The Path Home

“You stay?” The gobliness asked. A note of hope in her voice.

The orc wavered for a moment. There were benefits to be had here, but ultimately they weren’t enough. He was too exposed here. It was too near the paths that adventurers traveled. Even if he did move the tribe further into the forest, a large group of weak goblins only increased the odds of being found and killed.

“No,” he finally answered.

Alone with her orc lover, she wasn’t a chiefess she was simply a woman. A woman who had been rejected. She choked back her disappointment. Trying to wipe away the tears forming in her large eyes with the back of her hand without attracting additional attention.

The orc kneeled in front of the smaller goblin bringing them closer to eye level. He carefully wiped away a tear from her cheek before gently cupping the side of her head in his large hand. Her own tiny hand grasped his as she nuzzled into his warmth.

Holding her gaze he reassured her, “I will always be a friend to your tribe. I will return with new knowledge and more food. And when I do we will feast again many times. And we will be together again many more. I will find a way to make us strong!”

The promise was sealed with a kiss and the orc was off before any of the other goblins could wake and try and convince him to stay.

The mountain was an ever present landmark from the forest. Using it as reference the orc calculated his current location. The trees he had harvested the day before were near the edge of the forest under the sheer cliff face of the mountain. He had wandered deeper towards the center of the forest when he hunted. Then finally he had found the goblin clan in a clearing even further still but given the shape of the mountain from here it should be somewhat close to one of the main paths in the forest. Depending on how far he had traveled, he knew the path would meander next to a tributary stream for a while then branch away and lead back up the mountain. It should be easy to find, and it would take him to his cave more quickly than navigating the dense brush of the forest, but there was a danger. The odds of encountering an adventurer were greatest on the well worn trail.

After some consideration he decided to split the difference. He would follow the trail, but on the other side of the stream where he stood a better chance of disappearing into the forest if need be. Things had ended well enough the night before but his quest for knowledge and lack of caution could have cost him dearly. There might actually be something to the Luck stat but he still wasn’t going to **** that possibility.

This time when the orc heard a commotion he stayed hidden in the tree line and approached slowly.

“I will restore my ancestral moon throne from my usurper uncle!”

“You must be his evil minions sent to kill me!”

“The zero power flows in my veins!”

Along with these strange words were the sounds of struggle and combat and... squeals? Soon enough the orc was able to see the source

A male adventurer was battling a small herd of pigs. Not the larger, uglier wild boars that roamed the forest. These were the soft pink domesticated things villagers ate. Maybe the herd had escaped their village pen or maybe they had been **** then abandoned by goblins or some other monster. But whatever their origin they were now being systematically slaughtered by the adventurer, the simple beings too ignorant to even flee more than a few feet at a time before plopping back down on the dirty path.

The adventurer was taller than the orc by several heads. His lean form was dressed in dark clothes, black and purple, and he wore a long flowing black cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. Oddly enough he also wore a highwaymen mask that obscured his shadowed face even further. The adventurer was shouting the strange lines at the pigs as he jogged about, attacking them a long thin...

Toothpick? The orc thought for a moment. No, he recalled, the flimsy sword was called a rapier.

This adventurer appeared to be insane. Not that it was much different from other adventurers in the orc’s opinion. And not that it made him any less dangerous

ZeroDragonNinjaFlameResurrector - ???

He knew those words but the orc had never heard of them put together in that way before. Was that really a name? Even more peculiar, the name was white.

Did the system actually think that an adventurer posed little threat to him? It didn’t seem possible. Even if the adventurer was mentally deficient, and having quite a bit of trouble killing simple pigs, his level could be anything.

“Behold the power of the hidden dragon and tremble you mortals!”

The adventurer was still spouting his peculiar nonsense and with a flourish of his tiny sword he seemed to be activating some skill or spell. A black aura poured around the sword as he pierced yet another squealing pig trying to evade the mad man.

There was a sudden short burst of system music accompanied by the adventurer shaking a finger-less black gloved fist and exclaiming, “Yes! Level three! Suck it bitches. You just didn’t want me to multi-class because you didn’t want me to rule so hard!”

Hidden in the forest, the orc considered the opportunity in front of him. No wonder the system showed him white. They were the same level. Though a level three adventurer would still normally far surpass him in stats alone. But this adventurer was multi-classing some kind of swordsman, swashbuckler, or something, as well as some sort of spell caster. It would take him longer to level up and his stats would be stretched in competing directions.

Was this a trap?! The opportunity seemed too good. The orc pulled further into the shadows of the forest while keeping an eye on the adventurer who continued to shout randomly while stabbing at the remaining pigs. The adventurer’s health would have refilled with the level up. The orc would wait and see, first if there were any signs of this being an elaborate trap, and second because the panicking squealing obnoxious little animals actually looked like they were doing some damage to the adventurer. And if, just if, the orc was going to attack, he wanted every possible advantage.

Soon enough the final pig fell. The bleeding man again gleefully shouted his strange ramblings but oddly enough didn’t heal. The orc knew well the red healing potions all adventurers carried and drank at the first drop of blood. As if they weren’t already impossible enough to kill. But this one either didn’t or couldn’t heal himself.

There were risks in attacking. The orc knew he’d loose everything in his inventory if he died. He also worried what respawning would do to his relationship with the friendly tribe of goblins. Would it reset their affinity? Would they forget all about him, or would he forget them? But the orc knew he would not see such a golden opportunity again. Not only was this a crazed, inexperienced, and already damaged opponent, but even the adventurers choice of weapon and magic would be less effective against him.

The orc summoned his skeleton minion out of site in the underbrush. A rapier was a piercing weapon that would do little damage to it. Magic would normally be the skeleton’s weakness but the undead had a resistance to dark attribute if that was indeed what was covering the thin sword. He carefully moved away from the summon before sending it out onto the road, his last bit of caution. If this was a trap at least sacrificing the summon would give him a slight head start to retreat.

The skeleton stumbled dumbly in the shallow stream for several seconds before locking on to its target. It’s boney arms and clawed fingers reaching out for the living. Its heavy feet moved at a snail’s pace as it sloshed across the shallow water easily giving away its approach.

The orc held his breath waiting for reinforcements to swarm from the opposite tree line and overrun him. Instead the single strange adventurer looting pig carcasses remained the only person on the trail.

The adventurer in black raised his thin sword at the new enemy, “Oh poor fallen friend of the dark moon kingdom, worry not, for your prince shall release you from your suffering!”

The ensuing battle was epic...ly disappointing. Neither was able to do much damage to the other. The thin sword bounced off the sturdy bones. Whatever magic or skill the man was using was indeed highly wasted on his opponent. Meanwhile the skeleton’s slow and unwieldy unarmed strikes frequently missed completely and even when it did manage to hit it barely registered through the man’s armor.

The orc was actually surprised the man hadn’t simply gotten bored and left. Still there was a madness to his method. Even without healing, he was winning the long slow battle of attrition as the skeleton’s HP bar began to blink dangerously low. They were unfair beings after all these adventurers. They were handed all the advantages of the world on a silver platter to squander as they saw fit. But as of yet the adventurer still hadn’t realized his true opponent.

Making sure the trail was otherwise clear the orc slipped out of the trees, out of site, and circled behind the man. Three quarters of his mana bar was going to the upkeep of his summon. Holding his staff out in front of him he charged the remaining quarter of his MP into his only other spell, Dark Energy. He was close enough he didn’t need to worry about the spell dissipating before it reached the target. He just needed to not miss and the fight was his.

With one final thrust of the thin blade into an empty eye socket, the skeleton collapsed and began to dissolve back into the ground. The adventurer’s victory shout turned first into one of confusion as he realized he had gained no experience or loot from the prolonged fight and then quickly became a startled shriek of pain as the black orb collided into his back, ripping apart his long cloak, and tearing into the newly exposed flesh.

The orc had spent all of his magic but he had done the impossible. He had actually defeated an adventurer! He could scarcely believe it himself. He... watched as the adventurer discarded the tattered rags that remained of his hooded cloak and turned to face him, still very much alive.

“Imposter! Corrupt missionary of the false king!” With one final bizarre rant, the charred and bleeding adventurer charged the orc.

The darkened tip of the rapier might as well have been the flames of a charging dragon. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, all the orc could do was curse his fate as he felt the sword meet his unprotected chest.