Hostages

Despite what John expected, there weren’t any guards posted outside the wooden building he had been left to recover in. When he went to the door of what turned out to be some kind of abandoned hunting cabin, ready to fight his way past the guards to his allies… he opened it to find a small metallic… totem of some kind sitting next to the entrance. It was already sat straight up when John stepped out to it, with four separate limbs and paws tucked up against the central body beneath an oversized, exaggerated dog head. A golden head that turned when the door creaked as John opened it. Glowing red eyes in the robot’s head widened enough to make the light in them beam out like a pair of flashlights, and the dog fell forward to stand on all four legs… but it wasn’t guarding or stopping him. In fact, as soon as it saw him, the robot ran away like a pup would when scared of strangers. It didn’t yip or bark. It whirred and formed its own chorus of distinct clanging noises as loose metal plates bounced and rattled against each other, and disappeared in just as much time as it took John to notice it and it didn’t come back.

The world that he saw when he walked outside… was unfortunately eerily similar to how it had been when he had passed out in Duskacre. The purple was still in the air. The corpses of fallen Hallowed lay in tattered and rusted pieces all over the ground, and even breathing made it so that all John could taste was dust. Thankfully, when he looked around, he didn’t seem to be trapped within the center of Dornwich yet. The city wasn’t far; after all, he could still see Dornwich’s walls from where he stood. He was just closer to it than he had ever been, close enough to be unable to see anything over them aside from the occasional stone brick tower or the spire of purple crystal that stretched straight up into the sky from the middle of the Sapphire City.

He was close enough to find out that the glow from the crystal spire was so pervasive that it stole all the shadows from the world around it outside. He was close enough to see the people standing on top of the city walls near the empty, massive warning braziers that had long since been forgotten when Dornwich had connected their minds to each other, and that was more than enough to make him almost consider going straight for the city to try and pick another fight. The army of the dead didn’t seem to be anywhere around him for now, but he felt certain that the Elves could call it back in a heartbeat so John avoided the rematch. Even if he felt confident enough or angry enough to take on the remaining hordes, the tribe certainly wasn’t ready for it. What was left of the Orcish forces wasn’t enough to take on even one Beacon and all of its dead, even if the remaining tribal members had all been healthy enough for a fight.

What was left of the tribe didn’t get the care to be placed indoors. Thankfully, most of the survivors weren’t blind. They were just left outside of his building in small groups, leaving pairs and trios of Orcs lying in the mud and blood while the healthiest of the green-skinned warriors tried to administer first aid. It only took John a few seconds to see how little of the tribe was left. There were so few that he could see them all within a few dozen yards of where he stood. Hundreds of warriors were reduced until he only had somewhere around forty soldiers left, and not a single one could stand straight on their own. Mub was just one of the many faces he found in the wounded. Lagash was there, laid out beside Dullong, though he only knew that the Orcess was who she was because a **** identified her. Dullong was awake and glared at John as he passed by, but the Orc had a smile cut into his face that was too wide for it to be natural anymore.

Mub’s condition was worse. When John found him, Mub wasn’t even awake. The slaves that were there trying to administer first aid were in the middle of debating whether or not amputating Mub’s arm would save his life. They were already heating up an axe blade to cauterize his wounds, now it was just a matter of deciding what the best course of action was. John, for some reason, stopped them. He told them not to make any rushed decisions and to wait while John went to look for a healer. He made it five feet before he turned back around and asked if either of the slaves had seen where Urga went.

Actually, he asked a lot of people if they had seen Urga. Most of the tribe couldn’t answer him. The ones who could talk didn’t have any information and the ones who couldn’t simply chose to ignore him instead of making the attempt. He learned next to nothing… other than the fact that Urga wasn’t the only one missing. The Elf he had spoken with, the one who had been given to him as a **** by her own people, was nowhere in sight. Almost immediately, he started to think about how else he could have tried to handle the negotiations with her, but that didn’t get him anywhere. At the end of the conversation, there was nothing stopping them from going through and killing him and the tribe anyways. As soon as they had what they wanted, there would have been no need to keep him around any longer, and he certainly didn’t want to stay to learn what long term effects Necromancy had on the minds of thousands of telepathically connected people.

Unfortunately, John didn’t get to search for the Elf or Urga for very long. Almost as soon as he began just outright looking for them, he caught a glimpse of the metallic dog again. Brass metal plates reflected the area’s pervasive purple glow into John’s eyes and pulled his attention to the large tent it had moved to. Thick tent flaps of crimson with golden hems sat completely still while they were within the reach of Dornwich’s amethyst spire. There was no wind to make the cloth flutter about or ruffle the flags that had been pitched outside of the abode. Images of giant, golden, silently howling dogs were hand-stitched into the front of each flag and decorated with large, dark garnets placed in the eyes of each canine so that the reflection coming off each gem made it seem like the dogs were always looking in his direction… always watching him, even when he tried to move out of sight from the flags.

He didn’t try to avoid the flags’ gaze for very long. Even when paranoia told him that he should avoid it because the gems might be enchanted in some way, it didn’t help to try and find a way to sneak up on the tent. No matter where he moved to, the robot dog that had perched outside of the tent did actually continue to watch him. Its head turned to follow him no matter where he went, to the point that it spun around almost completely just to keep him within sight. The only time it actually got up to move was when John moved to hide behind something to stop it. On top of that, when he finally decided to test his luck and see how hostile the machine was, it made sure that the only interaction the two of them had was from a distance. It didn’t let him get close, and when he tried, the dog dropped down onto all fours and skipped off like it was expecting him to do something violent to the machine if it let him get too close. It didn’t stand guard, it didn’t bark or howl at him when he approached the tent. It just continued watching him… and all of the other tribe members nearby.

Unlike the tent that John had last met an Elf in, the one he walked into wasn’t set up for some kind of tense meeting. The primary focus of the room wasn’t on a giant table for the people in it to talk around. This one actually seemed like a living space. So many small metal pieces of furniture were sparsely littered throughout the room that it made it seem less like it was organized and more messy than anything. Hundreds of little silver goblets were left out and forgotten on any nearby flat surface, half-filled with random types of wine of any color. Varying translucent shades of sapphire, ruby, amber, and emerald liquid could be found within any of the goblets, but none of them were left empty. If an empty glass had sat somewhere nearby, then it wouldn’t have stayed that way for long. Even if someone wasn’t drinking out of it, then a servant, usually one with green skin, would have stepped up to fill it back up again with a small, golden pitcher.

Thankfully, the servants weren’t creatures with rotting skin for once. Even if he had adjusted to the sight of necromancers and the dead they brought with them, it was still a nice sight to see someone breathing for once. Someone who wasn’t an Elf or an Orc… but a goblin instead, who dutifully stood naked and at her master’s side, ready to pour him another drink. The man who owned her was dressed, properly too, not in the way that the tribe dressed with mere loincloths and jewelry made from bits of bone and gold. This man, born with dark, unruly, red hair was dressed all in the finest of garments. Dyed black leather boots and trousers were propped up on the small wooden table in front of the man as he reclined comfortably back into his seat and grinned at John as he approached. He wore no shirt or tunic to cover the curly red tuft of hair on his broad chest. Instead, he had just a long, knee-length, red and gold, silken jacket, but even that was largely left undone. He was cleanly shaven, smelled of perfume, and wore a streak of silver in his red hair to stand out even more.

His strong, sturdy form seemed almost out of place to John on the body of someone so short, but he considered that it might have been just him who thought it was strange. Sharp, green eyes met John’s own gaze as the man lifted his square jaw up to nod politely at his new guest, but he didn’t keep it lifted for the Gamer for very long. Eventually, the Gnomish gentleman dipped his head back for another drink, sipped at it, and then let out a content sigh before he moved on to business.

“My apologies.” the Gnomish stranger grunted in a voice that seemed surprisingly deep to John for someone of his size, and then took another long swig out of his cup. “Had I known that you were awake, I would have gone to you for our first meeting.” Another pause and again came another drink. “I honestly didn’t expect you to open your eyes again so soon, if at all. You were beaten halfway into the dirt and mud when we finally found you… Though I suppose you weren’t necessarily bleeding out,” the stranger said, gave John a curious look, and then the Gamer opened his mouth to make a statement of his own, but he didn’t get anything out before he was interrupted.

“Save your questions,” the man grunted again and held out his goblet for a refill. “This conversation should wait until at least more of the nobles from Bulgebottom have returned.” Again, he paused, but this time he held off on tipping his cup back for another hearty gulp. “We have a lot of questions for you. For the time being, I’ll settle for your name,” he said, and then introduced himself to start. “I am Kennedy… Are you thirsty?”