Paragon of Weaponmasters

I nod. We move along, finding the aforementioned dragon in another, larger room. It's visually similar to the last one, long snake-like body on stubby arms, sand colored scales. It hisses like a chocodile upon seeing us, and breaths a torrent of sand.

Peter uses his evasive abilities to avoid it, leaving me to eat the full course meal of grit.

"Shit!" I spit out between mouthfuls of sand. I'm up to my knees in it before I attempt to stem the tide. Circular Saw held out in front of my works wonders, like back in the Yeti dungeon blizzard. The dragon finally ends the attack when Peter sneaks around and puts a dagger in it's side.

Before it can fully turn its attention, I cast Illustory Clones and Taunt to keep it off of Peter. This one isn't half dead by us ripping through its guts, so we have to take it down from full health. I follow Peter's advice and attack from the sides, leaving one of my clones to keep its attention in the front.

Of course, because my class is broken, I take all of the damage meant for my clone. Might as well just stand in front of the firehose of sand myself.

"This is so stupid. I can't do anything when my class is busted like this." I say.

"You're still better off than most classes I know, you're taking damage but you're still not dying from it. If I was taking sand breath I'd be dead in seconds." Peter tells me while stabbing the dragon.

"Alrighty fair." I stop my complaining.

Activating Thunder God, something strange happens. Hitting the dragon with electricity causes the ground around its talons to harden into tube shapes. It struggles to break free, completely stuck after a full ten seconds on concentrated Thunder Beam. I recall Thozur, the dragon can't turn to face us, it's neck is just inflexible enough that it's hind leg is a sort of blind spot. Peter and I beat it down while it's helpless, glued to the ground and shooting sand everywhere.

"Another new ability?" Peter asks, wiping his blades clean on the corpse.

"Not sure." I say. Looting the dragon gives me a clue.

[Fulgurite Tube] added to inventory.

Fulgurite Tube - Epic gemstone - Low strength - low agility - low intellect

"What's this?" I hold up the sand-colored tube, and link it to chat.

"I'll google it." Peter's eyes go gray. "It's glass, made when lightning strikes sand."

"That's cool." I say, looking through it like a telescope.

"I've never seen a gemstone with all three stats. That thing has got to be worth a lot." He tells me.

I almost, use my herston to return to Masstaoir and sell it. Almost.

"How much we talkin'?" I ask without salivating.

"I dunno. It's a low stat gem, so only level one to sixty nine people would be interested. I'd have to look at the current market, but maybe… a couple hundred thousand?" Peter thinks

"Wahoo!" I jump for joy. Peter shushes me. "Sorry." I whisper, forgetting we're on a stealth mission.

"What was that?" I hear an orc ask. Shit.

We hide as best we can to the side of the room, extinguishing our lights. Two orcs walk in from a connecting tunnel, searching like bloodhounds. A third orc enters behind them, aloof.

Woghuglat, Fourth Son of Honorlord Mergigoth Dragonslayer. Level 67

Earl says: What the hell is he doing here?

Peter says: this is supposed to happen, for once the story is on track. We're supposed to fight him, and he flees.

"If you were mistaken, I'm taking a finger." the bass-voiced orc announces to his lackeys. They nervously redouble their efforts, turning to face this way and that looking for us.

Earl says: I almost feel bad. Let's help them, shall we?

After warning Peter, I cast two Tornado Edges right on top of the orc scouts. They wail in agony as Thorzur slams into their knees like a trailer hitch, and Apaki slices them like a Christmas ham. With Peter's stabbing added into the mix, the two orcs die quickly.

Woghuglat stands there, seemingly indifferent to us.

"What do you hope to accomplish by overthrowing my father?" he asks in his deep, bone-shaking voice.

"Liberation for everyone, including the orcs." I tell him.

"Who do you think will take his place?" he wonders.

"We'll kill you and your brother too." I inform him.

He grunts.

"After us, then who? You?" he points an accusatory finger at me.

"Hell no. Maybe we can hold an election or something." I shake my head.

He scoffs. What is he, the king of noises?

"Orc's don't vote, they don't have it in them. They leave decisions to their betters. The other species are not intelligent enough to decide anything, even their best." he propagandizes.

"Rude." Peter interjects.

"Are we here to talk or are we here to fight?" I ask impatiently.

He rolls his eyes at me. The nerve.

I respond by sending two Tornado Edges at his feet, he was expecting it and rolls to the side before they deal too much damage. I move them after him, but at a full sprint towards Peter I can't possibly catch up. I switch tactics, putting a Wall of Swords in front of him. He dives over it, doing a forward roll on the other side and getting to his feet with admittedly impressive athleticism

"He's immune to taunt!" Peter informs me, just before I'm about to use the ability.

Instead, I force Wall of Swords into a half-circle shape around Peter, too close to jump over but too thick to attack though. I also take the option to make it out of many Thozurs, and send Thunder God spells through it. I made an electric fence!

Woghuglat turns his full attention to me and growls, sprinting over with terrifying speed. He has two handaxes, like Helga. I block his blow with ym shield, but the bastard sweeps my legs and I end up on my back. Without giving me time to block, he aims his axes at my neck.

I cast distribute, so Apaki takes the damage first. It's not great to lose health, but it's better than losing my head. I cast Exchange on Thozur, then Summon Weapon. His axes dig into the hard sandstone where I was but a moment ago.

"Is he supposed to be this tough?" I ask Peter by my side.

"Yeah. he gives up at seventy five percent." he responds. Woghuglat is currently at 77%.

"Now too much more!" I announce, sending one Circular Saw towards our enemy, and casting one in orbit mode. Not going to leave any openings.

Woghuglat deflects the damn saw, something I didn't think was possible. I cast Split Sword on Apaki, let's see him deflect a swarm of little swords.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

He actually manages to deflect some, but he's only got two arms. Needles puncture his flesh, dropping his health below the retreat threshold.

Without so much as a pause to consider it, Woghuglat chucks one of his axes at me. It eats into my shoulder, I'm simply not fast enough to react.

"That was for my brothers," he tells me, raising his other axe over his shoulder. "and this is for my sister!"

"I didn't kill Lagakh!" I tell him as his other axe flies through the air. I raise my shield to block it, but not trusting it to work, I also try something else.

Casting New Master on the axe makes it halt mid-air. With the moment stopped, it clatters to the ground.

Hate filled eyes stare at me from across the room. I think he's waiting for me to elaborate.

"What did they tell you I did?" I ask him. I don't even know where to start unraveling whatever lies are in his head.

"You forced yourself on her, and when your bastard child was born, you cut him from her belly and left her to die." He spits.

"What? No! None of that is true!" I lower my weapons.

"Then what is true?" He asks. At least he's willing to hear me out.

"Lagakh and I had a son, everything was completely consensual. Orc assassins poisoned her, and…" I choke. "I couldn't save her. She died in my arms."

"What did the assassins look like?" is all he asks.

"They were dressed head to toe in black, I have no idea." I reply.

He just stares at me. A pair of chains shoot from his hands, pulling his axes back into his grip.

"We will return to my father with the dragon trophy and confront him with your accusations." He tells me, right before he explodes into a red mist.

I scream in surprise, I can't help it. It's pretty humiliating.

When the red mist dissipates, a cloaked figure stands across the room from us. It's not the Monitor, it's head is too wide.

"The Master of Spells!" Peter whispers.

"Du igjen. Hvilken stamme tilhører du?" The Master of Spells Finally speaks.

"Uh…" I turn to Peter. He shrugs.

"Du snakker ikke det gamle språket. Synd, den nye orken er så grov." he shakes his wide head, then summons a gnarly staff to his hand. It's at least eight feet tall, seeming to be a rough branch with a uncut gemstone set in the top. It glows with unnatural light, the color is… indescribable. Like every color and no color at all, at the same time.

He clears his throat.

"What tribe are you from, cub?" he asks me.

"He doesn't have one. The new Honorlord abolished the tribes." Peter informs him.

"A half-goat person, mm?" he observes. "The newcomers who were allowed to grow in our absence are… odd."

That sounded vaguely racist, but the 'he's old and things were different in his day' rule may apply to two-million-year-olds.

A light beams down from his staff, bathing me in the color from space. It feels odd, like every inch of my skin is being watched by billions of eyes. When it's finally over, the old orc nods.

"You have promise. How would you like to join The Runed Spears?" he asks.

"What does that entail?" I ask, not wanting to tell the second most powerful being I've met 'no'.

"You swear on your life to serve the interests of the tribe. In return, the tribe's resources are yours." he says.

"Okay…" I say, stalling. "What are the tribe's interests, and what kind of benefits are we talking?"

Peter says: Are you in a job interview with the Master of Spells?

Earl says: Seems so.

Peter says: omg.

"The Runed Spears interest are my interests. The benefits are my favor." He fails to answer my questions.

"And who are you exactly?" I ask as respectfully as possible.

"Köln Stækar. The Awoken. The Watcher. The Living Panopticon. The Master of Spells. I hold many names and titles, the only one that matters now is as the last true living member of the Runed Spears clan, I am The Chieftain." he rattles off.

"True living members?" I choose that question among the many I have.

"Mergigoth the Faithful is the only other I know of, and he has abandoned the clan." he spits.

"The Honorlord?" Peter jumps in.

"Whatever he chooses to call himself, he chose human gods over his people. He has no place in my clan." he growls.

"Speaking of names," I turn the conversation back to an earlier topic, "Why can't we see yours?"

The old orc looks over our heads, reading our names, titles, and guilds.

"I am not part of the new god's system." he tells us matter-of-factly.

"What?" Peter stammers.

"You ask a great deal of questions without providing anything in return." Köln says threateningly.

"Fair, what can I tell you that you don't already know?" he asks.

"Where is the machine god's seat of power?" Köln asks.

"That I do not know." Peter admits.

"Then you don't know anything." he shakes his head. "I will not ask again, young orc."

I don't know the first thing about being a clan member. Can I be in a guild and a clan at the same time? Do I have responsibilities? Dues to pay? I'm still almost certain saying no would end badly for me, if he can turn a boss into mist, he could reduce me to atoms.

"Yes, I'll join your clan." I say, finally.

Köln just nods.

A horrible pain like nothing I've ever felt blooms on my chest over my heart, it's like part of me was dipped into the void of space, impossibly cold and hot at the same time.

I unequip my chest armor to inspect the damage, on my pectoral is a black spear that is not inked in like a tattoo, or raised like a scar. It is an empty space, like a deep cut that doesn't bleed.

Köln shows me his own mark, identical to mine. He's the first orc I've seen that doesn't have a bodybuilder physique. He resembles an actual old man, skinny, wrinkled, and spotted. Not a white-haired adonis like my favorite innkeeper Bert.

"Give me my journal." he extends a gnarled hand.

I reluctantly hand it over. Damn, I didn't even read most of it.

He waves a hand over it, it glows the same unknowable color as his staff, then he hands it back to me.

"Your first boon is being allowed to keep my journal." He says, looking at me like I stole it. "The second is instantaneous knowledge transfer. It would take several lifetimes to read millions of pages, think of a question and you will have the answer."

My mind races, which is unfortunate because every question I think of is answered, giving me a headache. At least now I know Köln is the German word for cologne. That's neat. Oww.

I also know that he was given a German name by the original game creators, not the Monitor.

"You precede the Monitor, don't you?" I ask rhetorically.

"Is that what you call the machine god? Fitting." he responds. "Yes. I was here long before The Monitor wrested control from the human gods."

Peter opens his mouth to ask another question, but one hard look from Köln shuts his mouth.

"I have two more questions." I tell him.

"Pick the more important of the two." He orders me.

That's easy. 'How did you go from a feral cannibal to a wizard' is just out of curiosity.

"Why did you kill Woghuglat?" That question is significantly more important.

"He is the son of the betrayer. Perhaps it was impulsive of me, perhaps it will make your journey more difficult. The unfortunate truth is I don't care." he smiles around his huge, head-wrapping tusks. What a lovable asshole. "It would be best for all of us if the Monitor did not know of our meeting. Right now it's watching a very intense battle between you and the bastard son. The illusion will fade upon my departure. We shall be seeing more of each other, Earl."

And with that, the light of his staff overtakes my vision, and when it returns, he is gone.

How is he fooling the Monitor?

★

Day who cares.

Something is watching from outside of the prison. It watches the walls for cracks, in a sense, our eyes met while I was searching myself.

It is beyond my power, so far as to be a god. The deities that locked us in here do not compare to this one, if we are like ants to the gods, the gods are like termites to this watcher.

I can feel a… compulsion pushing through. It wants orc kind to act in its interests when we are free… it is planting suggestions in the heads of my sleeping brothers and sisters.

I can shield us from it, but to learn the frequency of its power, I must observe it, and to observe it is to be observed in return.

If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

★

He created a spell to obscure the Monitor's vision. I suppose that's why he's the Master of Spells.

Peter looks at me, face turning red with barely contained questions. The room around us shifts, battle damage appears on the walls and floors, the droplets of Woghuglat reform into a badly beaten corpse, clear signs of hammer, sword, and dagger damage evident. It's like he returned from an alternate dimension where we beat his ass ourselves.

The tell-tale sparkle of loot glistens from his corpse, so we do what comes naturally and loot him.

[Glowing Idol]

I pull my loot out of my inventory to inspect, and immediately regret it.

"Hate that." I tell Peter, looking at the little statuette. It's no bigger than my hand, it looks like a silver buddha statue with one ruby eye. When Peter turns his head, it vanishes from my hand. "The fuck?"

"What?" Peter asks.

I consider my answer.

"Nothing I guess." I decide.

"Same here," he says. "I hate killing impossible bosses and then they drop nothing. Like, at least drop a 'I killed the unkillable and all I got was this stupid t-shirt' shirt."

I laugh, making my headache worse.

"Oh man, he didn't even give enough experience to level up." I complain.

"Time to grind dragons." Peter tells me.

"Again?" I ask.

"Again." he answers.