing their talons or beaks to bear.

As I had hoped, when the D-Raptors vanguard began closing the final ten feet, a hail of bolas whipped past me on either side and so thoroughly wrapped the D-Raptors legs that there was no way they could escape without our intervention.

Seizing the moment, I sprinted to close the short distance between us and slugged the closest prone D-Raptor in the side of the head as it attempted to jab me with its beak. As I finished buckling the collar around the dazed bird's neck, It immediately grew still.

[You have successfully captured {Desert Razorbeak}]

Blinking away the notification, I jumped bodily onto the next bird and secured a collar around its neck as well.

[You have successfully captured {Desert Razorbeak}]

A second volley of bola’s was the only warning I received as the remaining Razorbeaks charged.

Scrambling to my feet, I decided to be proactive. Hanging back by the two captured Razorbeaks would likely just make them targets of their former allies. Seeing that only two of the charging Razorbeaks had been successfully intercepted, I grit my teeth and charged. Thus far, the only thing to have successfully pierced my hide was a magical spear, so I was hoping that trend would continue as I deliberately drew the flock's focus.

*Thump*

I landed a lucky punch against the lead Razorbeak’s head and continued charging forwards.

*Thwack, Thump, Rip*

Two beaks crashed against my shoulders nearly simultaneously and a talon raked down my front as I staggered and fell backwards.

With no time to realize how big a mistake I had made, I tucked and rolled to the side, catching another sharp jab to the side from a beak. Continuing to roll I felt a grim sense of satisfaction as I heard another volley of bolas being thrown into my vicinity, although I was very nearly driven deaf by the squeaking and screeching of the Razorbeaks.

I lost track of time as I desperately shielded my most vulnerable areas by pulling in my knees and wrapping my arms over my head, throwing my weight one way or the other to roll, making myself a more difficult target.

As the attacks lessened, I risked staggering to my feet and nearly caught a bola to the head.

Almost all the Razorbeaks were down, but one was still standing and putting up a hell of a fight as seven hunters attempted to interchangeably tackle or bola it to the ground. Unlike the other Razorbeaks, this one had visible scarring on its legs and neck, and had dull grey feathers rather than sandy yellow.

Glancing down at my tunic and seeing it was practically torn to ribbons, I grunted in irritation as I began stalking towards the last Razorbeak. Seeing that three of the hunters were already sporting a number of shallow cuts, I ripped off the tattered remains of my tunic and stomped into the melee.

*Thump Thwack*

The Razorbeak and I exchanged blows near simultaneously. The Razorbeak took a punch to the body, while I took a jab from its beak to the gut.

Fumbling at first, I wrapped my hands around its throat and began to squeeze. I could feel its thundering heartbeat beneath my fingers, and the surge of its blood each time the Razorbeak attempted a desperate lunge for my face. Feeling myself succumbing to bloodlust, I released my right hand from its throat and throttled it in the side of the head. “COLLAR IT!” I roared, smacking it in the head again to keep it dazed and unable to bring its talons to bear.

“GOT IT!” Kestrel came running in from my right and buckled a collar around its neck, bringing the Razorbeak’s resistance to an end.

[Kestrel has successfully captured {Desert Swiftstrider} 1228-4-2 ]

Stiffly removing my hand from the bird's throat, I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

I lost track of time while pacing and waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. Making my way over to the wagon, I sat down in the shade cast on its left side and drank some water. I didn’t strictly need to, I wasn’t thirsty, but the ritual itself was calming and helped me calm down.

Looking down at my chest and arms, I could see light pink scratches standing out against my pale skin. Already fully aware that the Swamp Lurkers couldn’t accomplish as much, it was an obvious sign that my practical invulnerability was becoming less effective by entering higher floors of the Labyrinth and fighting stronger monsters. Soon armour wouldn’t be just for protecting my eyes, ears and groin, but would be necessary for preserving my life. The sombre thought was enough to lower my heart rate down to a relatively normal level again.

Getting to my feet again, I quickly recognised some confusion amongst the hunters and could guess as to the reason why. They had unlocked one or more Classes and couldn’t read the notifications. Securing oaths of secrecy just became an even higher priority. While I doubted the Chief would agree right now, I suspected his opinion would change after the hunters began securing even larger volumes of reclaimed water.

Of course, that would mean teaching the hunters how to ride effectively and making the saddles necessary for them to fight effectively while mounted. It was about time I learned how they processed the silk from the spiders.

The Razorbeaks were relatively unharmed for the most part and capable of walking back to Stone Well unaided. Although a few were moving quite sluggishly or with a bad limp. The worst pair were loaded into the wagon, while the others were kept under careful watch. The hunters secured the mangled remains of the spiders with ropes and then we brought everything back to the village.

I made a point of inspecting each Razorbeak’s collar before allowing it into the village. To my understanding, a loose collar wouldn’t fall off a bound person or Beast, but an excessively tight one would chafe and cause medical problems down the line. So I made sure that none of the collars were too tight or too loose while having their bonds transferred to myself and placed under my faction’s overall control.

It was a safety measure and action to ensure that the Razorbeaks would all accept orders and riders. Given that this element was one of the murky areas of intent dictating outcomes, I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of thirteen giant murder birds potentially flying off the handle and attacking villagers in the street because one of the hunters got in an argument. Once the Chief and I formally forged our alliance and I invited him into the Faction, the riders would be trained and their behaviour would be his problem.

Directing the hunters to remove the silk glands from the spiders remains, I shifted all of the Razorbeaks and the Swiftstrider to my retinue and directed them to eat. Much more restrained than their earlier feasting, the giant birds still set to the command with gusto, ripping and tearing at the spiders’ soft insides.

While reclaiming the water from the spiders would have been nice, hydrating, feeding and healing our recently acquired mounts was of more immediate importance. The same went for our own wounded as well, who were given food rations and sent off to the Surgeons for treatment.

“So when do we start riding lessons?” Kestrel asked cheerily.

“When you convince Clarice to teach you and I find the supplies to make at least one makeshift saddle?” I replied with a chuckle.

“You can make saddles?” Kestrel asked with genuine shock in her voice.

“Sure can,” Clarice replied in a bittersweet tone as she brought Dhizi up alongside us. “Was just made of a bedroll, some rope and-”

“My apron!” I interrupted, smacking my forehead, “I was wondering where that went...”

Clarice nodded and leaned forward to rest on the horn off Dhizi’s saddle, “You think about what you're gonna use to make more saddles?” She asked somewhat distractedly.

“I don’t mind giving up my bedroll,” Kestrel volunteered eagerly.

“That’s one down,” Clarice grunted with a smirk.

“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly, “We haven’t seen any animals with hide we can use except the Razorbeaks themselves, so I guess that leaves the tents and tarpaulins, unless the villagers have supplies we can use. But beyond silk rope, I don’t think they do.”

Kestrel seemed confused, “What's wrong with silk? I am pretty sure I remember the army mounts having blankets beneath the saddles...”

I nodded, “They do, and depending on how coarse or fine the silk is, it might be okay for the under blanket. But the top layer needs friction to help the rider from slipping or dislodging it. Without buckles and straps, I will be using ropes as substitutes, and they can be prone to slipping as well if I don’t get it exactly right.”

“That’s true,” Clarice confirmed, “I nearly fell off a few times when a small slip in the ropes caught me by surprise. Fell a few times when I expected them too as well,” she muttered and rubbed her arm.

“If we had the materials for it, I would probably try and make a sort of sled-chariot. Much easier in terms of technical ability for the riders. One person steers and the other attacks. On wide-open terrain like this, chariots with archers for support would be phenomenal.” I was of course basing that assumption on a few classic movies featuring Roman coliseums, but the principle seemed sound enough.

“Wait, you know how to make a chariot?!” Kestrel demanded, evidently quite shocked by the implications.

“No,” I admitted with a chuckle, “I could probably make everything if I had the right materials and tools. Except for the wheels of course, and maybe the axles,” I shrugged helplessly. IF I had known there would come a time where I needed to know how to make perfectly round wheels and low friction axles, I probably would have asked more questions in woodworking class during high school.

“Oh...” Kestrel seemed a little disappointed.

I just shrugged again, there wasn’t much I could really do about her disappointment right at the moment.

“But you can make the saddle right?” Kestrel asked, perking right back up again.

“Sure,” I agreed, “Once the birds are in decent enough condition to hold a rider,” I added.

“Define, decent enough condition?” Kestrel asked slyly.

“Able to walk in a straight line without limping or signs of distress,” I qualified.

“Alright,” Kestrel agreed and began making her way over to the flock of giant birds still in the process of chowing down on the giant spider remains.

“You know she’s planning on taking one to the Surgeons right?” Clarice teased with a sly grin.

I sighed and shrugged, “Then the Surgeons get some more experience,” I countered, “Besides, this is assuming I can get all the materials together in the first place,” I warned.

Clarice raised an eyebrow, “Those Slavers had hide gear, has to be something besides spiders and birds around here somewhere,” she reasoned.

“True,” I agreed, having overlooked that fact until she reminded me, which reminded me of something else. “Clarice?”

“Mmm?” Clarice was rolling her back in the saddle and looked like she was about to head off to relieve herself.

“That grey one, the Swiftstrider, what does that combination of numbers mean?” I asked curiously. At first, I had thought it might have been a Variant, but it showed no more intelligence or independence than the others. If anything, the combination of the weird name and the scars suggested it might have once belonged to someone.

“Oh that...” Clarice rubbed at her eyes somewhat tiredly, “I think that might be Guild ID or something? I didn’t pay much attention to that stuff during recruitment,” she admitted with a shrug, “Nadine would know though, she probably read damn near everything they had!” Clarice snorted in amusement.

“I’ll be sure to ask her, thanks,'' I gave Clarice an appreciative smile and nodded in thanks.

Clarice grinned lazily in return then directed Dhizi towards our quarters.

Looking over at the flock of Razorbeaks, I could see that Kestrel had her eye on the Swiftstrider we had just been discussing. Not all that surprising really, it was the most unique of the group and the Species implied speed. Maybe Kestrel was a speed junky? She certainly hadn’t minded driving the boars hard when we were moving to intercept earlier.

Trying to put it from my mind for the time being, I set out to take stock of what materials the village had to offer. I wasn’t holding out hope for anything more than rope at this point, but for all I knew, they might have a whole pile of hides stowed away somewhere.

As I had expected, there were no secret stashes of Beast hides stowed away, or so the storehouse keeper Fadwa reluctantly showed me.

“No hides, much silk?” The elderly Orc offered placatingly. Fadwa wasn’t wrong, this storehouse was practically packed full of silk trade goods and clothing, the primary exceptions being the supplies we had provided from Sanctuary. The first thing she had done upon my arrival, was insist upon measuring me for replacement clothes and barking out those measurements to the silk workers in the building across the street. While initially somewhat embarrassed, I overall felt more of a grandmotherly vibe from her, so I did my best to look past it.

“Maybe,” I hedged and carefully scrutinized a nearby quilted blanket, “Could you come take a look at something?”

Fadwa nodded in agreement and we left the storehouse in the care of her assistant while I showed Fadwa Clarice’s saddle.

“We don’t have the hide or leather, but most of this can be substituted for rope,” I explained while motioning to the different elements of Dhizi’s saddle, “I have some tougher fabric for the main seat to provide grip, but it would be more effective if someone could sew the cords to it.”

Fadwa nodded and took a closer look at the saddle and the buckles in particular.

Briefly visiting the gate out of the village, I showed Fadwa the Razorbeaks that I intended to use the saddles on and demonstrated how I made the first saddle, using Kestrel’s bedroll as a substitute.

“Fadwa try?” The elderly Orc asked, a hint of youthful excitement in her voice.

“Sure,” I agreed, trying to keep my amusement to myself as I motion the Swiftstrider to the ground to make mounting easier for her.

With a firm grip on the reins, Fadwa’s feet secured in the stirrups and her thighs snugly hugging its sides, I motioned for the Swiftstrider to rise slowly.

Explaining the basic commands and what to do with the reins, I watched the old Orc dart to and fro in the main street on the back of the giant bird. To my surprise, the Swiftstrider managed to avoid an untimely collision with a building by jumping at the last second and nimbly landing on the second floor before hopping down again.

After a quarter-hour or so of riding around on the Swiftstrider, I helped Fadwa dismount and then we headed for the crafting hall across from the storehouse. Kestrel had been patiently waiting, but unfortunately for her, Fadwa wanted to show the saddled bird to the weavers in order to best figure out what could be done with native materials.

Sitting in on the conversation between the head weaver and Fadwa, most of my attention was focused on the junior weavers spinning and weaving spider silk. Although a little gross, I was still impressed by their ingenuity.

One weaver would extract a thin line of silk from the spider’s silk gland and attach it to a stick with a crochet-like hook at the top and a circular stone at the bottom. Using gravity, the weaver could slowly draw out more thread, and by spinning the tool like a top, could ensure a near-uniform thickness and torsion strength. While the first weaver handled the tool, the second, made sure to keep the opening of the silk gland remained capped by a carved piece of bone that made me think of an icing piping bag nozzle.

Once the spinning and drawing tool was full, or a silk gland ran dry, the silk thread would be stored in a clay pot to keep it clean until it was needed later.

The actual weaving was performed on primitive looms of varying sizes. Mostly made from wooden pegs anchored into the floor and walls, it was incredibly impressive that they could accomplish with so little. While most of the village had gone without, the looms had what looked like repurposed spear shafts for anchoring the thread down either end and for alternating the weave. Not one to judge, I could only assume that they prioritised the weavery over a few spears after the fires that devastated their village.

After another hour of discussing different sewing techniques, layering methods, and whatnot, Fadwa gave Kestrel the go-ahead to take the Swiftstrider away.

Only too keen to do so, Kestrel awkwardly mounted the big grey feathered bird and raced it down the street with a big smile on her face as she began her hunt for Clarice.

The hunters had already left for the daily hunt with the wagon, so I spent the rest of the day with Toofy and Ril, trying to get some rest and conserve energy. Ril seemed to be in a playful mood which was a good sign, although she was still visibly fatigued.

I wondered if perhaps gathering materials to make a permanent portal structure that could be fueled with manastones might be a better plan than the slow and steady water reclamation project. After considering the fact that Ril would still need to travel back to Sanctuary to establish the anchor on the other side, I was forced to dismiss the idea for the time being.

I briefly considered tasking Mors with finding an underground cavern we could explore for alternate monsters to hunt, but the prospect of fighting the giant spiders in enclosed spaces was enough to kill all my enthusiasm for that idea.

When the hunters returned in the afternoon, along with nine Sand Stalker carcases in tow. They brought news that one of the nomad tribes would be arriving sometime in the evening.

Curious, I went looking for Chief Uday to get more information. Near as I could tell, the tribes wouldn’t have had anything to trade one another before my arrival, but I supposed I could always be wrong. I had only been in the village less than a week, assuming I understood the local economy would be pretty pretentious.

Finding Chief Uday making preparations to welcome the visiting nomads, I was surprised to see how genuinely excited he was by their prospective arrival. It wasn’t just him either, all the villagers were in a good mood and excitedly talking about the arrival of the nomads.

Approaching Chief Uday during a lull, I asked for an explanation to indulge my curiosity.

“Nomads return, trade food, trade water. Soon mothers moon, all nomads return, bond children,” Uday explained happily.

It would make sense under the circumstances. Stone Well was probably the most defensible location available to them and would have had a steady supply of water during better times. “Do you mean bonding the youths like Jarwal?” I asked for clarification.

Uday nodded with a visible level of relief, “Arranged long time, Ezha bond Jarwal, make less reckless,” he crowed with fresh life in his eyes.

I was tempted to ask about Jarwal’s other exploits that had caused his uncle such a high degree of stress, but decided I probably didn’t want to know. “Are all bonds arranged so far in advance?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea of arranged marriages and wanted to learn how prolific it was before making trouble over nothing.

Uday shook his head, “Chief family’s only. Keep ties strong.” He paused and stopped to consider something before speaking again, “Elders interfere sometimes,” he admitted with a shrug.

That made sense and was what I had generally expected. “What do you trade with the nomads? Silk goods?” It was all I could think of given the previously depleted state of the well. Then again, the nomads would likely have silk production of their own, assumingly having no shortage of enemies to provide the materials.

“Silk mostly,” Uday agreed, “Nomads trade water.”

“Wait, what? The nomads give you water in exchange?” I asked, wanting to make sure I was understanding him correctly.

Uday nodded, “Take silks, give humans silk, take water, give Stone Well water,” he explained.

“Huh…” While it made sense to trade for what they needed, I was fairly certain the Adventurers Guild were the ones supporting the northern Slavers. So the thought of the nomads effectively funding their own enslavement left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Uday seemed worried by my reaction, so I did my best to explain things as I understood them. This more or less boiled down to the fact that the Adventurers Guild on this floor was buying Orc slaves regularly and that thus far, the Mountain Orcs had been the only Slavers I had seen or heard any of the locals talk about.

Equal parts horrified and sickened, Chief Uday was unable to speak for a long time. “Soulless! Evil! Betraying! Egg-smashers!” Although only whispering the words, the older Orc was trembling with rage and had tears welling in his eyes.

I could only assume that Chief Uday had thought the Mountain Orcs were keeping his people prisoner as a labour force. It was the only way I could explain his reaction.

“Leave…” Chief Uday rasped and motioned to the door, “Others must know...Must prepare…”

Leaving the Chief alone, I wondered if perhaps I had done the right thing. While I had no intentions of letting the Slavery continue and planned on taking the fight to the Mountain Orc Slavers at some point, I did not intend to do so until I was well and truly ready. But now I felt like war was just around the corner, which was at odds with the otherwise festive mood in the air.

While trying to imagine what a war in this drought locked floor would be like, I made my way back to our quarters.

Taking a look at my battered warhammer, I wondered how much abuse it would be able to take before shattering like my morningstar did. “How the hell are we going to fight a war without real weapons?” I muttered irritably while massaging my temples. I had no one else to blame, I could have kept my mouth shut and waited for a better time, but I didn't.

“Slingers?” Assuming the warriors had time to train, slings could be a viable ranged weapon. The slings could be made from silk and there were stones practically everywhere…

“What am I doing?” I knew next to nothing about the Mountain Orcs capabilities, or even their general numbers. The only thing I could assume is that they were capable of bulking their numbers with near-infinite amounts of Enslaved Wild Orcs. That of course also meant that they had Slavers and most likely Taskmasters as well.

This meant that in order to compete on even close to an equal footing, I would need to provide combat Classes to the warriors of Stone Well and the nomad tribes. And the problem with doing that would of course be convincing them to join my alliance in good faith.

As easy as it would be to coax them under the pretense of providing the tools for their war of vengeance, there would be no assurances to guarantee any sort of long-lasting goodwill like I had been attempting to build by solving their water problem.

I was so busy blaming myself and getting swept up in my own thoughts that I lost track of time. So when I took a break from my ultimately pointless worrying, I was surprised to see that the sun was close to setting and it was beginning to grow dark outside.

What was even more surprising was the procession of Orcs passing my door that I didn’t recognise. Unlike the locals, whose silks were dyed light brown and otherwise stained reinforcing the colour, the newcomers wore silks with blue panels or stripes. They also wore their head scarfs in a more uniform fashion compared to how the locals who wore theirs in as many as eight different styles that I had seen.

Despite my initial confusion, a part of me recognised that these strangers had to be the nomads the hunters had been talking about earlier. The fact that they were making themselves at home, literally, moving into the nearby buildings, demonstrated that they were expected guests.

Walking up the stairs to the landing on the second floor, I could see that the recently arrived nomads were mostly keeping to themselves and had claimed buildings next to one another. Each residence was marked by a silk curtain taking the place of the missing door. Interestingly, each curtain I could see from my vantage point had a different pattern, although some were similar.

Seeing a procession of sorts headed towards the village centre, I was somewhat surprised to see that the nomad warriors had iron, or perhaps even steel, weapons.

The fact that the nomads had been able to trade for, or otherwise acquire decent weapons, was actually something of a relief at this point. After all, if they could get those, then there was a decent chance they could get more.

Without my headscarf and robe to otherwise conceal my appearance, the nomads who saw me on the terrace warily backed away or hid in their borrowed homes, a familiar fear reflected in their eyes.

Clarice and Kestrel were treated much differently, being actively approached by what looked like merchants interested in selling them one thing or another. The merchants seemed particularly interested in trying to trade for one of the Razorbeaks, but showed no interest in the boars, perhaps being familiar with their original owners and not wanting to be associated with them.

Assuming my presence would only continue to agitate things, I returned to the ground floor to keep Ril and Toofy company. This turned into an impromptu rubdown with a damp towel for Toofy since she was beginning to smell a little rank. Turnaround being fair play, Ril splashed me good while I was distracted and pointed out I didn’t smell all that good either.

I would have argued back, but I knew she was right. Running around in the desert and getting covered in spider guts will do heinous things to anyone's hygiene. Making sparing use of our dwindling supply of dawnmoss, I made sure to clean the trouble areas before changing into clean clothes upstairs.

Feeling in a much better mood, I laid out my clothes on the terrace and weighed them down with a rock to stop them from flying away. The sun and fresh air would kill off the bugs and make them perfectly wearable again in a couple of days. Returning downstairs I gave the girls some rations for dinner and caved to their repeated requests to tell a bedtime story. Considering Toofy and Ril spent most of every day sleeping or otherwise doing as little as possible, I figured it might be funny to tell them the story of sleeping beauty.

The joke was on me, since neither of them had really left this room, and Sanctuary hadn’t had one, neither of them knew what a spinning wheel was, or what it was for. So that required a lengthy explanation and a hurried drawing on the wall to explain it before being able to move on to the actual story. However, just as I was getting into the rhythm of the story again, I was interrupted by Jarwal bursting in uninvited.

“S-Sorry,” Jarwal apologised, his cheeks more than a little flushed, although not from exertion, “Chief Izsa wants meeting.”

“Izsa is the nomad Chief? I asked for confirmation.

Jarwal stiffly nodded.

“Do you know why she wants to see me?” I asked while getting to my feet and dusting myself off.

Jarwal shook his head nervously while glancing towards the door.

“Alright, just give me a minute okay?” I sighed.

“Alright,” Jarwal agreed hastily and ducked back out of the house.

“Sorry girls, I can continue the story later if you want.” I offered.

Toofy waved me off nonchalantly and picked up the stone I had been using to draw on the wall. “Toofy tell story,” she declared and began scribbling on the wall. “Princess thinks spinny wheel dumb, goes down to kitchen for food!” Toofy exclaimed, drawing a wavy line on the wall and then scribbling something else.

Ril seemed captivated and leaned closer.

Feeling betrayed and a little inadequate as a storyteller, I left the house and followed Jarwal into the section of the village now occupied by the nomads.

Just like before, despite the recent addition of my tunic, the nomads shied away from me.

Trying not to take it personally, I concentrated on following Jarwal.

Arriving at a larger three-story building with guards posted outside, it was obvious that we had reached our destination.

Clearly expecting us, the guards stepped aside and allowed us to enter.

Two women, one slighter than the other, were waiting for us on silk cushions next to a brass tray stacked high with olives.

“Please, sit,” the slighter woman motioned to the two empty cushions by the tray. There was a familiar breathiness to her words and a slight lisp that I felt like I should recognise but couldn’t quite place.

Carefully lowering myself onto the cushion to avoid tearing it open, I waited to see what it was that the nomads Chief wanted.

The nervous energy between Jarwal and the other woman was pretty distracting, so it took me a few moments to realise that the Chief’s eyes were at least a full shade lighter, and had slitted pupils...

Smiling behind her veil, Chief Izsa made it clear that she knew I knew. “It is a pleasure to meet you Chieftain Tim,” she placed her right hand lightly over her heart and bowed her head, “As I am sure Jarwal has told you already, I am Izsa-” The pronunciation of her name was less drawn out than the Serpent-Kin of Sanctuary, but still distinctly recognisable, “-Chief of the Flowing Water tribe. I was told you are looking for partners to join your alliance, and I would like to express my most fervent interest!”

I decided to test Chief Izsa’s resolve, unwilling to take her sudden interest at face value given her tribe's potential loyalties to the Adventurers Guild. “Joining will require oaths of loyalty and secrecy on pain of death,” I warned, paying careful attention to her body language.

Perhaps mistaking the reason for my scrutiny, or maybe to throw me off, Chief Izsa shifted her posture to more prominently display her chest. But I hadn’t been separated from Lash nearly long enough for such a cheap ploy to work. Briefly narrowing her eyes in irritation, it was clear Chief Izsa didn’t get the reaction she wanted. “I am familiar with the workings of oaths and would be willing to take those that are deemed necessary,” she replied with a somewhat strained tone.

“Why do you want to join my alliance?” I asked calmly, ignoring Izsa’s minor emotional slip.

Chief Izsa took a moment to compose herself, restoring her previous smile. “Conditions are growing worse and I wish a future for my people outside of slavery,” she replied with surprising bluntness.

“And what can you bring to my alliance?” I determinedly maintained eye contact and waited for her reply.

After giving me a cold calculating stare for a few moments, Chief Izsa smiled and her eyes flashed dangerously, “Because I have contacts with the humans who can expose the Slavers movements.”

Of all the possible answers she could have given, that was not what I had expected.

“So?” Chief Izsa hissed, “Can Flowing Water join your alliance?”

*****

Standing before the grand table festooned with maps, Francis Asrus, reluctant Lord Regent of the Asrusian kingdom tried to keep his mind on the military matters at hand and not the self customising Master tier Leadership Class Field Marshal Klive had assisted in unlocking just an hour prior.

“-multiple reports of attempted insurgencies and assassinations on our western flank,” Marshal Regis continued, marking the fortifications in question, “Thus far, casualties have been kept to a minimum thanks to the special troops being cycled through to our most exposed bases. But I fear it will not be enough,” The cantankerous eighty-year-old waved forward one of his attending aides who laid out another more detailed map, “Early reports suggest the Empire is deploying their elite war slaves to the Mistfall pass to secure it for invasion. Repelling these forces will be bloody, but we have no other alternatives. I recommend briefly withdrawing our elite forces from the southernmost front, completing their conversion and then deploying them alongside two companies of freshly converted recruits to deny the Empire the pass as long as possible.”

Three other Marshals, including Klive, reluctantly agreed.

The human conversion to monster status, or ascendency as some soldiers were calling it, had proven to be an incredibly powerful tool in the ongoing war effort. Even the greenest of recruits had become many times more dangerous than they had been before, capable of temporarily going toe to toe with elite forces with decades more accumulated combat experience and Class levels.

Francis had felt it himself and seen it in the otherwise venerable cadre of Marshals now heartily arguing tactics about the campaign. The ascension had changed them on a fundamentally basic level, remade them into something more than they had been before.

A man of nearly forty years, Francis had never been particularly athletic in spite of intense and rigorous training in his childhood and youth. That had always been his younger brother Gidian’s gift. Francis’s gift had always been his mind and he prided himself on his intelligence. When undergoing the initial change to qualify for unlocking Classes, being able to see a number literally reinforce that fact had been one of the happiest days of his life. Abdicating from the succession had been a close second. Father had been furious, of course, but had accepted it in time.

“-Lord Regent?” Marshal Hughes prompted, motioning to a detailed blueprint of port Gidian’s projected expansion expectantly.

Rapidly assessing the context and drawing the relevant facts and figures to mind, Francis nodded, “I will personally see to the approval of the necessary funds,” he affirmed, understanding that the biggest hurdle in establishing this final bastion was financing it without their enemies noticing.

“Aherm, my K-Lord Regent,” Field Marshal Klive presented another report, “We have confirmation that Chieftain Tim has access to independent portal capabilities. Several eyewitnesses confirm seeing the portal opening and supplies as well as numerous personnel being moved to another floor of the Labyrinth.”

Francis nodded in understanding, “We need that,” he agreed and mentally checked the list of Classes being provided to all members of ‘Tim’s Faction’. “Do we know why it is not currently available like the others?”

The attending Marshals and their aides all shook their heads, except one.

“Sir, I believe it's because he doesn’t quite trust us yet, or the unlock requirement is incredibly niche,” Francis recognised the woman's voice almost immediately.

“You have insights Lt. Rooke?” Francis asked, unperturbed as the middle-aged woman suddenly materialised from the shadows. She was one of many elite soldiers on his temporary protection detail while visiting the port. There were probably close to a dozen men and women currently lurking unseen in the room at this very moment, let alone the small army outside.

Lt. Rooke grinned, “Aye, that I do sir,” She agreed, “Reports say Tim took four people with him, our erstwhile liaison officer, the reformed Adventurers Clarice and Nadine, as well as his adopted daughter Toofy and her daughter Ril,” Lt. Rooke drummed off the facts with a near malicious sense of superiority, “Now, we know the Classes, more or less, of everyone but the two short ones, although I highly suspect Toofy has the Thief or Scavenger Class by way of explaining how she kept making off with things without anyone noticing,” she sounded more than a little aggrieved by that, “So that just leaves Ril-”

“You think a mere Goblin is capable of making portals?!” Marshal Hughes demanded, his finely combed moustache bristling indignantly.

“Never said Ril was a Goblin, sir,” Lt. Rooke replied dryly, “Although I would hold my tongue before insulting them all the same. The big guy is very protective of his family and could mash us into paste in a heartbeat, ascension or no.”

“So what is she then?” Francis asked, denying Marshal Hughes the opportunity to retort, “Some sort of hybrid or Subspecies?”

Lt. Rooke grinned and shook her head, “No, she’s something different entirely, and there are more of them in Sanctuary too. They even helped us build the road and the earliest defences for the port,” she pulled a tattered page from a pouch on her belt and threw it to the table, “They are Daemons, sir.”

All eyes in the room became fixed on the dated illustration on the page. A caricature with blood-red skin, two black horns protruding from its forehead, the legs of a boar or deer and arms like snakes, glared balefully back at them.

Francis raised his hand in warning, forestalling the otherwise inevitable outbursts of those present. “You are certain of this?” He demanded, reluctantly activating one of his recently acquired Class Abilities.

“As I can be,” Lt. Rooke admitted truthfully.

“Yet you are not disturbed by their presence, why?” Francis watched her closely, after all, so much now relied upon project Bastion that it would be almost impossible to take alternative measures now.

“Firstly, sir, that old scripture stuff killed more people than any Daemon I ever heard of,” Lt. Rooke noted with evident disgust, referencing the holy crusades declared every few decades by the Grand Theocracy of Gelt in the name of the divine Angels. “Secondly, their leader, or deputy to Chieftain Tim anyway, Gric, has superior authority to Klive and could really fuck us over if he wanted to. But he hasn’t, and won’t so long as we don’t give him a reason to-”

“Nonsense!” Hughes aide interrupted, “We are losing out on literally as many Underlord positions in tribute as we earn! What would you call that if not-”

“Silence!” Francis glared at the aide before returning his attention to Lt. Rooke, “Can you explain this in relation to your insights Lieutenant?”

Lt. Rooke nodded, “Of course, sir. Our Underlord Tax is because Tim doesn’t trust us. Gric is just following his lead. We probably wouldn’t even have this chance at all if Klive hadn’t ‘dealt with’ some bad apples early on.”

“Bad apples?” Francis asked, willing the relevant reports to mind. “Yes, the wounding of a refugee under the Chieftain’s protection, the delay in returning missing children under an issued quest, and an incident involving a Slaver and his hired Mercenaries.”

“Yes, sir,” Lt. Rooke nodded in confirmation, “If Klive had hesitated, we probably wouldn’t be standing here right now. If we can prove ourselves genuinely trustworthy allies,” she glared at the aide who had interrupted her earlier, “Then I don’t doubt the restrictions will lessen or perhaps even be removed over time. You want my advice on potentially making that happen sooner?” Lt. Rooke offered sincerely.

Francis nodded and motioned for her to continue. Lt. Rooke’s candour was one of the reasons her advice and insights were so valuable.

“Make a backdoor deal with the Midnight Caravan, make sure our guards and magistrates look the other way. There was one of them amongst the refugees that we escorted to Sanctuary, and I don’t doubt for a minute that he approached Tim or one of his advisors already. If we can show that we are on board with rescuing and freeing Enslaved Variants, I don’t doubt it will buy us some goodwill in the form of auxiliaries at the least, perhaps a renegotiation on the Underlord Tax if you ask nicely.” Lt. Rooke was direct and to the point, and most importantly believed every word of what she had said was true.

“Baron Klive, your thoughts?” Francis asked, wanting a second opinion for additional perspective.

“The Chieftain Tim has proven an honourable ally, and I believe that these Daemons especially follow his example. They are immensely powerful and talented in their specialties, and I do not doubt that if they had wished us harm that we would already be dead,” Field Marshal Klive scratched at his day-old stubble while considering something, “If Lt. Rooke is correct and the Daemons are capable of opening portals independently of magic items and artefacts, then it is in our best interests not to go making demands. Tim has demonstrated that he will at least loan resources and personnel to allies as needed. So I believe generating additional goodwill would be necessary before even considering making such a request. Looking the other way and offering under the table assistance to the Midnight Caravan will help with this, but does not seem to fit the scale of our own request and potential time frame.”

Francis considered his old friend's advice and had to agree. The Midnight Caravan operated discreetly and in small groups. The Variant slaves they freed in a year would rarely crest a hundred at most. The primary cause was, of course, because Asrus did not practice the enslavement of Variants on a meaningful scale. Their neighbours on the other hand…

Francis tented his fingers and began carefully considering his options. They had already made it clear that Asrus’s neutrality in their conflict would not be respected, so why not? All long term political repercussions were close to meaningless given the severity of the threat and anticipated devastation. So why not weaken their enemies' war efforts while doing a good deed and reaping benefits?

“Scribe,” Francis waited for his retainer to ready the paper and ink, “Draft a letter to the highest-ranking member of the Midnight Caravan our spy network knows of in the kingdom. Ahem, as Lord Regent of Asrus I am granting amnesty for all members' crimes pertaining to the unlawful freeing of slaves, past, present, and future. Furthermore, I am offering specialized training for recruits and members, as well as financial support. Should this be agreeable, negotiations may be made with Baron Klive, house name pending-” He gave the Marshal weighty look,”-as a trusted representative of the crown in these matters.”

Untenting his fingers, Francis removed his signet ring and pressed it to the hot wax seal on the letter. With that simple action, they were now committed. Already drafting the official law for the emancipation of Variants, Francis had to suppress a smile as he considered the enraged responses he would no doubt receive from those already pressing at their borders once the official emancipation law was drafted and announced to the public.