Grand Game 280: A Grim Night’s Work (Patreon)

I was right.

Not a single soul stirred as I padded from bunk to bunk, murdering the Marauders in their sleep. After the first dozen victims, I got the killings down to an artform.

Clamping my left hand over my target’s mouth, I placed ebonheart under the ear and behind the jaw, then thrust inward—not rushing—and severed the brain stem in one single motion. Only a bare handful awoke to realize their fate, and they were stunned and dispatched before they could call out.

I kept my mindsight open the entire time, spotting the errant few from the other tents who awoke in search of more drink or to relieve themselves. A short teleport, a quick thrust, and they, too, were laid to rest.

In nearly no time at all, my grim work was done.

Every Marauder in all five tents was dead. One hundred and twenty souls killed in what seemed an eyeblink.

Standing outside the command tent, I shivered involuntarily. Even having planned the murders and hoping for such an outcome, the blood on my hands made me sick to the stomach.

But I was not done yet.

One other person in the camp was still alive—Yzark. I’d been saving him for last.

Concealing my identity with facial disguise, I drew aside the flap to the orc’s tent and skulked inside. He was still asleep, his mouth half open and his nostrils flaring in time to his snores.

I edged closer until I was beside the bed and only bare inches from the Marauder boss’ exposed throat. The Adjudicator had listed his Class as a blood-drinker. I didn’t know what that was, but it didn’t sound pleasant.

Moving slowly, I sheathed ebonheart. Unlike his fellows, Yzark would not die an easy death.

The Marauder was fully dressed. He wore an ornate white robe and had a brace of curved daggers, a half-dozen potions, and a few enchantment crystals on his belt. His arms were riddled with tiny scars that looked self-inflicted, and even asleep, his face was etched in angry lines.

Moving with painstaking care, I freed the orc of his weapons.

You have acquired 3 x rank 4 sacrificial daggers. The properties of these items have been shielded from direct inspection.

Interesting, I thought absently as I set aside the daggers. Normally, I would only loot my targets after they were dead, but I intended on chatting with the Marauder boss and didn’t want to leave him his weapons—in case he somehow managed to overcome me.

Knives taken care of, I relieved the orc of his potions, too.

You have acquired 6 x minor health regeneration potions. Each potion will gradually restore a player’s health at a rate of 0.2% per second over 2 minutes.

The potions were also intriguing and, if I had to guess, had been specially crafted for Yzark.

Next, I unwound a length of rope. Pushing one end under the bed, I pulled it gently over Yzark’s arms and torso before wrapping it beneath the bed again.

The orc’s hands twitched.

Pausing in my work, I glanced at the Marauder’s face, but he showed no other signs of restlessness. Resuming my toil, I wrapped the orc in a few more layers of rope.

Finally, I returned to the head of the bed.

Yzark’s snores had not abated. Extracting the three vials of viper’s venom from my backpack, I unstoppered each and held them ready.

Here goes.

In a burst of motion, I upended the vials into the orc’s open mouth, shoved his jaw shut, forced him to swallow, and then yanked the rope tight around his body.

You have lost 3 x vials of viper’s venom.

You have poisoned Yzark!

The Marauder boss’ eyes snapped open, his mouth working in wordless shock. Instinctively, he tried to rise. But with his arms pinned to his sides and his torso tied to the bed, he was going nowhere.

Realizing he was trapped, but not knowing how or why, Yzark’s struggles grew more frenzied. Unsheathing ebonheart, I rested the tip on his throat. “Stop,” I ordered.

The orc froze.

In an instant, Yzark’s face cleared, scrubbed free of emotion. Then, with deliberate care, his head turned in my direction. “Who are you?”

I stared at the orc in silent admiration. If I’d not witnessed his frantic struggles of a second ago, I would almost believe him to be at ease. “Who I am is of less concern than why I’m here,” I replied mildly.

You have passed a mental resistance check! An analyze attempt by a hostile entity has failed.

Yzark has failed to pierce your disguise.

“What have you done to me?” Yzark asked, his voice still calm and betraying no sign of his failed attempt to inspect me.

I cocked my head to the side. “What? Haven’t you checked your Game messages yet? That’s sloppy.”

The Marauder’s eyes narrowed a touch before turning blank again—he’d not appreciated the admonishment. A second later, his eyes grew even more deadpan. I guess he’s finally realized he’s poisoned, I thought wryly.

The orc’s tongue flickered out to touch his lips. “That taste. I know it. It’s—”

“—viper’s blood,” I finished. “I imagine you will be dead within the minute.”

Yzark displayed no reaction at the news of his impending demise. “Viper’s blood,” he repeated. “Mantises use that.”

I smiled, neither refuting nor confirming his conjecture.

The Marauder’s eyes drifted towards the tent flap. Realizing what he was doing, he jerked his gaze back to me.

“No one’s coming,” I said lightly.

Yzark said nothing, but his face tightened fractionally.

My smile deepened. The orc’s mask was growing brittle. “Your people are dead. All one hundred and twenty of them; slain in their sleep. Tomorrow, I expect, they will be cursing the impulse that caused them to drink themselves senseless.” I wagged my finger at him. “That was not wise of you, allowing them such excess.”

Yzark’s lips thinned. “I don’t believe you.”

I shrugged. “That matters not. You will discover the truth for yourself soon enough.”

Yzark gaze sharpened—trying to pick the truth from my lies? Probably—but I gave nothing away, and his eyes dropped from my face to study my gear.

A moment later, the orc’s nostrils flared. He was staring at the bared blade at his throat, I noticed.

“You’re no mantis,” he stated.

“Are you sure?” I asked coolly.

“Nor do you work for Tartar,” Yzark went on, ignoring my interjection, “despite the ebonblade you carry.”

“Hmm…” I screwed up my face in pretended confusion. “Was that who I got this sword from?”

Anger burned in the orc’s eyes. “Don’t toy with me, human. Tell me who you are?”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re back to this again, are we? I won’t tell you, no matter how many times you ask.”

“Why are you here then?” he barked.

I smiled indulgently. “A much better question. Two reasons, actually.” Raising one eyebrow, I waited expectantly.

But, ignoring my prompting, Yzark said nothing.

I sighed. “Oh, very well, be like that.” Leaning down, I whispered in his ear, “For one, I’m here to tell you, you were wrong.” I paused again.

This time Yzark couldn’t resist. “Wrong about what?” he ground out.

I leaned back. “Wrong about me working for Kesh. It’s the other way around.”

Yzark’s eyes narrowed, and I could almost see the alarm in them growing as he worked through the implications.

“Yes,” I said. “I was here. The entire time. And I heard everything. Now, you know how poorly your wards serve you. I can reach you whenever I wish.”

Yzark was struggling to control his expression now, but he retained enough of his composure not to respond to the implied threat. “And the second thing?” he growled.

I smiled approvingly. “I’m here to deliver a message. This sector is ours. Tell Kalin that if he persists in trying to claim it, it will not go well for him—” I stared hard at the orc—“nor you, for that matter.”

The Marauder’s lips quivered. “You said ‘ours.’ What did you mean?”

“Did I say that? You must be mistaken.” He wasn’t, of course. The misdirection had been deliberate on my part.

Beads of sweat broke out across the orc’s brow, but I didn’t kid myself that it was my words that had prompted it.

It was the poison.

I was surprised, though, that the viper’s blood had taken this long to show itself. Did Yzark have some sort of internal resistance to poison? Would he survive its effects?

Just in case, I pressed the point of ebonheart deeper against the orc’s bare skin. I might have to do this the usual way, after all.

“You’re his, aren’t you?”

I blinked, refocusing on Yzark. “Come again?”

“You’re his. You must be,” he spat. “These games you play, they smack of him. You even talk like him.”

Somehow, I kept my eyes from widening. He thinks I work for Loken. How… ironic. But now that Yzark had made the accusation, I realized that I had, albeit unconsciously, been channeling Loken.

The entire reason for my conversation with Yzark was to intimidate him. I was not so naïve to believe slaying the Marauders would be enough to make the Power behind them back down.

Kalin would only send more of his people next time. Sadly, I lacked any real strength to threaten him directly. Certainly, no Power—even a minor one—would fear a tier three player.

Hence, I’d resorted to using lies and innuendo and was attempting to deceive Yzark—no fool himself—that a shadowy force lay at my back.

It seemed, though, I’d fooled myself in the process, too.

In crafting my mysterious persona, I’d unknowingly modeled myself after Loken. A disturbing realization at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how apt a subject he was.

Who better to imitate than the trickster himself?

If Yzark did end up believing I worked for Loken, well then, that was just dandy. The trickster was one of the more notorious Powers in the Game. The very suspicion that I acted at his behest should set Kalin quaking.

And if, in the process, I managed to create some trouble for Loken, why, that wouldn’t go amiss either.

Yzark’s mind, meanwhile, was turning frantic circles as he drew connections that didn’t exist. “Did his envoy send you? She did, didn’t she? That wench has been unhappy since the day we arrived. We will not bow to her threats! Nor will the Shadow Coalition! They approved this venture. When Kalin complains, there will be repercussions. Not even Loken will be able to—”

“You’re beginning to bore me, Yzark,” I said mildly. Leaning my weight into ebonheart’s hilt, I slid the black blade through the orc’s throat.

You have killed Yzark with a fatal blow.

You have slain a soldier of Kalin, earning his ire!

Sighing, I stepped back. The orc’s ramblings had just begun to get interesting, but they’d also made me realize I had to cut short our conversation.

As intriguing as Yzark’s mention of Loken’s envoy and the Shadow Coalition were, I knew little about either. I’d already succeeded in my objective: seeding doubt, and perhaps a measure of fear, in the Marauder’s mind.  But if I’d let the conversation run on, I was afraid the orc would catch on to my ignorance, making it less likely that my deception would hold up.

The wiser course had been to quit while I was ahead.

I only hoped I’d done enough.

Ducking out of the tent, I surveyed the camp. My work this night was far from done. There was still a mountain of loot to collect—and sort—and more Marauders to slay. I’d not forgotten about the Hound and Myka’s teams nor the other two blockading the tavern.

I kill them, too, then return to the village.

Striding forward, I got to work. I still had a lot to do to prepare for the arrival of the other Marauders.