Trance sighed deeply, pulling his brown adventurer’s cloak tighter about him as a cool night breeze blew over. Swiping his menu overlay, he noted the time at 10:42 PM before exiting it again. Just a little more than an hour left before his night watch shift ended.
Standing his weapon - a unique hybrid between a sniper rifle and a halberd - against the southwest corner of the battlements, Trance turned to regard the interior of the fortress. Although not small, the enclosed space below him could hardly be considered large either. It struck him that the overall dimensions were rather close to the size of two average suburban lots end to end, front and back lawns included.
A loud sneeze split the air, confirming that Frozen_Beef the Jarl was still at his guard post at the southeast corner, even without Trance having to look.
Turning to regard the other corners, he saw AWPerator in the northeast corner scanning the night horizon with his military-grade binoculars. Trance couldn’t help but smirk that, even on night guard duty, the Cabalist was still dressed in his replica counter-terrorist gear, from army boots to camo helmet.
Trance didn’t even bother to look at the northwest corner to check whether the Lurker (M)Alice was at her post. Not only was he positive that the devoted bandit-in-training wouldn’t miss an assignment if her life depended on it, but he knew that thanks to her class’s passive abilities, he wouldn’t be able to see her anyway.
The loud report of an explosion made him turn away from the battlements to the grounds below. In the corner of the courtyard, Melvin the Bomber lay on his back covered in black soot, a couple feet away from a smoldering, bowl-sized crater.
“Well, that didn’t work,” the 13-year-old sighed, stating the obvious and rising to his feet in obvious pain. He absent-mindedly brushed black dust from his multi-pocketed overalls and lit a bent cigarette.
“Ain't you a bit young for cigs?” Gr3g, a tall man with elfish features, fake pointed ears, and a grey suit remarked, striding towards Melvin. His shoulder-robed jacket billowed in the night breeze, and he found himself hunching his shoulders to keep it from slipping off.
“Hey, it’s BRYZ,” the youth shot back. “Not like I’m gonna get lung cancer from digital smokes.”
“Well, suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Still, you’re damned lucky your class’s passives reduce the damage you deal to yourself, or we’d be sweeping your ashes off the floor.”
“Don’t worry, if that ever happens, I’ll just piece him back together again.” A bronze-skinned wiry old man with a white fringe of hair and waist-length beard laughed, trundling towards the two. The cold didn’t appear to bother him, as he was clad in little more than a loincloth and shoulder sash.
“Beats me why you'd wanna bring him back, Ifrit.” The pseudo-elf sighed. “One of these days he’s gonna get the rest of us killed, mark my words.”
“I’ll patch the rest of you back together too, no charge.” Ifrit laughed. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, you’ll keep your hair longer.”
“I’m in no rush for a brush with death, thank you very little,” Gr3g muttered back.
“Yeah, but I was thiiiis close to perfecting a new kind of bomb, Gr3g!” Melvin gesticulated excitedly, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a metal capsule the size of a four-lite milk jug, with a long, blackened cord snaking out an orifice. “That was just a small one, this is the real deal! When this baby explodes, it launches a bunch of spiked caltrops which I wrapped in rags laced with thermite! The result should…”
“You idiot, you’re still holding your cig!” Gr3g yelled, reaching for the bomb even as the long fuse brushed the inobservant Melvin’s cigarette and began to spark.
“Ooh, that’s not good!” the Bomber muttered, dropping both bomb and cigarette and fleeing.
“Bwa…wha...?” Gr3g spluttered, stepping away from the freely rolling bomb. “The hell am I supposed to do with this?!”
“Run for your life?” Ifrit offered, breaking into a mad dash in the opposite direction.
Cursing under his breath, Gr3g pressed his two index fingers and thumbs together to form a triangle. In response, three wide-bladed sliver swords slid gracefully from their identical sheathes on the imitation elf’s back, shooting towards the sparking bomb.
Sweat beading his forehead under his fedora, Gr3g willed the blades to carefully grab the bomb between their three tips, then brought his hands upwards in one swift motion, sending the blades skyward, still holding their payload. At the last second, the man twisted his hands, disconnecting the triangle and forming two “v”s with his fingers, which he slammed inward together. In response, the three blades shot back to their sheathes as the bomb erupted behind them.
Trance noticed he had been holding his breath ever since Melvin had dropped the bomb, and with the explosion a safe distance overhead, he exhaled with relief, breathing easy again. That is, until he noticed over four dozen miniature comets streaking out from the detonation in all directions.
“GET DOWN!” he yelled, leaping to the side as a flaming caltrop shot past his shoulder, clipping the battlements and sailing down into the valley below.
Fortunately for Gr3g, his eyes never left the explosion, so he was in motion even before he heard the warning. Reforming a triangle with his index fingers and thumbs, he crossed his middle fingers in front of that, causing his blades to join pommel-to-tip in midair in front of him, a teal energy shield forming in the space enclosed by the blades. Rotating his hands to move the shield, Gr3g blocked two burning caltrops that were heading for him, holding the shield steady until he was sure the danged had passed.
Ifrit was not so lucky.
As soon as explosion went off, the old man had rushed back from his cover to admire the fiery display of craftmanship. Unfortunately, this put him right in the trajectory of multiple blazing caltrops, one of which caught him directly in his forehead. The thermite-laced flames caught immediately, and Ifrit went out in a blaze of glory.
“What in the blue blazes is goin’ on here?” A hulking armoured figure wearing a steel Stetson and a meticulously waxed moustache stormed out of the nearby barracks, a charred and blackened caltrop pinched between two plated fingers. “Who had the bright idear t’ try and set our break room alight?” he accused in a thick drawl.
“Huh? Is it all over?” Melvin crept out from beneath a set of stairs to the battlements. “Gosh, thanks for the save Gr3g, I thought I was a goner that time.” Clapping a hand behind his head, he laughed good naturedly, ignoring the aftermath of his bomb. “Well, all’s well that ends well, right?”
“Hell no it’s not, you killed Ifrit!” Gr3g yelled, dashing over to the smoldering body of the old man.
“Ah… oops?” Melvin ventured.
“Quick, get Sicklesoul to revive him!” Gr3g yelled, beating at the flaming body with his jacket.
“No need for that, just hold yer horses, Gr3g,” the hulking armoured player assured. “Don’t you worry none, Ifrit c’n take care of himself.”
“I’ll extinguish him first, though,” a female player offered, emerging from behind the armoured one. She had long sea-blue hair in a balayage, white culottes, and a black crop top with "Gamer Girl" ostentatiously emblazoned on it. Strolling over to the charred Ifrit, her right side spontaneously changed into clear blue water. Bending down, she swept her arm over Ifrit’s body, instantly quelling the flames.
Almost as soon as the fire was out, the blackened dust from Ifrit’s body began to shift and coalesce. Stepping back, the watery player smiled in satisfaction as the remnants of Ifrit’s body slowly pulled themselves back together, the charred parts rejuvenating until before them stood Ifrit again, good as new.
“Well, that’s one life down for today,” Ifrit stretched languidly, cracking his neck. “Good thing the day’s almost past.”
“How’d you do that, Deep6?” Gr3g asked the woman in disbelief. “I thought you were an Incarnate! You shouldn’t have revive skills in your tech tree.”
“Nah, it was his power, not mine.” Deep6 smirked and pointed at Ifrit, reverting her body back to normal. “Ifrit’s a Fakir, so his class skill allows him to revive from death as many times per day as he’s put skill points into it.”
“That leave me with four lives left, and it’s almost 11:00!” Ifrit laughed.
“Now I see why you’re so happy-go-lucky around Melvin,” Gr3g sighed. “Some of us aren’t so fortunate. If he blows me up, I’m a goner for sure.”
"C'mon, what's a little friendly fire between teammates, right?" Deep6 nudged Gr3g roughly, laughing.
"Nobody asked you, pick-me."
"Incelf."
“Ah, speaking of Melvin, where’d he go?” Ifrit asked, heading off further bickering.
“Ain't that him over yonder tryin’ to slip away?” the armoured player noticed, pointing across the courtyard. “Get back here Melvin, I'm gonna knock you int'r the middle of next week, looking both ways fer Sunday!”
Bounding after the unlucky Bomber with surprising speed, he nabbed him by the back of his overalls, lifting him off the ground with ease.
“Come on, go easy on me Rampardner,” Melvin complained, a guilty look on his face. “It was an innocent mistake! Could’ve happened to anyone.”
“There’ve been far too many “innocent mistakes” with you behin’ ‘em,” the tall Hoplomachus scolded, shaking Melvin like a rag doll. “This time, I’m takin’ you to the Chief. He’ll decide what t’ do with yer.”
“Aw no, don’t do that!” Melvin whined. “He’ll kick me outta the team!”
“That’s up fer him to decide, young feller, not me,” Rampardner replied, turning and walking back across the courtyard, still carrying the shamefaced Bomber. “If that hadn’ta been Ifrit, you’d’ve been a murderer. You need to reflect on yer actions.”
“Mic check, mic check, hol’ up a sec!”
All heads turned to the source of the voice. A young teen stood in the doorway of the barracks, glaring accusingly at Rampardner. The kid was dressed in low-riding jeans and a brand-name hoodie, and was positively covered in gaudy chains, piercings and other bling wherever there was room across his person, so that as he strode towards the armoured player, he jangled and clinked like a pocketful of loose change.
“This’s got nothin’ to do with you, MC,” Rampardner declared, resuming his stride.
“’Shows what you know, Melvin’s my bro! Where he goes I go, so drop him, ya’ ho!” the young teen rapped, flipping off the Hoplomachus.
“What in the hell did y’just call me?” Rampardner started.
“Rampardner said he’s gonna snitch on me to Chief!” Melvin accused. “He’s gonna get me thrown outta the team.”
“Easy there,” Rampardner defended. “You don’t know what the boss’ll…”
A wink passed between the two teens.
“Ain't no way, don’t care whatcha say, ruin my bro’s day, and I’ll make you pay!” MC did a half-shuffle, half-dance. “Check it!”
“This ain't a conversation we’re havin’,” Rampardner turned and kept walking. “It’s all up t’ the Chief now. ‘Y got somethin’ t’ say? Say it t’ him.”
“Makin’ lighta me just ‘cause I’m tiny? Just wait’n see, I sting like a bee!” MC sprung up, activating a skill. “DIS-COMBOBULATE!”
“I still ain't talkin’ t’ you.” The Hoplomachus ignored him.
“Yo, fine by me, now it’s time to see why an enemy’s not what you want of me!” MC followed after Rampardner, still rapping.
“Yo, why the metal stetson, you 'fraid of getting wet, son? What's the sitch, just ‘cause yo mama’s a witch don’t mean you’ll melt in rain! Betta abstain from the insane before you give yourself neck pain!”
Rampardner suddenly froze in his tracks, unable to take another step.
“What in tarnation… What’d you do t’ me, MC?” He struggled vainly, still stuck in place.
“Yo, check this, that ain't no dis! Wanna get free? It’s way-easy: Get yo’ liberty by dissing me! But you if you can’t rap, better shut your trap, ‘cause it’s rhyme on the dime or get stuck in time, booyeah!”
“Can someone translate that for me?” Gr3g raised an eyebrow.
“When MC activates DIS-COMBOBULATE and disses someone, they’re stuck in place until they dis him back,” Deep6 explained, a smirk hovering on her lips. “Also, their dis has to be at least as long as his, or they’ll stay stuck.”
“Woo, freedom!” Melvin finally managed to wriggle free from the frozen Hoplomachus' grip, immediately running over to his friend.
“Yo, that’s another win, so gimme some skin!” MC threw up his hands.
“Up high, down low, elbow, elbow, shake hands, slap palms, back, forward, grip, thumb-wrestle, pull back, aaaaaand… fist-bump!” Melvin and MC rattled off their elaborate secret handshake.
“Can someone please help me?” Rampardner called out from across the courtyard. “I hate rap, how’m I supposed t’ get outt'r this?”
“You wanna give him a hand?” Gr3g turned to Deep6.
“Sure, why not.” The Incarnate laughed, strolling over to the struggling Hoplomachus. “Okay, now repeat after me:” she started.
Everything now back to normal, Trance walked back to his post with a smile on his face. A similar scene had been replayed multiple times in the past two days already, ever since Nekonečno and the Chief had founded the Cutpurses, their bandit team. Squabbles were an everyday occurrence, but one way or another things always seemed to settle quickly.
Looking back over the battlements at the unchanging scenery, Trance stifled a yawn. Actually, why did Nekonečno suddenly want four sentries on the walls? Normally, he and his niece (M)Alice handled guard duty alone, just leaving out surveillance runes once it got late.
Suddenly, a motion caught Trance’s eye. Blinking twice, he refocused on the spot, but the movement was gone. Uneasy, he grabbed his weapon off the wall and scanned his surroundings again. He could’ve sworn he’d just seen a weird ripple zip across the bridge a moment ago, but now everything was still.
Then, his eyes caught something more than a ripple.
A dust cloud was rising from the forest across from their keep, heading towards them at an alarming speed. Raising his halberd-rifle’s scope to his eye, he took a quick glance in its direction, his eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of the cloud’s source.
Dropping his rifle and running, he descended the steps to the courtyard two at a time, calling at the top of his lungs. “INCOMING! Get away from the gate!”
Melvin and MC turned in surprise from their position in front of the barred gateway, the laughter dying in their throats as they saw the panic in Trance’s eyes. Turning and running to get clear of the doorway, their cries of alarm were cut short by an ear-splitting crash as the massive oaken gate flew off its hinges.
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