Stealth check made! You have critically struck your target!

Eric glared down at the spasming orc that had collapsed to the smooth concrete pavement in a growing pool of its own blood, gasping for air that would never come with the massive rent in its back, spurting so much of his precious lifeblood as Eric savagely tore his bardiche free of his foe.

Before hearing a clang and clatter, just a short distance away.

In a flash, Eric ducked and spun around, his heart hammering, as wide eyes looked for trouble in all directions, now paranoid that furious musket men might be closing in on him…

But there was nothing. Not a trace of any bright heat signature, save for a few distant fires, and nothing before him now. Just the once magnificent and now completely empty plaza before the grand hotel that had once been his family's home away from home. At least in this part of the world. A tax haven in more ways than one, and now the grave of yet another orc sentinel Eric sent into storage the moment its heart stopped beating.

Wasting no time, he sprinted directly across the plaza, making sure he had perfect line-of-sight to his left and right, wide spacious boulevards showcasing what had once been some of the most luxurious and high-end shopping one could find on the East Coast anywhere, outside of New York.

Of course, the stores were now just broken shadows of their former glory, strewn with wreckage and trashcan fires everywhere, save for right in front of the hotel. An area that quickly became black as pitch as soon as Eric stored away the last of the fires along with the bodies.

Until there was just him and the three foot high circular bulwark he had made for himself of lizard hide, bone, and sinew, as well as several hundred pounds of what was now toughened rawhide-like lizard meat, necromantic energies infusing it so intensely that Eric was pretty sure it was actually a hell of a lot tougher than rawhide. More than strong enough to resist even shrapnel bombs, as long as they were placed a certain distance away, and no closer.

As he and Morlekai had found out firsthand, testing it in one of the rat-infested sewer dungeons Linus had showed a bemused Morlekai just the other day, Eric both relieved and strangely disappointed to find the tunnels almost exactly like the ones that had served as his haunt when he had first dared to level up and adventure. Yet they had looked so pale and puny in comparison to the fearsome hoards that had once been a source of nightmares that he had been content to ignore them when testing his equipment. Oddly enough, the rats reciprocated, doing all they could to avoid him and Morlekai, as if even they knew that Eric and the crimson crow on his shoulder, were far more a threat than any Basic Conscripts had any right to be.

Or maybe it was because even dungeon creatures understood that they had become little more than a source of food for the tool-using humanoids above.

Either way, Eric hardly got any experience point notifications at all, by the time he was done with his experiments. Though his ears were ringing something fierce, despite his regeneration and Morlekai’s snide comments. “We’d better hope this pocket dimension truly is separate, because that was so loud, I can barely hear myself think!”

But if the quiescent hotel rising grandly before Eric with its massive fluted columns and still completely intact glass foyer were any indication, they had not.

And now Eric was about to do something incredibly stupid, yelling with all his might halfway across the plaza, not even looking at the presents he had left in strategic locations as he swallowed his suddenly parched throat, guts roiling with something he refused to call dread.

Because it was one thing to strike his enemies from directions unseen. And quite another to challenge his foes, bold as day, when a hundred irate orcs could pour forth and absolutely fill him with lead.

Which inspired a quick nervous smile as he gazed upon his much-improved trash cans and newspaper racks strategically placed for busy hotel guests that would never check in again.

Because he wasn’t the only one who had to fear death in all sorts of unexpected directions.

And unlike his enemies, at least he had a flock of crows at his back.

“Eric, we’re wasting time.”

Eric winced.

Because his friend was right.

As insane as this ploy was, if they were going to do it, it had to be now.

Now, while it was still dark as pitch out.

Now, while his friends would have time to act in the chaos that ensued, if Eric’s gambit went according to plan.

Because attempting a daylight heist would be the height of insanity, with hundreds of muskets or elven longbows potentially pointed their way.

Because all promises aside, Eric wasn't stupid enough to think that even the Sylvan faction would let his friends walk free with their prizes. Not without exacting an exceedingly heavy tithe, or just getting rid of them altogether, suddenly not so worried about any stains upon their honor, should elven commanders surrender to all too human greed.

Because it was one thing to say that one was honorable, and believe it, surmounting life’s daily challenges.

Quite another when rogues were making off with hundreds of pounds of gold.

Gold any commander occupying fresh territory could all too easily convince themselves was rightfully their own.

“Eric!”

He winced at the tone in his friend’s voice.

“It’s not too late to back out,” the crow enticed. But Eric already knew what he had to do.

Pulling out his bullhorn of tightly stretched and stiffened hide, he roared at the top of his voice.

“I hereby challenge Chieftan Vorgot for command of the Vorgot tribe! I challenge Chieftan Vorgot for the right to rule Gilton under my own banner!

“Face me, unless fear freezes your feet!

“Face me, or leave with your tail behind your legs, like the coward you are!”

For endless beats of his hammering heart, Eric stared at the lobby doors of glass and chrome, in the same pristine condition as the day his mother had first checked them into their suites.

Before abruptly exploding outward with a roar as a massive brute of an orc covered in thick slabs of muscle and armor of blackened steel raised up a fearsome-looking bone axe covered in blood. "You would dare challenge Chieftan Vorgot, you worthless human spear-chucker? You would dare to insult our glorious leader? For that alone, you will be drawn, quartered, and disemboweled!"

Eric frowned as the giant roared and charged forward. Because there were dozens of orcish onlookers right behind the giant now charging across the plaza, and he could only hope that they saw nothing more than a shadow blur in the distance, with bright light to their backs and nothing but gloom and darkness behind Eric’s own.

Certainly no one flinched or even raised their thick brows in alarm when Eric's javelin and shield were replaced by a soul-bound bone bow in the blink of an eye.

And the snarling tusked beast, glaring its hate as it roared and charged, didn’t seem phased in the least when Eric’s bow began to vibrate with tension. Tension the beast couldn't see, even as Eric began to tap into his soul reserves. Even as one heartbeat bled into another as the charging creature cut their distance in half...and then half again, just fifteen feet away when brilliant white-hot light made the monstrous beast flinch…

An instant before Eric released his shot.

You have critically struck your target at point-blank range!

And the towering mountain of flesh, fury, and steel abruptly stumbled to halt, by some miracle wobbling on its feet for long seconds, even lurching two additional steps forward, axe cleaving downward in a blow that could have cleaved an oxen in half… before it collapsed right on top of its weapon. It was a sight which truly chilled Eric to the bone.

Because his arrow had completely blasted through the creature’s throat.

Its spine should have been completely severed.

The fact that the monstrous horror was even now kicking at the ground as its lifeblood sprayed forth like a crimson fountain only slowly sputtering out was a testament to just how mighty this warrior had become…

Before a supersonic arrow sent the monster crashing to the ground, never to rise again.

And now there was noise and commotion from the dozens, no...scores of orcs roaring and shouting in lobby, for all that Eric was now certain that not a one of them had seen anything but a quick flash of light.

And Eric, for all that his heart was hammering, awed by just how fearsome his would-be opponent was, a foe that had nearly reached him despite the spurting fountain of blood that his neck had become, wasn’t so foolish as to not seize the moment… perhaps the last chance he would ever have to do so.

“Your favored champion has died to my javelins and might, Chieftan Vorgot! His death proves me his equal, common custos no longer! By ancient custom, I claim the right of challenge! By virtue of my victory, I claim the right of challenge!”

Eric glared at the dozens of onlookers gazing at him with expressions of disgust to fascination to simple enjoyment of what must have been to them, a grand free show.

Which was fine by Eric, he thought with a hard smile, especially if it coaxed his enemy out where he could see him.

He raised his bullhorn once more.

“I challenge Chieftan Vorgot for command of the Vorgot tribe! I challenge Chieftan Vorgot for the right to rule Gilton under my own banner!"

“Face me, unless fear freezes your feet!"

“Face me, or leave with your tail behind your legs, like the coward you are!”

And much to Eric’s surprise, it seemed like the mood of the crowd was turning.

That voices within were grumbling, even shouting with displeasure, that a certain chieftan who hadn’t shown his face for days was now refusing even to respond to the challenge.

“Face him, Vorgot! Don’t let this human worm mock you!” Roared one powerfully built orc, raising his own steel axe high.

“Accept the challenge or step down!” Another had the gall to roar. Words so bold that a dozen orcs stared at the abashed speaker with shock, before taking up similar calls.

“He refuses to show himself for fear of snipers, while the elves shout their mocking taunts from their trees!”

“Our enemies prepare for war! Where is our chieftan?”

Eric couldn’t help but flash a fierce smile of satisfaction as the mockery continued. “Accept my challenge, Vorgot! At least under my banner, our men will know what it means to fight and die for glory! They won’t cower, huddled in fear, like an old woman!” he roared to the mocking laughter of half the orcs, the other half just shouting for Eric’s death all the louder.

“Eric, behind you!”

But Eric was already moving, Perception and a spike of dread sending him crashing to the ground when the air thrummed with the sound of death shrieking through the air, as not one but three javelins tore through his waist-high bulwark.

Greater Lizard Hide armor penetrated! You have been struck for 1 Light Wound!

He hissed and rolled as his bulwark was torn open by a cluster of javelins now sticking out of his fortification like hedgehog bristles, and the hot spike of pain tearing through his ankle when one managed to pink him, thrown by a hand that had come too close to sensing just where he was within his ten foot diameter ring could have torn right through his leg, if his fortification had been any less resilient.

As it was, the air rang with mocking laughter.

Human laughter.

“Hey Terrence, this asshole actually thinks he’s going to get a shot at taking on the boss man himself,” said one mocking voice, his obvious partner responding with derisive laughter.

“Poor sap. All he’s getting for his trouble is a long slow death. Plenty of fucking screams. Worse than the boys who squealed in the clink. Nice facial tattoos, asshole. How long did you serve?”

Eric clenched his jaw shut, having no doubt that his foes would love nothing more than for him to respond. Anything that would give his exact position away as a certain frantically whispering crow made it clear just how much shit he was in.

“Two of them, Eric. And I recognize one!” The crow hissed, locking eyes with him.

Eric clenched his jaw, all his attention on the beady black eyes peering so intently into his own.

Eyes that revealed so much more than he would otherwise ever see.

A pair of hard-eyed men cloaked in the gloom Eric embraced so well himself, faces covered in prison tats glaring at Eric’s three foot tall Bulwark he was currently lying prone within as they raised their javelins, tips vibrating with a force that Eric knew would spell his death, should they connect.

Stalking predators with footsteps far quieter than they should have been, stepping on gravelly pavement. Predators of this urban jungle that Eric knew he’d normally have no chance against, as they leaped over the three foot hurdle as one.

No chance, if he didn’t have the advantage of Infravision.

No chance, if his bow wasn't already drawn to his cheek, all 28 points of Strength trembling under the tension as the airborne men screamed as one.

A calculated move to freeze and startle prey as their eyes quickly scanned for their target, before the closest eye exploded in a shower of blood and brain, panther-like coordination and a predator's grace instantly transformed to a corpse splattering heavily to the ground, while the second Javelineer's eyes widened as the man awkwardly threw his spear…

Before crashing to the pavement, scrabbling desperately at his throat where two crossbow bolts had bloomed like crimson roses showering the air with his lifeblood.

Terrified eyes going wide with the prospect of his own imminent death as choking gurgles became a death rattle, Eric's would-be killer's feet beat a frantic staccato against the choking blackness...before dying off with a final gurgling wheeze, and then utter silence.

Silence, save for Eric’s own awful groan, choking back screams he desperately wanted to howl, impaled by the spear that had just hit his groin.

You have been Critically Hit by Armor Piercing Throw!

Femoral Arteries are intact!

You have been (temporarily) emasculated!

You are speechless with pain!

“Eric! You have to move, now!”

Meaningless words that washed over him as he shuddered in his own crimson sea of agony, torn flesh screaming with white-hot pain when the vicious spear that had impaled him moved even the tiniest bit, knowing he was wounded in ways hideous and profound, knowing that if he wasn’t very, very careful, he’d be dead, no matter what he did.

And that was when he heard it.

The mocking laughter of the chief, who, somehow, even if the Javelineer's actions had been cloaked in shadow, must have known that Eric had fallen, thanks to the pawns he had sent out in his steed.

"What's this? Someone dares to challenge Chieftan Vorgot for his rightful throne? Show yourself, maggot! Show yourself, and I will gladly tear you limb from limb!" The monster roared to the cheers, screams, and excited shouts of what must have been hundreds of orcs.

Orcs which even now were filling the courtyard, torches raised high, growing bold, perhaps, as the huddled Eric made no effort to raise his head up high.

But Eric saw so much, even as he shuddered in agony so bad he could only wish for death, in the light of a certain crimson crow’s gimlet eyes.

The ever bolder masses of swarming orcs slowly surrounding his bulwark.

The sneering countenance of the massive orc, larger even than his champion had been, whom Eric had last seen wide-eyed with a child’s terror when his arrow had almost claimed his life, and would have, were it not for the shamans that had been guarding him.

Shamans like the pair flanking him protectively even now, as the chieftan slowly closed the distance between Eric and his waist-high defenses he was presently huddled within.

“Well, human?” smirked the taunting chieftan, whom Eric knew damn well could see that three of his champions had fallen, two of them sticking half out of his bulwark. “Cowering in fear, are we? Too afraid to crawl out on your hands and knees and beg for mercy? Ha! You wanted a fight? You shall get it, and no mercy whatsoever will be shown!” The giant roared and beat his chest, his smile that of a man secure in his mastery once more, as all the orcs hooted and cheered and he stepped closer, rubbing his hands.

But not without first exchanging a nod from his shaman.

And here, despite the exquisite agony rippling through his entrails, Eric couldn't help flashing a mirthless smile of his own.

A smile almost as sharp as the agonized relief he felt when the spear pinning him to the asphalt disappeared, and something far grander took its place.

“Eric, don’t you dare faint now!”

Eric choked back an awful groan, eyes rolling into the back of his head as desperate hands gripped both holes spurting blood from his savage wound that was slowly, painfully slowly, easing to a trickle.

But fainting, he thought, as his head cracked against the ground with a jolt of fresh fire, was the last thing he’d do.

Now when the chieftan’s eyes had just grown wide with surprise.

Not when both shamans were gibbering with fright at the glittering interconnected circle of bronze cannons fused to a circle of zombified flesh and bone.

Barely able to squeal, so great was their terror as they desperately began shrieking out curses and bloodwards as countless scores of orcs looked on in surprise.

Of them all, only a small handful of rank and file troopers twisted around and ran for all they were worth, instantly sensing the danger.

But it was already too late.

Because these murderous bastards had ran up an ungodly tab, and it had just come due.

“Eric!”

Eric spat out a gob of blood. “Go time,” he whispered, waiting until surprise turned to dawning horror in the chieftan’s eyes.

“No, no, no!” the monster said, the giant-sized orc stumbling to his ass, just feet away from the bronze cannons, raising his muscular arms up frantically, instantly dropping his shield and axe. “We can make a trade. We can make a deal!”

“Yes, we can,” Eric whispered with a bloody smile. “You can die.”

"FIRE!" Eric screamed for all he was worth, visualizing eleven wads of bloodsoaked cloth instantly disappearing from an equal number of bronze cannon, and another dozen wads of cloth removed from an equal number of presents left all around the plaza now filled with well over a hundred confused-looking orcs.

In the blink of an eye, massive amounts of black powder were touched by essence-infused flame.

Eric didn’t bother trying to catch sight of his enemy’s last panicked moments, instead grabbing a stunned crow and curling up for all he was worth as the air roared with a cacophony of booms. Even curled up, Eric was buffeted by waves of sound that smashed into him, over and over again, so all-encompassing and loud that Eric couldn't even hear his own screams.

You have critically struck 57 orcs with lead grapeshot!

You have critically struck 2 shamans with lead grapeshot!

You have critically struck 1 orc chieftan with lead grapeshot!

Congratulations! You have figured out how to fire a cannon without blowing yourself up!

You have learned Gunnery at Rank 1!

Flesh Sculptor is now Rank 18! Because who says you can’t build cannon batteries with the necromantically infused remains of your foes?

63 Additional orcs have suffered Serious to Severe wounds from concussive blasts and lead grapeshot!

All orcs have fled the area!

Congratulations! You have successfully taken out the leader of an orc regiment! You have earned the Lesser Title: Headhunter. (Unique potency bonuses have already been claimed!)

Headhunter Title Boons:

You have +2 to all skill checks to impress or intimidate non-native humanoids!

All Standard Tribal Humanoid Classes are now open to you!

You have taken one additional Serious Wound.

Eric let the interface messages wash over him. Anything to distract himself from the hideous pain of his flesh knitting itself up for endless sweat-soaked minutes he knew he was in such agony that he would have been an easy target, if any enemy had crept up to strike his huddled form.

But none did.

Even as one minute bled into the next and he heard distant roars and shouts and screams, he did nothing but rock back and forth in a sea of suffering, hurting so badly he couldn’t even summon the strength to retrieve his cannons and reload them in his mind’s eye.

His pain was so great that all he could do was choke back keening whimpers when the distant sounds of orcs washed over his hears.

“Get chief Vorgot! The elves are attacking. The elves are attacking!” Eric heard the distant cry.

“No good! The elves have launched a sneak attack inside the central compound!”

“Vorgot is dead! The elves have control of the cannon! We have to flee. We have to flee!”

The discordant roars and panicked cries served as bitter solace to the agony that left Eric little more than a crippled wreck.

But he was desperate to move.

He had to move.

Knowing that the orcs still had a superior defensive position, and that not all those in the chain of command were fools.

All it took was one good commander taking charge and seizing control of the orcs at any of the three forts facing the elves angle of attack, and the tusk-faced monsters might still see a new dawn as masters of this city.

“The hell I’ll let that happen!” Eric snarled under his breath, gritting his teeth with a groan and forcing himself upright.

But only when the bleeding had stopped. Only when the fiery agony was contained.

It was all he could do not to look at the devastation wrought upon his flesh.

All he could do to choke back the screams.

As for the furious bitter hate he had for the Javelineer that had gelded him…

That poor fool wasn't just dead. He was shredded meat that had been flung clear of the bulwark by one blast after another.

Eric choked back a wave of nausea as the coppery tang of blood coated the back of his throat, the air ripe with the stench of ruptured bowels and shredded bodies.

He forced himself to breathe despite the stench. At least he was moving forward again, for all that it was more a shuffle than a walk. But he refused to flee the area without collecting his ring of cannons and his own inner bulwark with a few slaps of palm to necromantic flesh.

And then it was lurching to the northwest corner of Gilton just as fast as he could, doing his utmost to stay out of anyone’s sight with infravision alone coming to his aid.

Because despite his attempted rescue, Morlekai was gone.

He could only hope that it meant that the crow had returned with the rest of Morlekai, and that his friends were taking advantage of the panicked confusion he felt infesting the entire city, and enjoying the score of a lifetime.

Because he too had a score to settle.

One that could only be paid in blood.