Chapter 75 - Turning Enemies Into Allies

Just heartbeats before Eric could initiate a plan involving a lot of blood and very little he could take back, his now exquisitely acute hearing made out two faint voices that froze him in his tracks.

“So, you think that asshole’s actually going to show up, dad?” queried a high-pitched, anxious voice.

A clearly older voice answered. “Asshole? So you think your sister’s right, and this is just some idiot sniping at orcs like it’s fucking World of Warblades 2.0? God, I hope not.”

This earned a snort from the first voice. “Sure, dad. Because we’d be so much better off if it were elves.”

“We’d be better off if trouble never came our way at all, Linus,” the boy’s father snapped. “You think I like seeing my son and daughter’s lives being put on the line like this? At least before that asshole started taking pot shots, those pig-faced bastards left us alone! All we had to do was meet their rat quota, and the porcine fuckers were content to ignore us champions ‘until the final push,’ they said. At least, that was the case before this asshole showed up, sniping Chief asshole’s psychotic green-skinned shaman!”

“Goddam, but I would have wanted to be there to see that,” said the boy with a sigh. “After what that thing did to Lizzy’s family, when they survived the pod but refused to take the orc’s Oath of Obedience...”

“Don’t even think about it, son. We do what we have to do to survive. That’s all.”

“But Dammit, dad, we’re little better than slaves! We have to obey every order the chief gives us! And he’s the one pig-faced asshole we’re not allowed even to attack! With every other orc, we're given a free pass to beat the crap out of them, if we're strong enough, just so we don't insult the king by being seen as weak. But damn do I want to tear out that pig-face's throat myself!"

“Careful, Linus,” said the suddenly anxious father. “Even if only a handful bothered learning our language, the few that did are higher-ups we do not want to risk pissing off. No one gives a shit about colorful language. That's all the orc-tongue is. But if we even whisper words of treason? We'll get worse than what my former boss did to us!”

This earned a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, sorry dad. Those assholes are actually worse than Mr. Pince. Which is fucking hard to believe, after that bastard managed to seize our home as well as get you blackballed from your field. And if I hadn’t seen fucking Pince screaming his last when they threw him into the pod...”

“I know, son. I know.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“Do you ever think about entering those rat tunnels and just seeing how far we can go?”

This earned a gentle snort. “Almost every day. If your mother and baby sister hadn’t escaped the pod quota… if I didn’t have to worry about them...”

"Shit, wouldn't it be great if we could actually make contact with you know who… and escape?"

This earned a sad sigh. “The elves these bastards are at war with would probably shoot us on sight if we tried to flee through their territory. They know there's only one way we could have survived this long, and that we're oathbound to follow the chieftain's orders, no matter what they are."

"But dad… think about it! The chief's second gives us all these bullshit orders, and we follow because we're smart enough to stay on his good side, and not think about every other way they could fuck us over. But the chief hasn't ever actually given us any orders, save never to harm his person. He’s so paranoid about others taking his power that he won’t even tell us to obey his second as if it were himself!”

“And their sloth, pettiness, and constant infighting works to our advantage. Never forget it,” his father snapped.

"Yeah, I know, dad," the boy said impatiently. "The point is, we're not under any actual oath-binding orders outside of 'don't hurt the king,' right now. No one is! The king's too fucking paranoid to even leave his excuse for a panic room, so all the orders are being delivered by seconds! Even though we were ordered to kill any Elves or outside adventurers on sight by his assistants, we don't actually have to obey. Technically, nothing is stopping us from grabbing mom and the baby and just… you know..."

His father gave a tired sigh. “Meeting up with your sister and the others and leaving?”

“Well. Yeah!” Linus said with sudden enthusiasm. “You know who she’s friends with! If we can all get to the edge of the forest, beg for sanctuary, or just be pointed in the direction of Freetown or Junk Town or any other place that might actually be more than a rumor where people are free… we’ll give the elves whatever we can. We could even work for them! I mean, honestly, as long as we don’t actively hear the Chieftan’s voice, we don’t really have to do anything. I mean, except survive enraged orcs hunting us… but shit, at this point, how could life get any worse, right?”

The father’s voice grew heavy with worry and regret. “Son, just the thought of you dying to an Elvish arrow because you thought we could actually make friends with another invading race that probably sees us as nothing more than slaves on their territory as well… shit like that keeps me up half the night. And even if my Vitality means I only need 4 hours of sleep, I’m still holding your sobbing mother in my arms.”

Eric swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, knowing that what he was contemplating was both perilous, monumentally stupid, and something he’d never forgive himself for not at least trying.

He cleared his throat. "So, how would you guys like a second chance? A chance to live safe and free, and be able to hold your loved ones in your arms without living in fear of them being forced to die as shock-troops for a race of psychopathic slavers?"

His words earned a hiss and a quiet curse.

“Who the hell are you?” the father said gruffly.

“Dad, maybe he can help us!” Linus’s voice urged.

“Shut up and ready yourself, son.”

Eric took a deep breath, taking a quick look around, relieved to see no fresh orc patrollers in sight. “Look, it doesn’t matter who I am. If it helps, just consider me a friend that would love to see every man, woman, and child enslaved to these assholes break free. And hell, maybe it helps if you don’t see my face right now, so I’m just a voice in the dark.” Eric swallowed into the silence, surprised they were listening so intently, his mind racing as he thought three steps ahead, just hoping that he and Morlekai would be able to do what needed doing.

Because what he was contemplating was madness. But if they could actually pull it off…

“I heard more than enough that if I were actually your enemy, your masters would already be coming for you.” He quickly spoke on, talking over their hiss and whispered curse. “But I meant what I said. I might just be a voice in the dark, but I’m also one that would be your friend. A friend who knows just how badly you crave freedom and safety for your family. So let me ask you this… if a friendly voice were to make arrangements that would assure both that you would not be shot on sight by neighbors whom you were forced into unwilling conflict with, and safe passage as well to... say… Freetown, would there be an address where that voice could meet you in person?"

Eric winced under the weight of the sudden tense silence.

“Do you really think we’re going to tell you where we live? So you can grab my family and try to extort us?” But before Eric could protest, he spoke on. “And even if you were anything more than a fast-talking conman… what possible reason can you have for meeting up with us, exactly?” The father curtly asked.

Eric sighed. “Alright, I’ll level with you. I have friends who have friends in very high places.” And if his impression of Morlekai’s master was right, that part was actually true, even if this so-called Master Grim’s status was only among fellow blood mages or, perhaps, necromancers as a whole.

“I’ll be touching base with them and letting them know that not everyone on team Orc actually likes who they’re being forced to bat for. Maybe a good word can be put in with another team that will at least allow for safe passage for you and your families out of here. Because why the hell wouldn’t an outside force keep their word and allow you safe passage, if it cut down on the hostiles they’d have to take out when battle is finally joined? Especially if those individuals were actual Classers specialized in ranged combat."

He was taking a shot in the dark with the last statement. But recalling how the youth around his age had been armed, and considering how effective the thrown javelins that had almost hit him multiple times had been, weapons that had actually pierced his lizard scale bulwark when musket balls were ricocheting right off, he guessed it was the orc answer to archers.

“Fuck,” the father whispered. “Damn it, the Elves are getting ready for a push into the city!”

“Not true!” Eric quickly cut in. “Not to the best of my knowledge, anyway. So if you have some latent command to defend the city at all costs… you can take a deep breath and stand down.” He chuckled softly. “Honestly? I’ll level with you. I’m not even trying to pick a fight with any orcs at the moment.” Which was, again, absolutely true. He had no interest in fighting while trying to entice a whole cluster of trapped humans who could all too easily kill him or his friends into leaving.

“Honestly, fellas, I’m not even a soldier, formally speaking, so much as a...well… a thief, not to put too fancy a title to it." Which was also true. He had never been declared a soldier by anyone in power, though he and his friends had most definitely been called thieves and ne’er-do-wells by the treacherous, backstabbing, smarmy-mouthed Stibbs.

This earned him unimpressed silence.

“A thief,” Colin said with a snort.

Eric grinned in the dark. “You wouldn’t believe the loot any number of rich cats left behind all over the place, just begging for someone to come… liberate it. Silver, gold, jewels… I’ll bet you can find all sorts of treasures if you’re not afraid of heights and know where to look. But even if my life has taken an unexpected turn of late, I'm still putting team Human above even my own pocketbook. Besides, if me and mine can get you all safely out of here and into Freetown, not only will we have some fans who won’t be cussing us for rogues, it also means that less javelins are flying up at second-story men just trying to make a dishonest buck. You know what I mean?”

The boy actually whistled. “That’s actually pretty smart. Lower security threats to yourself, while getting credit along a paladin questline, am I right? Hell you might even make friends with the elves, if you have the Charisma for a fast-talk skill check!”

“Colin...” the father warned.

Eric chuckled. “You got it in one, my man! Because who the fuck wouldn’t want a Paladin-Rogue build from Warblades 2.0? That’s one sweet, sweet build that lets you solo pretty much everything.”

“But it’s not the best build,” Colin cautioned. “Shaman Sorcerer you can force-ascend to Wrath Hellion is still better. Besides, aren’t you really more a treasure hunter than a thief?”

“You’re right on both counts,” Eric conceded. “But this is the real world, and we gotta make due with the opportunities we find, you know?”

“Isn’t that the painful truth,” Colin conceded with a sigh. Then his voice brightened. “Any chance you need some help? Or… are you offering any class-changing quest chains?”

“Colin!” his father snapped. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“Sorry, Colin, I’m afraid that’s a bit above my pay grade, right at the moment,” Eric said with no small amount of sympathy. “But I promise you this… if I find any hint of quest chains that will allow people to switch classes, you better believe I’m telling all my new and future javelin chucking friends who might be looking for a change of pace, especially when we safely get to Freetown!”

Eric did his best to smile into the suddenly tense silence, projecting his warmth and enthusiasm as best he could.

Until finally…

"You give your word you're not seeking to have us ambushed, killed, or otherwise cut down?" said a father’s voice filled with both hope and desperation in equal measure.

Eric swallowed the lump in his throat, quickly nodding. “Absolutely.”

The father chuckled and sighed. “And what if I said that I thought you were the one who cut down that goddamned shaman and were still gunning for the chieftan?”

Eric forced a hard smile, even if his conversation partners couldn’t see it. “Even if I did know someone who almost made that lucky shot, I’d think you’d be glad that at least there's one less shaman to force oaths on Classers that compel them to obey the Chieftan's direct commands."

This earned a snort. “The chief still has three shaman assistants guarding his ass. Almost as powerful as the one a certain someone took out.”

"Then I'm sure a certain someone will take them out as well," Eric said, his voice now cold as ice.

“Shit,” the boy softly said. “The shaman had a triple ward up, Maggie says. Are you really just a rogue? Or a, well...”

“Assassin?” Eric shrugged. “Only against creatures playing against Team Human. But let me be 100% clear with what I hope are my two newest friends. I’m not here to cause trouble for you or your loved ones. I’m here to help you… while doing all I can to get rich as hell.”

“Sounds fair in my book, dad. Because sure as shit, this guy could have taken us out at any time,” Colin said.

Eric smiled coldly at the thin paneled door where he could sense via Rank 12 Infravision and 27 Perception exactly where the pair were standing right in front of it.

The kid was more right than he knew.

“Fucking hell,” the father said, and Eric, after long moments of concentration, could actually sense the man shaking his head through the thin door paneling.

“Alright. Hell with it. If you're really on the up and up… 23 Locust street. Apartment 637. Maybe someone will be there to meet you. Maybe no one will, but the door will be unlocked. And if someone were to leave a note giving a safe exit point where a brave enough fool desperate for a better life might actually safely flee from this hellhole… then that someone would earn a number of friends for life, I promise you that. And your elven friends… they might just earn fifty loyal soldiers, should our beloved chieftain mysteriously die. Or at least… upwards of fifty Javelineers who, for all their faults and flaws, are pretty damn good at shattering cement blocks and tearing through countless rats with their chosen weapon. Javelineers who I can almost guarantee would be happy to take an oath that they won't ever be raising their pilums against Team Elf, as soon as they're promised safe passage out of this hellhole."

Eric nodded. “23rd Locust Street, Apartment 637, tomorrow night or… whenever I can finalize the arrangements. And I promise you I damn well will do my best to make this happen. Because you’re right. A certain neighbor would be absolutely stupid to turn down a chance to neutralize fifty opponents who could otherwise throw javelins with enough power to pierce Greater Lizard hide bulwarks, which even bullets can’t seem to do shit against.”

“Shit, that was you?” Colin said, his voice touched with a bit of awe. “I know I’m good. With all the hunting I’ve done, pushing up my node skill? Not even the Darkwing Pigeons can outfly my javelins. But you were something else!”

“Colin!” The father snapped in sudden desperation.

“It’s okay!” Eric quickly assured. “I don’t know who was chucking spears at me, and I don’t care. Whoever they are, they sure as hell have my respect. And again, I’ll have no problem pitching to possible future friends of yours just how useful having a crew of badasses like you fighting for them instead of against them might be… or just being given free passage to Freetown, where you all truly can start fresh, and the Sylvan Alliance gets to avoid a massive headache. Either way, everyone wins if you all get a ticket out of here.”

“So… what happens now?” The father asked.

“Now? Now, this nameless faceless voice fades like it never was, and you can honestly say to any pig-faced bastard you meet that you didn’t see anything strange or suspicious during your watch. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a note, a map, or even a friendly face at a certain apartment some night soon. And hell, if all else goes to shit, and it doesn’t work out… I’d still counsel you all to take your own advice. Head to the tunnels as deep as you can.”

Eric spoke over the father’s protest. “Just avoid the areas connected to whatever rat-hunting delves you and yours make use of. Because even non-classers have been using at least the tunnels linked closest to the world we call our own for months, without any problem at all. So long as you have actual classers with your group to handle the dark and pests down there, I mean. Because if the orcs do find themselves in an all-out battle sometime soon, if you can’t hear your chieftain's voice, then you can’t be forced to be his bitch, or fight as shock troops against the race you would have joined, had we actually started with a choice. Fair enough?”

“You sure non-classers can enter those tunnels?”

Eric nodded, but of course the man couldn’t see it. “When you’re about to enter an actual dungeon or delve, you do get an interface pop-up, and even a party level recommendation. But I tend to ignore that last message, ha ha. Anyway, I know of upwards of a thousand refugees now living in Junk Town, refugees without any class or profession at all, that survived the main tunnels just fine. Head's up, though, Junk Town's rather well hidden. But even if you were to just lay low for a couple of days, a quiet branch off the main tunnel would be the perfect place to do it. And who knows? The main tunnel's sure to have other exits besides Gilton and Junk Town."

“Alright,” the father said, somewhat begrudgingly. "You were never here. Now I, for one, am gonna take a nap like every orc guard since time began, and I hope I don't see shit when I wake up."

Eric chuckled softly. “Sleep well, guys. Here’s to hoping I can buy you and all your friends drinks in Freetown, one day soon.”

With those words and a quick final look for roving patrols, he made his way to the back ledge behind the stairwell entrance that the father and son duo were obviously assigned to, already thinking of an alternate route to where he needed to go.

Congratulations! For convincing two trained classers not only not to kill you on sight, but to at least consider allying their entire regiment against their masters, a fragment of the endless potential of a fate narrowly avoided is now your own!

Acting is now Rank 4! (About time you started improving this skill after so many years of practice, don’t you think?)

Negotiation is now Rank 6! (Even your mother would acknowledge that you have a tiny smidgen of talent in this direction!)

He allowed himself a single bemused smirk at the Interface's snark, considering it more than worth the boon of leveling up his social skills, which admittedly was a strange feeling. As if he was very slowly improving his ability to sense the world from another's point of view and act off of that knowledge. All well and good, but he knew he’d best not get distracted from his current mission, which meant staying under cover and avoiding any further contact with the enemy. At least for now.

Because he sure as hell didn’t want to get in any fights with people who were guilty of nothing more than survival, of trying to provide for their families and keep them off the orc’s kill-lists. Especially when it was now painfully clear that some of the champions he would be fighting would be teenagers like himself, guilty only of surviving the pods and not wanting to be tortured to death by a shaman for refusing to take their twisted oath.

He gave an angry shake of his head as he lowered what was now effectively a bone link emergency ladder, complete with hooks for the building ledge. He dared one dizzying look down, felt his heart lurch a bit, but nonetheless began scaling down the building, floor by floor, until he spotted what he was looking for. A room window devoid of heat signatures with undisturbed contents that he suspected was quite near the emergency stairwell.

Of course the window was locked. But all it took was a 4000-degree arrowhead held by the shaft, acting as a high-powered blowtorch with his eyes firmly closed and his gloved hands warded against even that extreme degree of heat, and he was in within seconds.

Crouching down in the darkness, he took deep breaths and flashed a fiercely satisfied smile as he reclaimed his skeletal ladder before leaving the luxurious hotel suite with high fiber count pristine white linens still covering the thick foam mattress he had happily claimed before heading into the plushly carpeted hallway just beyond. He couldn't help but smile at the posh atmosphere still given off by the gilded wallpaper and well-polished tables covered in vases filled with artificial flowers and baroque style paintings lining the walls.

He saw no sign that anyone had vandalized or even entered this floor of the hotel, which Eric found strange, but happily welcomed.

Of course, if this was now the chieftain's layer, then this was all his property, and perhaps it wasn’t strange at all that he hadn’t let humans ransack it.

Either way, the emergency stairwell was in surprisingly good condition. And much to Eric’s relief that soon bordered on genuine amazement, he encountered absolutely no signs of damage, wandering orcs, unexpected alarms, or anything out of the ordinary save, of course, defunct electronics as he made his way to the very bottom of the stairwell before entering one of the staff passages and making his way down a long winding tunnel that branched multiple times before coming at last to what he feared would be his first roadblock, recalling that the steel-framed door painted a soothing vanilla crème needed a punched passcode to enter.

His fear was that knowing the passcode wouldn’t do shit, with the System-induced mana fields making the electromagnetic field just wonky enough for all electronics worldwide to short out. He shook his head even as he approached the imposing door, grateful that at least organic electrochemical reactions seemed to be unaffected.

Then he winced, realizing that couldn’t be entirely true either.

Because in the world he had left behind, there would have been absolutely no way to level himself up or to infuse his body with strange magics that gave him superhuman powers… and had the potential to drain years of his life, whenever he dared to overextend himself, especially when it came to devouring uncleared dungeons or abjuring entire realms.

He winced in memory of his own sacrifice, for all that he thought the incredible boons, most especially the ability to Consume the potential of entire territories, might almost be worth the loss of 22 years of his life.

Almost.

Especially if being able to level up, or simply boost his Vitality to absurd degrees, might help to extend his life beyond a mortal’s span in any case.

He then shook all extraneous thoughts away, knowing that the real reason why he hesitated before the steel door keypad, the real reason why his heart was absolutely racing and a cold sweat had prickled his brow despite his temperature-regulated armor, was simple fear.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear that a single rash act might have destroyed the sanctuary he had once called home, and taken the life of his friends. A mistake he might never be able to forgive himself for.

He glared down at his own trembling fists, knowing that standing there was doing nothing to help them or himself.

One way or another, he needed to know.

He pulled out one of his bone arrows by instinct before frowning and putting the superheated de-facto torch back into storage, thinking that he really, really didn’t want to leave any clues leading others to his sanctuary if he could possibly help it.

So he punched in the code he recalled like the back of his hand just for shits and giggles as he eyed the door hinges, wondering if there was a more discrete way to force himself in… before blinking with surprise when the door beeped and opened.

He stared open-mouthed at the door for long moments… before it beeped a second time and locked once more.

“No fucking way!” he hissed, quickly pounding in the code again, this time not hesitating to open the door immediately… blinking as his dilated pupils took in dozens of surprisingly soothing fluorescent lights overhead before making sure the door locked properly behind him, then making his way down the plush carpeted hallway in a complete disbelieving daze, ignoring dozens of unmarked doors as he wound through multiple corridors he and his sister had memorized the layout of, long ago.

“Why the fuck are the lights on? How did the door work? And why did I never ask these questions before?”

He shook his head, his voice quickly fading as the carpet absorbed sounds that might otherwise echo and disturb. Instead, he finished making his way down the winding path that eventually led to a reinforced steel door after easing past the more luxuriously kept hallways and meeting rooms.

The door looked plain and boring, as it was intended to, leading to what was little more than a dimly lit side passage those of a bemused curious bent would hardly find worth examining any further when far more enticing brightly lit lounges, complete with snack filled fridges and cabinets were available to catch their interest before they returned to whichever high-powered super-discrete meeting room they had slipped out of. Or so Eric assumed was the thought process behind the layout.

What he most definitely was not focusing on were the shivers racing down his spine when he thought he heard the refrigerator’s compressor kick on just as he slipped past one perfectly maintained lounge… and he most certainly did dart back to open it up. Yet instead of spying rotten garbage in the brightly lit and perfectly cool fridge, he found himself claiming a carton of absolutely fresh and delicious milk.

Milk that was most definitely not in his hand as trembling fingers entered the combination leading to his family’s one-time sanctuary that he most definitely did not expect to work, instead planning on pounding on the steel vault door with his sword hilt until one of his friends responded… friends he hoped were there to respond at all.

Before the massive cantilevered vault door opened smooth as silk as Eric entered his sanctuary once more.

Only to gaze at a handful of faces registering expressions between shock, surprise, and grim determination fading to bemusement as crossbows were put down and bardiches sheepishly lowered.

Eric was smiling with relief so great he could feel the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

Morlekai flashed him a warm smile, radiating relief and ire in equal measure. “Where the hell have you been, Eric? It’s been three days, and there was a cave in!”