Dungeon Sniper

The funeral was ready.

The Runnels had their own way of sending off the dead. Alstair was dressed in the traditional gray uniform. He was laid down on a small, unassuming boat decorated with wild flowers with a bow and a knife resting on his c.h.e.s.t. The boat had a small hole that would eventually make it sink as it ran down the river. The hole was clogged for the moment and would stay that way until the ceremony was over and the boat was sent afloat along the current.

I was given a new set of Runnel armor and standing with the rest of the grieving, silent scout-rangers by the river near the Eastern Camp. As was the tradition, I was told to pull up the mask through the entirety of the funeral process, just like everyone else was. It had been a few hours Elysia and I had arrived at the camp, but we did not have the time, or atmosphere, to socialize.

There were eight of us, and we were waiting for the last member to return from his recon of Deltaris.

A high noon passed, and Illisiv came riding back from the city. His youthful face looked a few years older from the day before, with sadness and gravity of the situation at hand.

"The executions were held. The Reflux are no more."

No one said anything to Illisiv's report. Illisiv pulled up his mask and stood beside me, facing the river and Alstair's coffin boat.

Elysia walked forward and knelt beside the boat, placing her hand over Alstair's cold, folded hands.

"Be one with the river, old friend," said Elysia quietly.

She then stood, drew up her bow, and aimed toward the sky. The rest of the Runnels followed suit, and I did too.

Elysia fired her arrow first, flying high with an arc and landing almost perpendicularly into the river. The eight arrows followed, in almost perfect sync, and fell into the same spot in the river. Except for mine. I shot slightly late and my arrow landed a few feet away from the promised spot. Thankfully, no one seemed to mind.

Two more Runnels, one of them Baraka and the other as big as the Orc, approached the boat and pushed the boat gently off the land. Elysia pulled the clog out at the last minute.

The boat sailed on, slowly and peacefully. We watched it float by, sinking little by little, until it was gone, far and deep.

.

.

.

"My name is Beta, and I was with Alstair when he died."

Unmasked, beautiful Elven faces and a brutish Orcish face stared back at me while seated in a half-circle formation in front of me. We were inside one of the larger tents, with a simple table between us laid with maps and notes of the entire Delta Region. This was Alstair's tent, the conference room for the Runnels.

"I was there too," said Elysia, standing beside me, in support.

"You were there too, Elysia, but you couldn't save him?" said an Elf female—an Elfina—poignantly. She was as beautiful as any other Elf, but her eyes were as sharp as her voice.

"He was already badly injured by the time I got to him."

"A nasty cut on the back. He lost too much blood," I added.

"But Alstair had a wound on the c.h.e.s.t. Fatal, by the looks of it," said Baraka, eyeing me patiently, even knowingly.

I looked around the still-grieving faces of the Runnels and inhaled nervously.

"Yeah. That was me."

Several bodies jumped and drew their weapons at me. Only Illisiv, Baraka, and another Elfina—with the kinder, younger face stayed seated.

"What are you saying, Human?"

"You came here to die in place of that traitor Ramsis? Because I'm in the mood for cutting up some Human flesh right now."

"Did you stab him before or after he died?"

"What kind of question is that, Janon? Why does that even matter?" frowned the sharp-eyed Elfina.

"Guys. Alstair, he wanted that. He asked Beta to finish him off," intervened Elysia.

"Doesn't make sense."

"He didn't want to burden us in our escape."

"Yet you brought him here, dead. Are you saying he wanted to be a limp load as you carried him outside?" said the bulky Elfino with a longsword pointed dangerously close to my chin.

"Let off your steam, Dumont. Let Elysia talk," said the other Elfino, looking much calmer, but not without his own share of distrustful eyes fixed on me.

"Let off my steam? She's the one who got us into this mess! I never liked Ramsis, and I never approved of their relationship."

"Now's not the time to be so bitter about your unrequited love, Dumont," said the youthful Elfina derisively.

"Shut up, Lapines! That has nothing to do with this!"

It was then Baraka stood up slowly, placing his hand on the hot-headed Dumont and lowering the quivering longsword.

"Friends. We are all sad today, but the past is the past. We should look ahead, through, and within who we have in front of us."

"Get your hands off me, Orc," hissed Dumont.

"Truly, none of you can see that Alstair's still with us, inside that Human?"

Everyone blinked and stared between Baraka and me.

"What is this now?" frowned the Elfino named Janon confusedly.

"Look closely. And feel," said Baraka patiently.

"Is this one of your Orcish instinct crap again? Because I'm not buying it," seethed Dumont.

"Actually, I kind of see what he's saying," an Elfina named Lapines narrowed her round, pretty eyes at me.

Elysia stepped forward, coming between me and the few, hesitant weapons drawn against me.

"Before Alstair died, he said something about the gift Velonis and the other heroes had."

"The Critical Siphon?" asked the sharp-eyed Elfina incredulously.

"Yes, Worra. And Beta here, he has the same gift."

"Goblin's a.s.s," cursed Dumont.

"Enough, Dumont. And where is the proof of this heroic gift? How do we know this Human has it?" asked the calm-looking Elfino.

"He's nothing like Velonis, if that's what you're saying," scoffed Worra, her keen eyes furrowing as if she were attacked personally.

"No," sighed Elysia, "he's one of us."

"First a traitor, now a murderer? You do love your Humans, don't you, El?"

"Dumont, I said enough."

"Don't 'enough' me. Who died and made you the leader, Kevlon?" spat Dumont furiously.

Alstair. Alstair died. But I kept my mouth shut, or Dumon'ts longsword would cut my throat for sure next time.

The air was heavy and hostile inside the tent. Everyone started talking at once, the collective sadness over losing a leader, friend, quickly turning into disorganized, frustrated rants directed at everybody and nobody at the same time.

What would Alstair have done? I asked myself, more specifically to the part of Alstair left in me.

Before I could stop it, my mouth opened.

"The problem here at hand is that we lack a locus of leadership. Now, the traditional Runnel method of choosing the next leader in position due to death, absence, or retirement is through a vote, as you all know. Please allow me to refresh your memory. Everyone and anyone can be nominated, but the decision has to be unanimously sided in the end through the use of exhaustive ballot. A fascinating system, but underutilized due to the inefficiency with a large number of candidates, if you ask me. I can go on about how the voting works if anyone's confused. Anyone?"

Me. I was confused. I did not know what I was talking about.

Everyone else in the tent stared at me in silence. A bewildered, shocked silence.

"Alstair?" Janon asked out loud, in disbelief.

"Either he's a really good impersonator, or Alstair was not bent on shutting up for good even after death," jeered Worra, but not without a hint of fondness in her softened eyes.

"How... is that even possible?" Dumont seemed as lost as I was.

"The Critical Siphon. It absorbs traits upon kills. In this case, it seems as if Alstair willed his personality to enter inside this Human's soul. Seriously, Dumont, if you actually paid attention to Alstair's story, you'd know," sighed Kevlon.

"What are you talking about? I loved Alstair's stories," gulped Dumont.

"Liar."

"Shut up, Lapines."

"So, it's just like the legends. He's like Velonis," exclaimed Janon.

"No. Not our Velonis," Worra returned to her usual edgy self again.

"It is settled then. We get through the vote and determine the new leader. Then we talk about how we are going to avenge Alstair's death," said Baraka with an air of authority.

"Sounds like the leader already. Just take the job, Baraka," said Kevlon.

"Orcs do not lead, other than as spearheads of a vanguard at war. And war, that is all I want now," growled Baraka impatiently.

The air had changed in the tent. It was clear Baraka was not the only one eager to wager a war.

.

.

.

The exhaustive ballot system, it turned out, was all about eliminating the bottom vote-getters and forcing an unanimous decision between the last remaining two candidates. Baraka and Kevlon were the final nominees. Baraka was adamant not to take the role, so Kevlon became the new leader of the Runnels.

"Let us properly introduce ourselves then. I'm Kevlon, and I used to scout the western Delta Region for the majority of my tenure here with the Runnels," Kevlon extended his hand to me formally.

"And now you have the entire region to be concerned with," I shook the hand back.

"Not what I signed up for. I just love riding around the nature, but here I am," sighed Kevlon. He did not seem like the most enthusiastic leader, but I could tell he was prudent enough to be one.

"You've met Illisiv and Baraka. Illisiv is the best 'rider' among us, and Baraka is, well, he's the strongest of us all."

"Ooh, don't let Dumont hear that," quipped Lapines cheerily.

"I'm right here, Lapines!" barked Dumont angrily.

"Lapines has the lightest feet, she's practically a rabbit."

"More like a deer, not a rabbit," Lapines clicker her tongue sullenly.

"She's also small enough to get into any place she wants. Infiltrating into unsuspecting Goblin lairs, caves, crevices, windows, you name it," explained Kevlon.

"Nice to meet you, Beta," smiled Lapines charmingly as she came face-to-face with me up close.

"Wow, you're pretty," I gaped like a fool at the delightfully dazzling grin on the petite Elfina's face.

Then I felt a stare and turned to Elysia

"Of course, you're pretty too, Elysia."

"I didn't say anything," frowned Elysia in bafflement.

Yeah, well, clearly, things were getting pretty complicated around here.

"Janon's in charge of our arsenal. He's not the most athletic, but his mastery of weaponry comes very close to a Dwarf master."

"That's really not the case," Janon shook hands with me humbly.

"And there's Dumont, a versatile fighter."

"So versatile that he even picks up fight with everyone here at the Runnels," added Lapines.

Dumont, grumpy and disapproving, did not extend his hand or anything. Instead, he gave me a death stare as he tapped on the hilt of the longsword hung at the waist.

"I've got my eyes on you, Human."

"Yes. P.l.e.a.s.u.r.e meeting you too, Dumont," I nodded grudgingly.

Kevlon turned to Worra, who waved him off and approached me with spright, purposeful steps.

"The name's Worra. I like shooting down things with my bow," said Worra tersely.

"She's our sharpshooter. And also a great hunter."

"Yes, I'm the one who provides food for the gang. That's my value," scoffed Worra.

"And you just witnessed her wonderful personality that is in no way testament to her superb archery skill," smiled Kevlon meekly.

"It's okay. I've been getting used to pretty girls with tempers."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Elysia returned my stare with her characteristic, provocative frown.

That was everyone. The eight colorful Runnels, and the one oddball who looked around the new allies of the coming battle.

"So, about that war," I began.

"Yes, the war," nodded Baraka.

"It's not going to be easy. We're scouts, not exactly soldiers," sighed Kevlon.

"What a great way to start the pep talk, Leader," scoffed Dumont.

"Don't get hung up on losing the race. You'll get your chance one day, Monty," said Janon cheerily.

"Yes. When we're all dead," scoffed Lapines.

"I swear, Lapines, if you weren't a little girl, you'd have been dead for a long time," fumed Dumont.

"That's not nice to say to someone who might have cast a vote for you," grimaced Lapines.

"You voted for me?" blinked Dumont.

"No."

Dumont looked as if he wanted to strangle Lapines.

"Lapines has a point. We could be all dead after what we're about to pull off," intervened Illisiv quickly.

"I don't plan on dying. Besides, it's hardly a war. We get in, shoot down the Council, and we exit. Simple as that," said Worra.

"The problem is, it doesn't sound as simple as you make it, Worra," said Kevlon.

"With the right angle and wind, I can hit Oren and the rest of the Council from eight-hundred feet away, easy."

"With a bow and arrow?" I asked incredulously.

"Want a rehearsal? Go out and stand eight-hundred feet away from here. I'll find you."

"No, I believe you."

Elysia was cranky at times. But Worra, she was scary.

"We're not exactly shooting at scarecrows, or Beta, standing in a straight line. There are so many variables to consider. But yes, Worra may as well get into position for some distant shooting."

"Sniping," I said abruptly. The Runnels looked at me curiously.

"We, or rather I, have a term for the distant shooting. It's called sniping where I come from."

"He can say weird stuff at times," said Elysia, almost apologizing.

Worra, on the other hand, seemed satisfied.

"I like it. That would make me a 'sniper' then."

"You're catching up fast, unlike—"

"Look away, Beta," said Elysia irritably.

"And I heard you favor the bows yourself. Are you a 'sniper' as well?"

"That was my job, actually."

In computer games, not in real life.

"Does the term have anything to do with snipes, the birds?" asked Janon.

"You have snipes here?" I asked, surprised. Indeed, the term 'sniper' derived from those who could shoot the agile, elusive birds called the snipes.

"Why wouldn't we?" frowned Janon.

"Because you don't have dogs in this world."

Or cellphones, naturally.

"You mean a wolfdog?" asked Janon.

"Yes. We went through this before, actually—"

"I like wolfdogs. They're so cuddly," interjected Lapines.

"Everyone, focus. Is there anyone other than Worra with an actual plan or strategy? Baraka?"

"Orcs do not plan. We execute," said Baraka with his deep, graveling voice. "Illisiv?"

Illisiv smiled awkwardly as he shook his head.

"Elysia? Lapines?"

"I have a plan," said Dumont, raising his hand tentatively.

"Anyone else?" Kevlon looked away, much to Dumont's silent rage.

"Alstair always had a plan. Why not ask him?" suggested Lapines.

Everyone looked at me again.

"What?" I blinked at the expectant faces.

"Ask Alstair what the plan is," demanded Worra.

"You see, it doesn't really work like that."

"Then make it work. The only reason you're here sitting with us is because you've got a part of Alstair with you. You're not one of us, Human."

"That's harsh," muttered Janon.

"Not yet, at least, so you better call up your inner Alstair before we realize you're just another useless, potential Human traitor and turn you into a practice target for some 'sniping.'"

"You really like that word, don't you?" I tried to smile.

Worra did not smile back, her beautiful, frozen almond-shaped eyes flashing icily.

Did I mention that Worra was scary? I changed my mind. She was terrifying.

"Okay. If I were Alstair... If Alstair were here... Alstair would have said—"

"Can you do it more quietly?" Lapines cut off my ramble.

"Right. My bad."

Knock knock, Alstair. That was your cue.

No response. A prolonged, silent non-response.

Then, with a flash in my head, I realized that I was on my own on this one. The pacifist in Alstair was conflicting with my 'own' plan. What I had in mind did not please him, but he had no power or intention to stop me.

The image of crumbling Castle Deltaris hovered before my eyes. It had flashed subconsciously for some time now, but now I was looking at the full image.

The entire Deltaris Complex, burning and sinking.

"It's not enough that the Council goes down," I said finally, the conviction in my voice hooking in everyone's attention. A forgotten Perk was being at work: Charisma - Level B, and B stood for 'badass,' if anyone asked me.

"There has to be a message. A powerful, symbolic message for everyone in Deltaris—no, in the entire Delta Region—can see."

"You're losing me with the abstracts, Beta," said Elysia, the smart but unimaginative Elfina.

I turned to Illisiv, who had been listening at my words intently.

"Illisiv, you're the best rider here, right?"

"I'm good with horses, yes," answered Illisiv placidly.

"How long will it take you to reach Minetown and get back here?"

"Oh, no," gasped Elysia. She finally remembered the passing conversation back at the cell. Even she could imagine what I had in my mind right now.

"Four, five hours? Why?"

"Good. I want you to leave now. I'd love to go with you, but I kind of have a history there."

"The explosion, we all heard that one," said Janon with a knowing smile, only to have it transformed it into a doubtful frown, "wait, you're not suggesting—"

"I'm afraid so, Janon," I nodded back gravely.

Janon wowed silently, while others were also slowly catching onto my plan.

"So, Illisiv, take Lapines... and Dumont with you. You'll need helping hands."

"Hold up. Is this Human seriously making orders here?" erupted Dumont.

"Dumont, go. Lapines, watch over him," said Kevlon.

"Lay your hands off me, girl!" barked Dumont as he swatted away Lapines's hand playfully patting his head.

"What exactly are we doing at Minetown?" asked Illisiv reluctantly.

I let out a little sigh. I had the image. I had the plan.

And it felt wild, and crazy.

But it felt right.

"I want you to get the Boom-Booms."

The Runnels either g.r.o.a.n.e.d or closed their mouths. Even Baraka's n.a.k.e.d brows twitched restlessly.

"How many?" asked Illisv numbly.

I blinked back at Illisiv. I had not come to specifics yet.

"Like, a lot," I shrugged, or I tried, feeling the weight of my decision resting heavily on the shoulders.