Dungeon Sniper

Illisiv and the two quarrelsome Elves rode off on their gray horses. Illisiv kept looking back nervously, his boyish face reminiscent of a child reluctant to get on the bus on his first day of school.

There were still some hours left until the nightbreak, but I felt like I could hit the bed right now.

- Stats:

HP: 980/2000

MP: 500/500

Stamina: 360/2500

Elysia eyed me worriedly as I rubbed my eyes and stifled a yawn.

"You should get some rest, Beta," said Elysia.

I was about to agree gratefully, when both Worra and Baraka cut in almost simultaneously before I could open my mouth.

"There's no time for that," snapped Worra.

"We have got much work to do," said Baraka with his deep, tenor voice.

"A proper war requires a proper preparation," added Baraka forcefully.

"He needs to rest. Look at him. He looks he can pass out any minute now," said lovely Elysia to my defense. If I were not so drowsy, I would have hugged her in gratitude—and really pass out either with a slap or a kick to the face.

"We strike the Elves while the death of Alstair is still ablaze in us. Time only subdues our motivation. Revenge is the invaluable might with which we fight against our foes."

Baraka had just given his longest speech yet.

"I agree with Baraka about striking the Council at our soonest capability. Either we attack first, or wait until they come to us with a hundred armed, trained guards. Oren and his cronies are evil, but they're not dumb. They know we're coming to them to avenge Alstair, and the longer we stall, the more prepared they will be," said Worra, the anal Elfina. Analytical, I meant.

"You both make fine points. The problem is, I'm practically a 'zombie' at this point."

Five confused faces looked back at me,

"Oh, come on, what's a Dungeon without some zombies?"

Good job, World Company, for shattering yet another cliche in your New World. They just could not stop at the Shakespearean Goblins.

"I have no idea what those are, but they do sound tasteful. Fruits?"

"Way off, Janon. You don't want any part of zombie in your mouth."

"Poisonous fruits then?" asked Janon, his curious eyes flashing very much like another Elf I used to know.

"You're not related to Alstair, are you?" I frowned suspiciously.

"In fact, we are. Distant cousins, maternal side."

"Blood runs strong, I see."

"Is that a comment on my family, or did you just describe the effect of consuming a zombie?"

"You never, ever eat zombies."

"That's a pity. The word, it sounds so exotic and enticing, you know?"

"Yeah? What does the word 'zucchini' sound like to you?"

"Disgusting. What, is that the name for another monster?"

To kindergartners, maybe.

"Maybe you're just hungry, Jan."

"No, I'm good," shrugged Janon.

"Well, I'm not. It just baffles me that this place of all else has no Walking Dead."

It was a freaking Dungeon! The name of this place was misleading in every way possible.

"The dead do not walk. Because they are dead," said Baraka, needlessly sagaciously.

"Thanks, Baraka. I really didn't know that."

"And Orcs do not like sarcasm. Be direct when you talk with me," brooded Baraka.

"Okay, big guy. No need for the face. You scare me enough."

"Sarcasm?"

"No, I meant that."

I did.

It was then Kevlon cleared his throat emphatically and garnered the attention of everyone.

"Fellow Runnels, the dark is approaching, and as entertaining it is to converse with our newest recruit—"

"On probation," intervened Worra curtly.

"—I have to point out that time is precious, more so to us than the other side. And I say we use it to our full advantage, preparing for the upcoming battle—"

"War," corrected Baraka.

"Elimination," hissed Worra.

"Detonation?" suggested Janon.

"—In spite of our disorganized selves, Venerable Velonis, I miss Alstair," muttered Kevlon piteously.

"The uninspiring leader is right," grunted Baraka, as Kevlon threw up his hands in exasperation at the blunt adjective, "and until the dispatch comes back from Minetown, we each prepare in own way, disorganized and individually."

"We still haven't come up with a detailed plan," Elysia tried to stop Baraka, already walking back to his tent.

"Orcs only execute. I leave scheming to you soft-brained."

"Soft brains. That's a compliment, right?" I whispered to Janon.

"Probably. But I know Baraka believes his brain is a part of his muscles."

"I wouldn't doubt it either."

Whether he heard us talking behind his back or not, the stoic Orc had already taken out his morbid war axe, probably to hone it, as he slipped into the tent.

Worra too left the ground silently. Janon and Kevlon stayed, with Elysia looking slightly embarrassed by the whole scene.

"Normally, we're much more organized," said Elysia bashfully.

"I wouldn't doubt that either. No offense, Kev," I said, stifling another yawn.

"None taken," smiled Kevlon wryly as he approached me hesitantly.

"I might have something for your... lethargy."

Kevlon slipped 'something' into my pocket, awkwardly and all too obviously.

"Kevlon, no," admonished Elysia.

"It's completely harmless... with the right dosage," protested Kevlon.

I took it out and saw that it was a flask filled with muddy-green liquid.

"What's this?"

"A potion. Just an herb concoction," said Kevlon sheepishly.

"It's poison," snapped Elysia.

"Wow," Kevlon looked hurt, more than when Baraka called him 'uninspiring.'

"Well, you are a little too 'streaky' to be deemed a reliable herbologist, Kevlon," Janon clicked his tongue in agreement with Elysia, much to Kevlon's wounded pride.

Eylsia tried to take away the vial from my hand, but I evaded her, uncorked the cap and, sniffed it tentatively

"The color's a little off-putting, but it smells herbal enough."

"It does seem murkier than the apple-green one you gave me before," Janon eyed the potion curiously.

"See? Janon lives to tell a story. It can't be too dangerous, right?"

"Actually, I fell sick right after—"

"—And woke up fresh as ever. It wasn't that bad, Janon, let it go," cut in Kevlon hastily.

"Give it back, Beta," demanded Elysia with an outstretched hand.

I looked between Elysia's stunningly stern face and the suspicious solution at hand.

I swigged the avocado-green liquid.

"Holy guacamole, what the—"

I fell clenching at the throat, hearing Janon asking what guacamole was as if from a far distance.

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.

.

- Stats:

HP: 2000/2000

MP: 550/550

Stamina: '3500'/2500

I opened my eyes and sat up with a jolt. I almost headbutted Elysia who had lowered her body, apparently to check whether I was okay.

I looked around, and the day had never looked brighter, and I was pumped.

"How long was I out?" I got up swiftly on my feet.

"Two seconds," said Elysia, standing awkwardly beside me.

"How do you feel?" asked Kevlon cautiously.

"Great. Never felt better, actually."

Kevlon fist pumped the air in ecstatic silence.

"What were you thinking, Kevlon? We're at the brink of a war and—"

"I'm fine, Elysia."

I placed my hand on Elysia's shoulder, and to my surprise, Elysia did not shrug it off right away.

Oh yes. This was the beginning I had been waiting for.

"Are you sure you're okay?" frowned Elysia apprehensively.

"That's funny," I said, smiling confidently, my hand resting far too long on Elysia's delicate shoulder.

"What's funny?"

"Two days ago, you wouldn't even have batted an eye if I dropped dead in front of you. But now you're all concerned and worried—"

I was feeling confident. Too confident, maybe.

"Don't push it, Beta," Elysia stepped back.

"I mean, I'd be lying if didn't see this coming—"

Elysia, the former look of disgusted annoyance back on the face, turned her back from me.

"Next time, let him overdose to death for all I care," Elysia said icily toward Kevlon and before walking away.

I looked at Janon and Kevlon.

Too soon, mouthed Janon silently, with Kevlon, well, Kevlon was still excited that his new herbal potion worked to perfection.

I did not have the heart to tell him that it tasted like shit.

.

.

.

"Welcome to my humble tent," said Janon meekly as he let me inside the 'arsenal.'

An array of light armors—all gray—and shelves of weaponry were crammed up inside.

"I wouldn't call it humble, Janon," I said, looking around me.

"Well, it's not much."

"Look, I know you guys have this matching color and everything, but do you have anything darker?" I nodded to the pile of gray light armor sets unsatisfactorily.

"You mean, like black?"

"Not like. Just 'black.'"

Janon held up his hand assuredly as if to tell me 'say no more.' He reached for a c.h.e.s.t on the floor, opened it, and pulled back jet-black light armor from it.

"See? That's what I'm talking about," I took the set eagerly.

"Out in nature, gray is the better color for camouflage. But I admit, urban settings may require a different palette. Wise choice, Beta."

"I don't know anything about that. I just like black."

"Of course."

Holding the s.e.xy black armor set gingerly, I let my eyes fix on the crossbows next. Janon followed my gaze and picked one up.

"They're all the same. Standard type, with the built-in lever."

"Where I'm from, it was called 'Goat's Foot.' And please tell me you have goats here."

"Goats, we do have," Janon raised his index-finger emphatically.

"I don't get this world, honestly," I shook my head as Janon tested the crossbow mechanic deftly, and with care.

Janon handed me the well-maintained crossbow. I had already named it 'Ross II.'

"I'm sure you know, but crossbows have a limited range. A fair exchange for power. Worra never so much as touches these. She abhors crossbows, in fact."

"So she uses a regular bow?"

"Not quite. She favors 'longbows.'"

Janon pointed to the oversized bows hanging by the rack.

"All weapons have their strengths and drawbacks. Longbows, as you can see, are quite c.u.mbersome. But its range compensates for everything."

I reached for one of the longbows, plain-looking and fairly unused. Then my eyes caught another longbow, black in color, lying on the shelf, almost hiding beneath other items.

"This one's broken?" I picked up the black longbow casually.

Janon seemed uncomfortable as I tested the string and felt the grip of the surprisingly light yet sturdy longbow.

"I'll take this as well."

"If you want," shrugged Janon indecisively.

"What's with the look? Is there something you want to tell me?"

Janon stared at me silently for a while.

"Is it cursed?"

"No, it's a good bow."

Janon let off a sigh.

"That's Ramsis's longbow."

I blinked.

"I'd have preferred cursed, to be honest."

"Me too," nodded Janon sadly.

"It's a wonder you didn't burn it right away."

"It's a great bow. Can't blame the weapon for its master's mistake—crime, I meant."

Janon slipped, and it was too crucial to pretend I did not hear that.

"You think Ramsis made a mistake? You call betraying his friends and killing one of them a mistake? Who makes mistakes like that?"

Janon sighed, restlessly filling up the arrows into a quiver to avoid my gaze.

"I mean, don't we all, Beta? Make mistakes?"

"We mistake moths from butterflies. You don't call carefully planned betrayal a mistake, Jan."

Janon was probably still confused. I could see that. But I felt angry, regardless.

"I know. But Ramsis was a good Human. A good friend. As much as I resent him for Alstair's death, a part of me wishes that it was all just a giant mistake and sooner or later he repents for his deeds."

"The only way he's going to repent is through death."

"And some of us will think death is not enough. That he deserves more, worse."

"Yes. A slow, painful death."

"That could work," Janon smiled and shrugged sadly.

Janon seemed like a good guy. Almost all of the Runnels seemed kind, conscientious, and loyal. Hell, even Ramsis appeared that way at first.

But what was clear was clear. No mistake ever came in the form of deliberate betrayal resulting in deaths.

"No one mistakenly poisons a champagne and watches his friend rolling on the floor, Janon," I muttered, letting my thoughts escape through the mouth.

"What?" Janon asked back confusedly.

"What?" I looked back, equally confused.

"You said something about poison?"

Then Janon's face turned pale.

"Venerable Velonis, the potion! It's finally taking effect, isn't it? You feel numb? Dizzy? I don't care. Get out. I don't you throwing up on my weapons."

Janon pushed me out of the camp, away from his beloved treasure.

Perhaps the potion was poisonous after all. I felt a bitter taste in my mouth as I left the tent with a fresh gear.

Acquired:

'Black' Runnels Light Armor Set

Ross II the Crossbow

Bolt Case - 20 bolts

Ramsis's Longbow

Quiver - 20 arrows

I found an empty tent and changed myself from the regular gray Runnels uniform to the s.e.xier black variant. As I changed, my eyes kept darting back to the longbow that once belonged to Ramsis the traitor.

I got out of the tent, looking fresh with a new set of black light armors and armed with Ross II and the unnamed, uneasy longbow. Then I realized I had not asked Janon for a serviceable dagger—both Kitty and Mataki's Blade were lost to me, and who knew where they were right now. I had a feeling I could get Mataki's Blade back. The dagger-sword was too exquisite to be thrown away or sold around casually, not to mention there was a special bond between us, a former Goblin hero's soul and me. But as for Kitty, I feared it was lost to me forever. It was a simple kitchen knife, after all, and no one but me knew that it was a knife that had saved a man's life.

Would Janon have a spare kitchen knife in his arsenal? I was thinking wistfully as I walked back to Janon's tent, only to walk into Elysia, who was just exiting the tent as I was about to enter.

My hyper-confidence from earlier had died down. I eyed Elysia cautiously as she—tried to?—maintain the usual, cool composure facing me.

Then her eyes caught onto the familiar, large longbow hung across my back—and wavered visibly.

"I was looking for that, actually," said Elysia.

"Sorry, but it will serve better as a weapon than a keepsake."

"Keepsake? I was going to burn it, but only after shredding it to pieces," said Elysia vehemently.

"Sorry, but it will serve better as a weapon than a kindling."

"Do me a favor then. Make sure you shoot that traitor bastard in the head with that thing."

Elysia walked past me. I knew I was making the wrong move, but I turned and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Hey, if you want to talk about it—"

Elysia pulled my hand off her arm violently. She never looked back.

I stared at Elysia's furious, forlorn back—thinking 'Nice view,' nope, no, totally inappropriate and creepy—when Janon peeked outside and found me.

"Feeling better? You're not going to throw up inside, are you?"

"Yeah, no. I need a kitchen knife," I said, my eyes still fixed on Elysia.

"Try the kitchen," said Janon indignantly.

"A dagger. I need a dagger."

I was given a more than serviceable, beautiful Elven dagger I named 'Elvis.' I also came up with the name for my new, black longbow.

Traitor's Judgment, TJ for short.

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.

.

There was still about an hour left to the nightbreak, which others vaguely and unimaginatively referred to as just 'dark,' as in approaching dark or after dark. What could I say about these Elves: smart and scrupulous, but seriously lacking in imagination.

I was practicing with my new weapons, especially the damnably inflexible longbow, when I noticed Worra standing and watching me with her arms crossed. She wagged her finger to come closer. Foxy and bossy, and looking very much s.e.xy in her custom gray leather pants that highlighted her lean, muscular legs.

"If you're going to criticize my form, I was this close from getting it right," I said defensively. The longbow was unwieldy and tough. Who was I kidding. I was never close.

"You were never close," said Worra poignantly.

"All the more reason you shouldn't pull me off practice like that," I grumbled, guilty as charged.

"Shooting at stationary marks is a poor way to practice. Come. I want to show you something."

"Where? At your tent? Gosh, Worra, it's still bright outside. At least wait until everyone's sleeping."

Worra gave me her signature death stare. My smile melted even before I put it on.

"Where are we going?"

"Just keep your mouth shut and follow."

I did both as ordered. I shut up and trailed behind Worra, enjoying the view.

Worra led me to an open field, about a half-mile away from the camp. She finally stopped in the middle of nowhere, apparently searching for something that was not there.

"What are we looking for?"

"Keep, quiet," hissed Worra.

Okay, boss. I stayed silent, looking around the grassy field. The nightbreak was only minutes away now. The light was disappearing, and the Dungeon would be swept in the dark soon.

"There," said Worra abruptly, pointing to a distance.

There was a bird. Crimson like fire, and effortlessly majestic.

"That's a cool-looking bird," I commented lightly.

"Flare Falcon. The bona fide bird of prey in this region," whispered Worra cautiously.

"With even a cooler name. Does it breathe fire?"

I was half-joking, but Worra seemed serious.

"The name comes from the flaming feathers. Also, because it only appears just before the dark, and disappears after that. Like a fire turned to soot. A smoke within the realm of ashes."

"That's very poetic of you. You didn't sound like a dork at all," I whispered back, suppressing an urge to whistle out loud.

Worra eyed the falcon for some time, before turning her uncharacteristically dreamy face toward me.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

"Yes, and I thank you for taking your time to take me to sightsee a rare bird, right before a full-on war against an entire city," I kept whispering.

"Idiot. We're not here to picnic. We're here to hunt."

"Okay. That makes sense. You needed my help?"

Worra eyed the falcon, as if making sure it stayed in its place. The falcon was not here to prey, that was for sure. It just sat on the ground, with its wings spread as if posing. I really did not get this world.

"I could have hunted it a long time ago. But I have not. Just look at him. The mere thought of pointing an arrow on his direction hurts me," said Worra, her normally sharp, husky voice mellowed and moist at the moment.

The nightbreak had started. The world was getting darker by seconds.

"What do you want me to do, Worra? Shoot or come up with my own poem about things I love?"

For example, Worra's tight leather pants came to mind.

Worra inhaled sharply and seemed as if she had made up her mind.

"Velonis, our heroine and goddess, once shot a Gold Eagle and was granted the vision of the King of the Winged. Now, Flare Falcon is no Gold Eagle, but the falcon is somewhat of a duke among the birds—"

"Say no more. I got it. You want me to Critical Siphon the hell out of the bird."

I winked, and Worra blinked, hesitating a little.

"I wanted to see the gift of Velonis working before my eyes. And if the falcon had to be hunted, then this... you are the right occasion."

"I've gotta say, Worra, this Velonis fan-girl in you really creates a 'gap moe' from your usual personality. Don't ask me what it is, or how I know about it."

"I have a feeling I shouldn't," frowned Worra.

"Good."

I nodded and turned my head to the open meadow. Flare Falcon was still in its place. It seemed as if it was basking under the setting sun, only if were there an actual sun in this world.

Was it too foolish for me to think that it actually awaited its death in such a manner? Waiting to be a replica of the Gold Eagle in the legend of Velonis the Elf heroine?

Either way, I had the perfect sight and angle.

And I immediately realized Worra was right. TJ the longbow had been adamantly rigid back at the camp. But out in the open, with the wind blowing in my face and the world zoning out from the light, it felt different.

The Miners' Shoulders Perk was more than enough to pull the string of the longbow to its maximum draw. It was all about having an actual target or not, whether there was a purpose for holding the bow with a nocked arrow, whether I was needlessly dwelling on thinking about the former of the longbow or wanting to become its new, rightful master.

Dressed in and holding black everything, I faded into the dark. The fiery feathers of Flare Falcon lingered just barely in front of my eyes, a hundred feet away, about to wisp into a smoke, fly as ashes.

The falcon spread its wings fully, the dwindling ember pulsing its final flame before going out.

The arrow flew, ripping the dark. I was still feeling the vibration of the discharged string when I saw the falcon sway gracefully and fall on the ground.

The dark had completely taken over. I could not see whether I hit it in the head as I had aimed, but I knew I did, just a second later.

[Skill gained: Falcon Eye]