He waved it away. “I used one a short while ago,” he said by way of explanation. “All my boosts are on a global cool down.”
From the cave came a loud cry. This time I could make out what was being said. “Time to die, metal man!” It was Orcish.
“I’m up for a fight,” I said as I took out my bow and summoned a quiver of arrows. “It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of practice today.”
Thorm shook his head. “No, he’s an elite. And a tough one, too. We’ll both need to face off against him.” He gave me a hopeful look. “Happen to have any mana potions on you? I gassed out awhile ago.”
I glanced at his mana bar which had bottomed out at four percent. Holy Knights are a mixed class with both combat and spell casting abilities, mostly for healing and protection. Without mana, he would not have the ability to cast anything.
“Sure,” I said and gave him the two mana potions I always kept in my inventory. I didn’t need them, but you never knew when an ally might. Shadows didn’t use mana, nor cast spells. The Dark Assassins did, however. They were one of a selection of subclasses I could branch off into as I leveled. But since I started this re-roll ages ago, I’d decided to keep my class ‘pure’ and stayed within the main class, only leveling up its vanilla skills.
As Thorm quaffed a potion a movement at the cave entrance made me turn to face it.
A large orc emerged from the darkness and stopped when he spotted us. In one hand he gripped a huge stalagmite like a club. The club’s natural protrusions made for some wicked looking spikes.
The orc pointed the make-shift club at us. “Surface scum,” he grumbled. “Metal man and little wench. Trespass on sacred grounds. Anger my clan. Die you will!”
“Oh, geez,” I said with a roll of the eyes. “A lore quest?”
Thorm had taken a few moments to use his new mana to heal himself fully. His armor was also mended. Gotta love spell casters. So handy. “Unfortunately,” he said and stood up. He hefty his now blemish-free shield. “Trying to work my way through the achievements.”
Orc lore quests were notoriously dull. One clan versus another. Then they unify against the invading humans. War results for an eternity. Still, made for some good experience points and potentially decent loot drops.
Thorm hefted his broadsword and eyed the Elite Orc who appeared to be waiting for us to make the first move. “Let us finish this, shall we?”
“Actually,” I said, “I have an idea. Let me take care of this.”
“Really,” Thorm said with obvious concern. “He’s a tough nut to crack, I’ll give him that. You’ll need help.”
“There is a trick I wanted to try,” I said and walked toward the orc. “But feel free to jump in if it doesn’t work.”
The orc looked at me as if offended. “Little wench wishes to die first?” He laughed and put a hand on his ample belly. Other than a pair of stitched-skin trousers, the only thing he wore were a set of necklaces made of teeth and finger-bones.
I called up his stats.
Species: Orc (Elite)
Subspecies: Cave Dweller
Clan: Stone Basher
Leveclass="underline" 50
Hit Points: Unknown
Mana: Nil
Armor Class: Unknown
Attack Rating: 30
Damage Range: Unknown
Weapon Type(s): Club (Stalagmite)
Abilities: Crush, Bear Hug, Bash (weapon based), Charge, Night Vision.
Speciaclass="underline" 5% increase to Attack Rating when fighting on Clan grounds. 15% increase to Attack Rating when in the presence of other clan members.
I did not like all those unknowns, but having never tangled with an Elite Orc before, it was expected.
“Yes, I wish to die first,” I said to him. “Might you be able to assist me with this problem?”
The orc’s features scrunched up in confusion making him even more ugly. “Stupid wench wants death then I will help her.” He ran at me with a speed I didn’t expect. The distance between us shrunk to a few feet in almost an instant.
Back-pedaling like a mad-woman, I fired a volley of arrows at him.
Each one found its mark, but had little to no effect. Rather, they made the orc more angry. Then he was on me, raising the stalagmite over his head and brought it crashing down.
I went into Shadow mode and slipped around him the moment his club smashed against the ground.
Switching to my sword, I struck out at him, causing me to be visible. This did some damage.
The orc roared and swung about with his club. I ducked into a roll and sprang up. After another swing from his club I sprinted away.
Angry that he hadn’t mashed me to a pulp, yet, the orc pursued. Keeping my distance as best I could I kited him with the occasion arrow. I’d whittle his hit points away with this technique. But where would the fun in that be?
I was biding my time.
After a few minutes of me dodging club swings and then firing arrows into his thick skin, the orc slowed down. Panting, he hunched over but kept an eye on me.
“Little wench not fight right,” he said between ragged breaths. “Should fight like warrior and die like warrior.”
I gave a glance in Thorm’s direction. The Holy Knight stood under the tree looking bored, the blade of his broadsword resting casually on one shoulder. It made for an unassuming image, but I knew he was ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
I stopped moving and switched to my sword. With a come-hither hand wave I said, “Come at me, bro!”
This triggered an even angrier reaction from the orc. Maybe the come-hither hand wave was obscene to orcs? Regardless, the elite stood upright as if revitalized with new energy.
Here it comes, I thought while altering my stance.
The orc roared and, holding his stalagmite club over his head with both hands, used his charge ability. He flew at me with lightning speed.
There was little time for me to register that this might not be a good idea. But just as the orc closed in for the kill I did the unexpected.
I ran straight at him.
This sudden change barely altered the orc’s speed who was caught in full charge until it was finished. The millisecond we were going to collide I used my Cloak of Shadows.
Use Phase Ability.
I became corporeal, like a ghost.
The result was me running through the charging orc, who in turn had tried to time his swing for his approaching target. He stumbled as his club hit the ground with a tremendous cracking noise.
The moment I emerged out the back of the orc (that doesn’t sound good, does it?) I spun about and unphased, becoming whole again. My sword pierced bare flesh, sliced against his spinal column, and skewered his heart.
The orc collapsed to his knees, dropping the stalagmite.
I placed my foot against his back and shoved. My sword unsheathed from the orc’s body and he fell flat on his face, dead.
Thorm offered a slow, teasing golf clap. “Nicely done,” he said as he walked over to admire the corpse. “Where did you pick up that trick?”
I shrugged. “Got the idea thanks to a yellow unicorn.”
Thorm searched the corpse and removed a large sack of coins. “Unicorn? Yellow? You are full of surprises, Vivian.” He grinned and took a necklace of finger-bones as well.
“What we get?” I asked, nodding at the coin sack.
“10,000 gold coins,” he said. He tried to give me half, but I refused.
“This was your quest and lost your party because of it. Keep it all.”
“Nonsense,” said the knight. “I would most certainly have been smashed to a pulp with that stalagmite of his if you hadn’t come along. I insist.”