III-33 Minions (III)

Orcs call their army an orchestra for a reason. They make music with each other. They're not cooperating, they're just filling in the gaps.

Orcs call their army an orchestra for a reason. They make music with each other. They're not cooperating, they're just filling in the gaps. Make no mistake, every orc is a soloist. They play to their own beat, to their own tune. They have their own skills. They don't coordinate about how they develop, how they grow. There is no overall planning section. They don't have non-commissioned officers. They don't have commanders they effectively listen to.

What they do is discuss, observe, and adapt what's happening on the battlefield, what's happening with each other. Only after watching do they strike.That's why their breakthrough seems so spontaneous to us. Because it is. They're simply exploiting what another orc is doing, and they're all present. 

When their counter-battery creates an opening, their frontliners will move, but at the same time they're moving, their Shadows, Assassins, Thieves, and more are ripping through our backline. Because they understand the simple fact that if the frontliners breach our lines and force the fight into the trenches, that's fewer eyes on them, which means more fun for them, which means more breathing room for their counter-batteries to move and fire again. 

They’re playing in accordance with each other’s tunes. They’re just not working together. Hells, they might tear each other on a whim if they don’t like what another orc is doing.

I'm going to use an analogy that some of you might not understand. But they're all like jazz musicians. Yeah, the ancient style of music.They're all constantly improvising. But they're improvising on the basis that they already know tactics, they already have strategies in their mind, they already have skills related to both tactics and strategy, and they are trained. They're not untrained. Never forget this. Never, never forget this.

They've served in countless dimensions, on countless worlds, in countless forces. They probably know how we fight better than we do from all the lives they lived. This is not an improvisation born because they're just naturally perfect, naturally good at war. No, there's another layer to this. They're used to this. We've seen the same fight go a thousand times, maybe more.

So when you're fighting an orchestra, you can't just expect them to crack. Which is why we need to adapt toward chaos. We need to break their coordination. Command, we cannot trade with them. Listen to me again. Hear what I'm saying. We cannot keep trading with them. They're going to figure us out soon. We need to make them break cohesion. We need to make them botch the music.

-Hero-Ranger Morgan Munny

II-33
Minions (III)

Lucian Gabriels never wanted to be a vampire, but when his genius Cryomancer of sister got recruited, he came as a package deal. Now, Lucian was one of the worst vampires in existence, or at least that was how it felt for him most days. Especially with the way the other vampires treated him.

The first problem came with the elder who embraced him. Lucian’s Lineage Core came from a 20th generation elder or something. A 20th elder was practically a new spawn in their own right, so all that benefit of super stable biology and blood-magic stuff was separated 20 times over from Lucian. 

This meant Lucian got to experience fun things like regeneration lag, in which parts of his body healed slower than the other when he got hurt. Also, he randomly coughed out lumps of cancer from within. Moreover, the elder who embraced him was kind of an asshole. He was the kind of asshole who gave Lucian a mop during a freak rainstorm and told him to not stop until the floor is dry. With the floor being a muddy pit as well.

His thoughts were briefly interrupted by something wet and slick smacking into the back of his head. Lucian sighed as he heard the other vampires laugh. Lucian looked down and saw a dead rodent sliding off of his body, leaving a smear along his white leather armor. A set of bite marks lined the three-eyed rodent’s ribs, and it looked practically deflated of blood. 

Behind Lucian, the other vampires in his group sneered at him.

“Oh, sorry, farmer, I didn’t see you there,” a particularly tall elven vampire chuckled. “But the smear looks good on you. A little bit of red on a patch of white. Yes, indeed, I think you should thank me for this offering to your lacking aesthetic.”

Lucian stared at the elven vampire and just sighed. Calum Gowain was better at being a vampire than Lucian, in practically every way. He towered over Lucian by at least two heads. A jaw that most people could envy. A jaw that could break granite. His eyes were the palest blue, his hair was a flying tuft of blonde curls, and he took to being a vampire so easily. He even had the elder’s favor. Which placed him on the opposite side of the totem pole within the newspawn hierarchy.

It was the reason why Calum got to stand at the center of the group while Lucian had to wrangle the Blood Horrors in the front. Because Calum was a proper vampire, and Lucian needed to put his Husbandry Skill to use. Because what other use was an Adept-Tier Spore-Farmer among a group of blood-drinking predators.

Not much was the answer.

Earlier, they had been tasked with checking in at a local observation post in the area. Usually, an observation post going silent was normal. The posts were connected to the local Fortress-City of Ur-Abathur by arteries, but there were plenty of underground lifeforms in the area. Sometimes, their tissues just got cut, and most vampires weren’t the most punctual at fixing problems unless they were trying to impress someone above them. But recently, after an entire army vanished into Gate Theborn and never came back out, and then a Court Leviathan that brought over said army vanished into Gate Theborn and never came back out, the local Elders of the First Blood were getting a little nervous about more things vanishing inside the Gate Theborn and never coming out.

Or worse, something coming out Gate Theborn and butchering everyone here.

Thus, a Third Elder told a Fourth Elder and so on until finally they reached Lucian’s sire, and now he and the others were off doing a stupid task, for a stupid cause, because some other vampire wanted to fight a stupid war.

"I can't believe I left the spore farm for this shit," Lucian muttered to himself.

“For once, we’re in agreement,” Calum called from the back. “Why your sister strained so hard to bring you with her, I will never understand. But then again, how good can a Farmer’s sister be? It’s not like Cryomancy is rare. Could it be that she had other skills that attracted Elder Miana?”

Lucian kept his eyes ahead. They were moving through a forested path, and it was his job to make sure none of the Blood Horrors wandered off to attack a skaldeer or something. He counted the Blood Horrors with them again to distract himself from the other vampires. Fifty-two. Fifty-two in bubble formation around his group of six vampires. It seemed a bit much to Lucian, but he wasn’t going to complain. He wasn’t much of a fighter at all, even with all the training the other vampires put him through.

Having Adept-Tier Toughness just made you better at taking damage. The fighting part was still a strange and terrifying mystery to him.

“So you agree, then?” Calum continued, egging Lucian on. “You agree your sister must have some other kinds of skills to lure out the favors of the elders? To suckle all that favor free?”

Lucian knew what the other vampire was doing, and he despised Calum for it. But Lucian knew better than to react. Calum was favored by Elder Wignaut, and he could do almost anything aside from killing Lucian without consequence. Lucian had tried to fight for his sister’s honor a few times before.

The crippling beating Calum gave him didn’t break his will, but getting impaled on a pike for a day and then forgotten over an open flame left scars deeper than the flesh. Lucian learned a few things about being a vampire. He learned that despite all this talk of family, he was on his own. And despite his sister’s promise, reaching out to ask her for aid was poison. Because she was embraced by another, and when different Bloodlines clashed, things could get very ugly indeed.

Especially for someone who was seen as a traitor to his line.

I just have to take it, Lucian told himself. I just need to stay as boring as possible. There will be more newspawn soon. He’ll fixate on them. Just like he always does.

“Oh, Lucian, you’re not fun anymore. What happened to you? Did me nearly drowning you in all that cave biter dung break something?” Calum yawned.

Yes. Yes, it did. Lucian never had much of a high opinion of himself, but suffocating in shit and being made to beg for breath and kiss Calum’s boots drew him deep into the embrace of self-loathing. It also made him envy his sister, too. She was more like Calum. More than Calum. When she came around, Calum knew to keep quiet. But her presence cowed Lucian as well.

She clearly thought of him still as family, but—

“Shit in our veins, what is that? Is that fire?” another high vampire in the group called out. “Ur-Abathur didn’t say anything about a fire when they cast those commands at me.”

Lucian lifted his head and his eyes widened. As he inhaled, the taste of burning flesh and ash flooded his nostrils. The winds washed through the woods and the whistle breeze masked a chorus of faint screams. And through the thicket of vein-coated trees—trees twisted by the First Blood’s Biomancy, he could see distant flickers where the observation post was supposed to be.

The Blood Horrors grew restless and agitated. Some snarled and hissed, while others began to trail off.

“No! Focus! Go straight!” Lucian cried out. He pulled at them with his feeble Biomancy and barely manage to keep them on track. Some of them turned and tried to flee, but Lucian let out a cry and forced them back into the horde.

What in the Great One’s name is wrong with them? Lucian wondered. And why is there fire? Is the observation post burning?

A cold chunk of ice formed in Lucian’s gut. He hoped it was just an accident. He wasn’t a warrior. Not even a little bit, and if there was going to be fighting, he would do anything he could to avoid active combat—to make sure Calum and the others were the ones that had to do any of the fighting.

Lucian didn’t want to die. But more importantly, he didn’t want to die fighting beside assholes.

And just as he had that thought, fingers as strong as iron-bands clamped around the back of his neck. He could feel Calum shaping his digits into claws, how they were slicing into his flesh. “Keep walking, farmer,” Calum said, pushing Lucian like he was a meat-shield. “Don’t flee now. We still need you hale and ready to guide the flock.”

Lucian clenched his teeth but didn’t respond. Because what was he supposed to do? What power did he have over his own life at all?

The smell of burning flesh grew stronger, but there were no more screams. As they emerged  from the woodland path, Lucian’s jaw dropped as he stared at the blazing remains of the observation post.

Where the post was once an edifice of Biomancy—a massive pillar of flesh lined with many eyes and manned by vampires—now, it was a burning column. Its crackling brightness cast light on the walled compound at its base. But upon the walls were pikes. Pikes with heads and planted on them. And over the walls swayed the flayed skins of Blood Horrors and high vampires, flapping like bedsheets set to dry upon railings.

“By the Firstbloods,” Calum whispered.

Lucian didn’t say anything. He just stared at the carnage. At the brutality. Lucian had seen things—had been forced to do things as a high vampire. But this… This was a scene from a nightmare. Who could do such a thing to an outpost of vampires? And how could they get this far inside First Blood territory without being noticed. There were patrols in the—they had wardings and more. Psychomancers, Biomancers. How?

“There mus—there must be a few hundred heads on those walls,” Lucian breathed. He didn’t even notice when Calum released him.

The tall, elven vampire’s jaw was hanging open. The flames were reflected in his blood-red eyes, and for the first time, Lucian learned what it was like to see his tormentor terrified. But as Lucian looked past Calum, his eyes grew even wider and his stomach plunged into a bottomless abyss.

“C-Calum,” Lucian breathed. “They’re gone.”

“What?” Calum said, his expression confused. Lucian pointed behind him, and he looked. He looked, and the rest of the group following them was gone. The other high vampires. The Blood Horrors guarding their sides and rear. All gone. Vanished. “What?” Calum’s head whipped about. He took a step away from Lucian—

And a crushing pressure briefly passed over Lucian. It was the same kind of pressure as teleportation, but subtler and softer, and a static veil of Dimensionality washed over Lucian. It became a barrier between him and Calum. Before Lucian could call out to the other vampire, a large hand wrapped around his head and held him still.

“Ah, ah,” a low, rumbling voice whispered beside him. A massive gray hand extended along the periphery of Lucian’s vision, and in the orc’s fist was a chain of Lineage Cores all bundled together by detached tissues and blood vessels. Gore dripped from the cores and Lucian struggled as he tasted the scent of the blood.

Those belonged to the others in his group. He knew their stench—he knew it from all the months he spent beside him.

Lucian kicked and screamed, but Calum never heard him. It was like the—

“Stealth and Dimensionality make for a strange marriage,” the terrifying stranger said. “But a very amusing one. Would you agree, little parasite.”

Lucian wailed. He struggled even harder—to no avail. He was plucked off his feet and made to stare at his captor. A massive three-meter tall figure held him like he was little more than a kitten. The monster wore these scintillating robes of midnight, and Lucian’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the creature’s skin under the hood.

Orc! Lucian screamed inside.

“Sarah! Moore?” Calum kept calling, looking everywhere but behind. Not even when Lucian’s muffled screams rose an octave.

“There is no point to this,” the orc said, his voice of a somber, soothing tone. “Within this domain, nothing that is said or done will be seen or heard by those beyond it. That’s why you didn’t notice all your friends screaming.” The orc held up the chain of cores and wiggled them. Then, he frowned. “Oh. Not your friends, then. What a muted response. But I should have guessed from how poorly they treated you.”

Finally, Calum turned, but though he looked directly at Lucian, he didn’t seem to see anything.

“Poor fool,” the orc sighed. “No Awareness. But also no clue. And if I had to guess, no hope of survival. Tell me—do you want him to live? Blink once for yes. Blink twice for no.”

Lucian stared at the orc for a long second, but closed his eyes twice immediately thereafter. There wasn’t even any thought put into the action. He saw the opportunity to see Calum suffer, and he took it.

“Ah. I thought so.”

“Farmer?” Calum called out. “Farmer? Where the hells did you—”

The orc flicked his hand at Calum. Lucian couldn’t follow what happened next. There was a blur, and then Calum was pinned to a tree—with a massive blade protruding from his chest. The tall vampire’s jaw dropped as he started to scream—only for the orc’s Dimensional boundary to pass over him as well. Finally, Calum laid eyes on the orc—-and Lucian swaying from the beast’s grip. His breath hitched. He extended his left hand and tried to cast a Biomancy spell.

But the orc flung something at Calum first, and the high vampire’s left arm vanished into bloody mist.

Calum’s screams were guttural and wonderful. Despite the all-consuming terror, Lucian tasted satisfaction at watching his abuser suffer. Then, over the orc’s shoulder came an arcing flame, and it crashed down somewhere beyond another stretch of trees. Somewhere beyond Lucian’s sight. A massive blast lit up part of the Umbral Wilderness thereafter, but the orc didn’t seem to care. No. He was advancing upon Calum, and he had a dagger in his hand now.

A blade he pressed into Lucian’s hand after releasing the poor ex-farmer. Lucian bounced on his feet as he stared up at the orc. Nearby, Calum writhed and whimpered.

“Carve out his Lineage Core,” the orc said. The statement was spoken too casually for such a brutal command. “Take it out for me. I would be most appreciative.”

“Nuh–No!” Calum roared. He arched his back as he tried to pull himself off the tree. “Farmer—kill the bastard! Pull the blade out—” The orc reached out and pinched Calum’s lower jaw. He kept squeezing until Calum’s chin folded in half along the base and burst apart in a scattering of bone and teeth.

“No,” the orc breathed as Calum screamed. “Peace and quiet. Somewhat. Enough for you to make your own choice. Cut his heart out, friend. Please.”

And despite shivering in terror, Lucian felt a warmth as the orc spoke to him. He felt an urge to please the orc—to make him happy. That, and the repressed hate Lucian held toward Calum was enough to force his hand. His eyes met Calum’s as the other vampire briefly stopped struggling and stared.

He tried calling out to Lucian, but his jaw was little more than a lump of hanging meat. Lucian clenched his teeth. “Call me farmer again. Do it?”

Calum shook his head violently.

“I said do it!” Lucian cried. He stepped forward and held the blade in both hands. Tears began to roll down Calum’s face as he writhed and struggled. “I hate you. I fucking despise you. All you’ve ever done was hurt me and insult my sister. I—I have dreamed of this. I prayed for this when you drowned me in shit.”

Lucian drew in a harsh breath as his body teetered on the brink. He was trembling as he felt himself tearing on the inside. He knew there would be no going back for him in some ways if he did this. But in a few other ways, he wanted this. He wanted this more than he wanted anything in his life. Lucian hated being a vampire, he hated what the system forced on him, and he hated Calum the most.

Even if the orc was going to kill him, Lucian could… I can live with it.

“Hey, Calum,” Lucian hissed. The other vampire stopped struggling just long enough to give him a final, desperate look as he whimpered for mercy. “What was it you said to me when you forced me into the cave biter’s waste? Oh, yeah: eat shit.”

And he drove his blade into Calum’s body. The blade bounced off bone, but Lucian just gritted his teeth and thrusted harder. Calum howled, but the orc covered his face with a large hand. “Keep going,” the orc said, encouragingly. “Cut around. Slice and glide. Don’t saw.”

Against his natural instincts, Lucian listened. He respected the orc. He wanted the orc to respect him too. Slowly, he hewed through dense tissue and dug around bone to peel away the outer layer of Calum’s chest. And then, finally, he pulled it down as he gagged at all the overflowing blood. Before him, the Lineage Core trembled with crimson mana and ceaseless flowing blood. Even now, patches of flesh grew out of it, its regeneration strong; unceasing.

Lucian dropped the orc’s blade as he swallowed back sour spit. He grasped the Lineage Core on shaking hands and turned to the orc. The towering brute nodded, and Lucian pulled with all of his might. With a resounding snap, the arteries and biomass connecting Calum’s core to his body broke. Lucian looked down at the heart of his hated rival, and his shell-shocked expression turned into that of a sneer as he spat on it before offering the core to the orc.

The orc just smiled. “Nicely done. Was that your first?”

“I—Yes. Yes.” Lucian felt like he was drifting inside. Part of him wanted to flee, but another part commanded him to remain in place. Speaking to the orc filled him with warm and a need to impress. It was more respect than any vampire had ever given him. “Did I… I did good?”

“Very nice,” the orc hummed.

Lucian swallowed and nodded. “So… Are you going to…”

The orc eyed him for a moment, and a cruel intellect gleamed in those yellow eyes. The orc turned away from him and looked up. “Psychomancer. I have a request. And a potential rat we can plant among the vampires. Come take a look at this one. Maybe he’s more acceptable.”

Another presence slipped into Lucian’s mind. A subtle but insidious sensation filled him. But the orc shushed before he could panic. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t let fear grip you. Pain and death are passing things. Just be present now. Root yourself in place. Your thoughts will betray you otherwise.”

Lucian stopped shaking. There was something hypnotic about the orc's words, and Lucian wanted to hear more—he wanted to do anything to get the orc’s approval. “I’m sorry.”

The orc laughed. “Why?”

“Because… because…” Someone was rooting around in Lucian’s mind, but all he could think about was why he felt bad.

“Hm. I know why. Better than you. Perhaps it is easier for me to admit. You say sorry, so the world will stop hurting you. So the other vampires will stop hurting you. It is the only thing that has protected you. More than your skills. You are so used to being pathetic even as a high vampire that it is the only comfort you know.” 

The rawness of the truth made Lucian dry-heave. He—-

“Empty your mind,” the orc interrupted. “Do not poison yourself with thoughts. For your thoughts are poison. They cannot be anything but after a lifetime of poison. This will take time to cure. Time you might still yet have.”

***

Shiv’s mouth opened slightly as the vampire suddenly burst into tears. He hovered overhead with his Chameleon active and just watched as Whisper demonstrated his capabilities.

The orc’s Dimensionality and Stealth Skill Fusion was already nightmarish. The fact that someone could have a ten-meter wide Dimensional Domain that couldn’t be perceived from the outside and didn’t let sound leak from the inside made the orc’s Stealth unparalleled. Shiv couldn’t even feel the orc with any of his mana fields while the domain was active. Not even his Vitaemancy showed Whisper’s exact position. 

And that was due to another capability offered by the Dimensional sphere: You could only enter if Whisper wanted you to. Otherwise, you’d just pass through the other side after feeling a slight pinch of pressure.

But the orc was also more than just a sneaky, knife-wielding juggernaut who could systematically depopulate an entire base of vampires in under ten minutes. He also had a knack for dialogue. Social Skills. Very Evolved Social Skills. Social Skills strong enough to make a vampire turn on his own kind and then break down sobbing in the aftermath.

Now, said vampire was hugging the orc’s leg, blubbering incoherently.

Another flash of flame rose over the horizon. Shiv looked, and he saw a swarm of Blood Horrors and vampires sailing through the air, their bat-like bodies flocking toward where Mortar was. But the orc would be long gone by the time they got there. Meanwhile, Tequila and Band were busy slaughtering every vampire response team they could.

As Shiv took a peek into their surface thoughts, he found Band summoning a small army of Dimensionals with his violin, while Tequila ambushed teams of vampires with his dual Dynamancy wands. Yet, Tequila didn’t finish killing all the vampires. No. He would simply leave them mostly splattered before dropping the corpse of another vampire among the regenerating horde. Thereafter, he would frame said vampire by using their weapon to stab and disfigure some Blood Horrors.

There’s always more than violence and death with them, Shiv realized. They’re all doing things to increase chaos. To make the vampires confused about who’s attacking them. Leaving bodies of their allies—vampires from another Bloodline, I think. Burning observation posts. Bombing them from afar. Using Dimensionals. It’s…

Shiv winced as he realized this was very much something he might do in combat. Chaos. Brutality and confusion. But the difference was his instinct, and they were then a little methodical.

And now, Whisper was actively talking to the vampire—and Uva by extension, trying to convince her that they had a usable spy. “...But this one is ripe. You don’t need to do anything particular. He already hates being a vampire. They abuse him. All I needed to convince him was a few words. I’m not asking you to alter his mind in the field—I’m just asking for a chance. An opportunity. To work on him. To see what we can get from him. It will be worthwhile to understand their culture and current forces.”

“I can already scour their minds for these details,” Uva said. “And we have no easy way to interface with a spy on our end. Better that he be given to the Elaboration.”

“Ah,” Whisper said, holding up a large finger. “But that is where I must disagree. I have experience setting up networks. Networks of… dispossessed individuals. And though you are my superior in this task, I ask that you lean on my expertise and let me show you what can be done with so very little.”

He gestured at the vampire, who continued to shake and cling to Whisper’s leg. “My friend. What is your name?”

The vampire slowly lifted his head. He was bald, with a narrow nose and dark eyes. “L-Lucian.”

“Ah. Lucian. Would you like to return to your kind? Or do you want to come with me?”

“W-with you.”

“See,” Whisper said. “Look at how they mistreated this poor soul.” And he slowly began patting the vampire on the head. To Shiv’s astonishment, the bloodsucker leaned into the orc’s touch. Whisper wasn’t even doing any Psychomancy. All that was just from a few words spoken.

“We’re going to have to keep that one away from people,” Uva told him. “Band is the mage of their group. He has every major Magical Skill—except Psychomancy so far. Dangerous. Flexible. But still relatively vulnerable with how he avoids direct encounters. The one called Tequila is quite fast and accurate, but I suspect you will experience the greatest ease with him. His Chronomancy just seems to slow those around him.”

“Yeah. Meanwhile, Mortar is pretty damn fast for big artillerist and—”

A chain of explosions tore across the land. Shiv turned to see a wall of flame blotting out part of the horizon. And just as he noticed that, Shiv’s body tensed as he sensed Mortar manifest directly below. He dove out from the soil like it was a body of water and slammed down on the ground beside Whisper. They shared a look—and Shiv caught a momentary baring of teeth between the two.

“Deathless! I got the last of their outer observation posts.” Mortal staggered away from Whisper as he grinned up at Shiv. “The blood-lovers are finally scrambling their elites. Saw some of their Master-Tiers through some of my mortars, I did. Caught a few of my bombs before they fell too. One’s real quick. Quicker than me. Probably got a Hero in the field now. Would love to stick around and get bloodier, but I think we left enough of a mess. Most of their outer observation’s burning. Last patch of space before we start getting too close to that big scab they got here.”

Calling the local First Blood Fortress-City a big scab was an apt description indeed. But it was also kind of a heart. Connected to each of the observation outposts by subterranean arteries was a metropolis forged from luxury, slavery, metal, bone, and Biomancy. Right now, they were still on the far outskirts—the periphery of First Blood territory. Past this point, they would be marching toward Ur-Abathur, which was around forty kilometers of vampire run metropolis guarded by uncountable amounts of Blood Horrors and more than a few viruses lingering in the air.

Despite this, it was obvious that Ur-Abathur was lacking proper Pathbearers after the recent losses they took trying to take Gate Theborn. They still had uncountable amounts of Blood Horrors, but after all the skirmishing the orcs had done, it seemed vampires were primarily fielding Initiate and Adept-Tier teams left as fast-response groups. It took the First Blood getting bombed for hours before their Masters and Heroes finally responded, after all.

Pair that with how they couldn’t find any Court Leviathans, and it seemed the vampires weren’t going to be able to muster another run on the gate in the next few days.

So. We got a little breathing room with the vampires, at least. More now, maybe.

“Right. Good work.” Shiv said. 

Mortar just grinned at him—then the grin faded as he looked at Whisper again. “What you got there, sneaky.”

“A friend,” Whisper replied, scratching the vampire’s head.

“A pet, more like,” Mortar replied. “Planning on nurturing another rat, are we?”

“Maybe,” Whisper said. “Planning on murdering another one of my spies before they be useful?”

Mortar let out a disgusted snort as he looked up at Shiv. “Not unless the Insul says so.”

“How obedient,” Whisper replied.

“Just prefer burning my enemies down directly. You can’t rely on pets. They’re too easy to domesticate.”

Shiv narrowed his eyes at the exact. He wasn’t sure if this was a deliberate performance between Whisper and Mortar, but there was some kind of tension between them. A difference and thought and an existing history.

“That might be something we can use,” Uva said, noticing the same thing. “We can leverage them against each other.”

“Or maybe this is just them playing with us,” Shiv replied. “I wouldn’t put it beyond them. Hells, I would bet on it. They’re orcs, Uva. They’re hyper-attentive. They won’t start giving us anything easy like this. This is just a little too sloppy.”

Psychology 13 > 14

The Umbral replied with a hum of agreement. “You might be right. Still. Parts of how they feel are genuine. There is something there—they might just be exaggerating it to make us react a certain way.”

Shiv let out a sigh. “Can’t let down your guard around these creatures.”

“I did it!” Tequila giggled. “Finally. Far too much work, but it finally paid off!” The orc’s amused laughter flowed through Uva’s Psychomancy strands, and Shiv directed his attention over to the wand-wielding orc. From behind Band’s veil of Aeromantic invisibility, Tequila looked on as two vampire patrols and their Blood Horrors crashed into each. Shiv blinked as he noted some vampires already laying dead between the groups. The corpses were dressed in the fashion of the responding patrols as well.

“I managed to get two Bloodlines to fight each other—to make them think the other was behind the attacks.” Tequila rubbed his hands together and took a drag on his smoke as he watched the bloodspawn tear into each other. “Challenger, this was a thing of beauty. Love it when the prey do the fighting for me.”

Shiv frowned as he noticed Tequila to be a bit of an instigator. Probably needed to watch him too. But another detail that almost went missing was how easily Tequila and Band worked together. It seemed some orcs had more cooperative instincts than the others—and could even befriend or partner with other orcs. There was quite a difference between Band and Tequila compared to Whisper and Mortar.

Yeah. Both an exaggerated performance. But also some genuine animosity there between Mortar and Whisper. Probably be wise of me to speak to Mortar since Whisper’s got some heavyweight Social Skills.

Awareness 14 > 16

The two levels of Awareness surprised Shiv, but also centered him. Awareness was more than just listening or watching. It was also taking in details. Understanding exactly what was being said, and what was hidden beneath the surface. I need to keep studying them just like this. Watch them as much as they watch me.

“Deathless,” Mortar said, his tone serious. “I’m willing to stay and fight, but if you ask me, we should get gone. It’ll take them time to regrow these observation posts. They’ll have to stretch more of their troop capacity in the meantime—so they won’t be hitting anything. If our main goal is to delay, we got that. And we chucked plenty of the rats into your cape, so we got some prisoners to interrogate, too.” He looked at Whisper’s personal vampire. “And maybe a rat. But we stick around, and we might be doing some dying ourselves. The vampires are stretched, but they’re not that stretched. We’re overstaying our confusion.”

And despite Mortar’s jovial nature, he seemed to be the most tactically minded of the orcs.

Makes sense considering he’s the artillerist.

“Uva?” Shiv said. “This good enough?”

“Better than I hoped,” Uva admitted. “To see the First Blood deeply spent and vulnerable is a relief and an opportunity. I think Weave might be able to mount an operation here as well. I will need to report our finds. Thirty vampires should be enough to restore more than a few of Can Hu’s skills to a damaged state as well.”

“Yeah,” Shiv agreed, but there was an unease developing inside him.

“The orcs. Do they worry you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shiv admitted. “Everything they did here was… They know more about this war stuff than I do. None of them really got spotted. They hit the enemy. The cut the observation posts. They led us through the territory without issue. Now we’re about to make a clean exit, and I still got no idea about their real limits. They’re playing a good game.”

“Indeed,” Uva said. “But you don’t need to watch them alone. And we might be done with the vampires, but there are other opportunities to stress test them.”

“Like what?”

“You said you needed more ingredients.”

A grin slowly spread across Shiv’s face. “Right. That. Alright. Patch me to them. Time for some new orders.” If commanding these orcs was going to come with a constant dose of paranoia, he was going to squeeze every bit of labor out from them as possible. And they weren’t just going to be used on the battlefield, but the kitchen as well. “Orcs. We’re getting the hell out. Job’s done here. But we’re not going back to the gate yet.”

“We’re not?” Tequila replied. “Oh? Another Faith is to suffer a tragedy today, then?”

“Another place to bomb?” Mortar asked.

Shiv shook his head. “Nah. Have any of you done any cooking?”

“Yes,” all the orcs replied at once.

That surprised Shiv. “What? Really?”

“What kind of good hunter doesn’t cook?” Mortar asked. “Barbecue’s good for patience. And the way the meat drops off the bone… Mhm. Sumptuous.”

“Cooking’s good for the mind,” Whisper said. “And recipes reveal much about a culture and a people. It is too useful to ignore as a skill.”

“Food. Good with wine.” Band’s mind was a jumbled echo of words.

“I like eating other orcs,” Tequila casually admitted. “They taste better with mutton, though.”

Shiv blinked. “I… Right. Well. We’re gonna make a few pit stops to collect some ingredients. I want to see if I can bag a few more basilisks.”

“Basilisk?” Whisper lifted his head.

Shiv looked down. “Yeah.”

The robed orc just chuckled. “Say no more, Insul, for you look upon an orc with a Snake-Whisperer Skill.”

The Deathless was speechless. “That’s a thing?”

“Yes,” Whisper said. “So is basilisk riding. They make for impressive mounts if you charm them. But I suspect that’s not what you want, is it?”

It took a while for Shiv to recover from his moment of disbelief. “No. But… shit. You can really ride them?”

“Do you want me to show you?” Whisper asked.

“Yeah,” Shiv said, nodding. “Yeah. And you better not be bullshitting me.”

Whisper placed a hand to his chest and grinned. “I swear to the Challenger that I tell no lies.”