Butcher of Gadobhra Chapter 492

"So tell me, Commander Vernon, how was the experience today?"

"I hated it. It was hot, dusty, and no one followed my orders."

Marcy hated working with non-gamers. "How many Experience points did you get and in what skills?"

"Oh, that stuff. I don't know, you figure it out."

He brought up his sheet, and Marcy scanned down through his pathetic stats and skills. He'd made a little progress, but nothing like prior days. Enough to get him to rank two in Lead From the Rear and rank 1 in Political Infighting. Not surprising with who he'd been arguing with. But he'd managed to get another rank in Stormborn by repeatedly smiting her ambushers. He hadn't killed anyone, but he'd used up his mana three times and had to chug a lot of potions while he walked. Marcy was extremely thankful that she wasn't paying for those potions. Suzette seemed to have an endless supply of low-quality mana potions and was happy to hand them over to Marcy.

"Use them up. I have better recipes now. These taste bad and are going stale."

Thinking of the Barmaid made Marcy finger her side. She was still healing from the wounds Suzette had given her. She'd wanted another round with Ozzy, but the little barmaid had jumped into the corral, pulling out two silvery daggers. Suzette knew a little bit about knife fighting, but not from any skill, and the system made her clumsy when she tried anything except a straight thrust. But she did know how to keep moving, essential for anyone fighting with short, fast weapons. They worked on stance and footwork for a half hour until Suzette started improving, then went on to light sparring. That lasted less than a minute.

Marcy found herself being harried by two shadowy hounds she could barely see. Surprise and killing the dogs let Suzette put a knife in Marcy's side, just under the armpit where her armor didn't cover. That had been the start of 'The night of a hundred painful stabs.' The dogs turned out to be a spell, and Suzette brought them back over and over, forcing Marcy to focus on them. And then the darts had started hitting her in the face. They stung like hell and had an itching poison on them, forcing Marcy to put down her visor. That limited her sight but protected her face.

As she chased the annoying barmaid around the corral, the slower Marceline had a hard time getting in blows. Her opponent tumbled, dove, rolled, and avoided her sword, waiting for an opening to stab an armpit, behind the knee, or seam in the heavy plate armor she'd brought to fight Ozzy. Marcy tripped repeatedly as roots and brambles grabbed her feet or the dogs latched onto her ankles. Four times she landed heavy blows, only to disperse a doppelganger with the real Suzette slinking from a shadow and striking at her.
When they finally stopped for a break, Marcy chucked off her armor, trapped a sabre and main-gauche for the next round.

"You're doing good against an armored opponent. And the little magic tricks are annoying, so keep using them. The poison just itches, try to get something a little better. Over time, multiple strikes with poison can bring down a lot of big bosses and heavily armored opponents. Subtle is better. The lizards in the jungle have some great stuff. Little darts that sting like mosquitos and you don't notice, but your health keeps dropping. Especially bad in a battle."

"Any chance you can get me samples of those plants? I've got a place where they'd grow well. And I'd pay you back with a supply of anything I develop."

That brought a big sigh from Marcy. "Won't work for me. I don't have an assassin, rogue, or alchemist class. I'd poison myself half the time trying to use it."

Suzette had patted her on the shoulder and made a sad face. "That's terrible. Poisons are a girl's best friend. Lucky for you, I know of a teacher who has the poisoner skill and some related abilities. We could get you started on the basics if you have a couple of saved Enhancement points to pick up Poisoner with the Prodigy Enhancement."

Marcy considered for only a second. "I may have to join an Assassins Guild somewhere to keep them off my back, but that's just dues. Let's do it."

The two of them had returned to the ring, where Marcy pushed Suzette to her limits and beyond, accepting far more wounds but giving more in return as Suzette had trouble dodging her blows, especially when Marcy started tossing knives she pulled from somewhere. And Suzette revealed that she did indeed have better poisons, forcing Marcy to knock darts from the air and be wary of the shining silver daggers the barmaid was using. The experience in Poison Resistance she was gaining almost made up for the pain and nausea that assailed her throughout the sparring session.

By the end of the night, they were both bloody and tattered. Ben had healed Marcy continuously, leaving Suzette to heal herself. When they ran out of mana, Rolly stepped in. Ozzy called it a night when they ran out of Healing Beer and the sun was coming up. Marcy knew from experience that healing only went so far. Her health might be fine now, but she would be moving slowly for the rest of the day. For now, she planned on getting a good seat in a tall tree near where Vern and his unit would be fighting.

Thune, his unit, and supposed Commander, Vernon Throckmorton, were standing in front of what looked like a partial deck of a ship with a mast and crow's nest. Ben was standing on the top of the mast, balancing on the tip.

"Welcome to Fort Barrow. It's all yours for the night. We've provided a spot for your commander to stand and rain down hell on your enemies, but that's it. The rest is up to you. I've been told you know how to set up defensive earthworks for a temporary camp. It's up to you how much work you want to do. We've supplied shovels and axes. You've got two hours until sunset, and it will be full dark with a bright moon an hour after that. Be ready by then."

Corporal Thune called out, "Are we allowed to know what we're fighting? More ambushes from the veterans? All I see around here are a lot of dumpy rabbits."

"Good question. Some of you may have heard rumors, which I am happy to confirm. There are thousands of dead rabbits sleeping under the grass, hoping for a taste of brains and fresh meat. The Fat Rabbits will scamper away at dusk and later be replaced by level three zombie and skeleton rabbits. A lot of them. Have fun." He leaped from the mast, turning a flip in midair, and landed on the decking with a grace that astounded the newer players.

Thune wasted no time getting started and didn't wait for Vernon to decide anything. "Squad one, you're on shovels. Camp size will be a 16x16 square centered on the mast. I want a deep trench around that and a waist-high berm to fight behind. Second squad, start falling trees and gathering brush. I want defensive stakes covering the slope to slow up any mass of enemies. Small branches, especially dry stuff, should be saved for the trench. We may need some fire. Once we have two feet of brush, add the wood. The wagon with the tools has empty barrels. Make sure they get scrubbed out and then fill them at the stream. If it gets too hot, we'll soak blankets to keep us cool. Get to it, lads, the better we prepare, the easier it will be to fight off a few undead."

Vernon had wanted to make a speech too, but Ben took him aside. "I have something special for you, to help you smite your enemies. You can thank the local university for coming up with it on short notice." He handed Vernon a heavy metal rod inlaid with silver runes and gold trim. "That will enhance your Smites and let you do more damage tonight. It also stores one thousand mana and can be recharged in only five seconds. Theres a receptacle to put it in up top. I've also added a lanyard to your wrist so it can't be dropped in the heat of battle."

Vernon took the rod and swung it around easily. Having a positive STR score made a lot of difference. Spying a Fat Rabbit, he brought down his small Smite onto its head. The fuzzy critter fell over, injured and stunned. "Much better! Glad to see Billy is finally finding me some proper gear."

"Ah, speaking of that, I have another gift for you. You did earn it, with your heroic aid in the battle against the King of the Menagerie. The Fae Lords wanted you to have this, along with a small bag of gold for your personal enjoyment." He unfolded a regal-looking cloak made from tanned leather with furred shoulders and trim.

Cloak of the Kingslayer
Commemorating the Great Battle against the King of the Menagerie.

Gives 10 universal mitigation and +4 CHA. Against Elite or Higher Beasts, you gain +50 damage.

"Ah, excellent. This is the type of gear I should be wearing, and no one will doubt me when I tell my story of the epic battle and how I saved you all."

"Yes, about that. I think that's a story best told by others. I need you to sign this." He produced a long roll of parchment with very fine print written in flowing cursive script, making it incredibly hard to read."

Vern made a 'harumph' and tried to read the scroll, "What the hell is this?"

"Think of it as an NDA of sorts. The Fae are very particular about their honor. Let's just say that the story they tell in the court of the high king might be different in a few small ways from how you would describe the battle. In return for your silence, they sent that largish bag of gold coins to make your life so much more comfortable. And in addition to that, we made another small trade that will enhance your lifespan and give them a mature outlook they lacked when they first went into that dungeon."

"I don't understand. What gibberish are you talking about!"

"It's easy. You keep quiet, they can brag about the battle, and you get paid plus some side benefits.

Marcy yelled out from under a tree where she was reclining and sharpening a silver dagger. "Don't ask questions, Vern. Just sign it and get up in that tower."

He grumbled and did so. After all, he barely knew what had happened, and money was always useful. As he did, it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders, and he felt energized and ready to fight. He hurried over to his unit to show off his new cloak and mace.

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A small caravan of High Fae was traveling to the High King's court to present the truly stupendous trophy made from the monster they had successfully hunted. They spent a lot of time getting their story straight, aided by the slightly older and much wiser Summer Lord, who accompanied them. He'd advised a simpler story that was more likely to be believed.
They were arguing about it again when a sudden change came over the younger huntsmen.

Lord Sun-in-Vale was the first to feel the change. "By the stars! What is this? This strange feeling! It's like the sun is hidden and will never come again. I am depressed."

Lord Moonracer slumped on his horse. "Ugh, I feel fat and weak, like something has drained my vigor. Must we go on? I need a rest."

Lord Lakeshine cried out, "Why did we go hunting? Don't you understand? We could have died! I almost died an ignoble death wrapped in a tongue!"

The Summer Lord rose in his stirrups and shouted, "Be brave, it will pass, your bargain has been accepted, and each of you has taken on the burden of 10 years of the mortal's life. A fitting bargain for saving yours, and now having to walk back from the underworld. And of course, he shall be silent, and your tale will be the only one told. A bargain is a bargain. And really? Ten years? You all have millennia to live, and experiencing a small slice of mortality will give you wisdom and maturity far beyond your years, and help you to achieve a true old age. And look on the bright side, my lords. The contract is over in 50 years, merely a blink of the eye for young Fae Lords. Then the stolen years revert to their original owner. I made sure that clause was included in the contract."

The three lords, now each of them ten years older, squared their shoulders. The feeling was annoying, but nothing a good bottle of wine wouldn't cure. Or so they said to each other. Inside, each was experiencing things that only a human past his first century would feel. It made them quiet for the rest of the journey and even their stay in the king's court. Indeed, many observed that the young lords showed an advanced level of maturity now, with little bragging and holding new opinions on what they wanted to do for the next century. Most of Oberon's court, and even the king himself, gave credit to the Summer Lord. That one so young could be such an inspiration to his younger peers was amazing and further proof of his rising star within the Court of the High Fae.