Dungeon Stock, Part Four
I regain conciousness in the form of an orc – oh, great, another low-level monster. In the game, the less powerful of a monster you are, the greater the chance you have of being killed, to experience the agony of physical death yet again.
I'm in a small village, and a few other orcs are around me wandering about the crude huts. None of us feel like talking because we're resigned to the inevitable.
I notice one orc standing on a ridge about a hundred meters away and he begins waving his hands up and down. Then an arrow appears as if by magic in the side of his neck and he topples over.
"Players!" I yell, but everyone of us already knows. We get ourselves ready with crude stone axes and thick wooden clubs; there's about a dozen of us. It looks to be a good fight, because less than a dozen Players rush into the village area. There could even be a chance us “orcs” might win this round and possibly even have a little more peace until the day ends. So we rush into the midst of the Players and the fight is on.
My first opponent is an Elven Wizard, and before he gets a flamespell off I give him a good crack in the side of his ribcage with my stone axe. He lets out a surprised "Oof!" and his spell fizzles. This gives me time to get a good two-handed swing with my axe and I smash in the bastard's head.
"Elorran!" yells someone. I look over and see a female Barbarian. She looks upset and very angry; I guess I just offed her boyfriend.
"I shall smite you for that, fiendish orc!", screams the Barbarian. I roll my eyes – why do the Players have to talk that way? – and hold my axe up in defense as she charges me. She tries a quick feint with her broadsword, trying to distract me, but I've gotten pretty good at fighting – one benefit of almost always being in this damn game. I ignore the feint and slice up her left arm pretty good, angering her even more.
Some of the other Players are down now, too, but so are many of my fellow orcs. The battle is going to be a close match.
Miss Barbarian gets a good slash on my shoulder, but I cave in the left side of her ribs with a lucky axe swing. She goes down and I turn around to take on my next opponent – just in time to get an arrow in my chest.
I've gotten shot a lot of times in this damn game, but never has being hit by an arrow hurt so much. I'm in so much pain I feel nauseous and spots of white light dance in front of my eyes. No fair, I think as I die. This was a good battle, I almost had a chance, what are you doing to us…
After the usual disorientating black the interior of a farmhouse appears around me. I look down and see that I have human hands. I walk outside the small farm cottage into the bright summer sun. It isn't real, I know that, but the sun still feels good on my skin. I put my face up to the light and smile, enjoying this brief moment of rest.
I see other farmers in the fields but my instinct tells me the peace won't last. And I'm right. I'm still recovering from my last incarnation when I see yet more Players, riding huge red dragons this time, swoop in amongst the farmers. The flying wyrms begin to incinerate farmers at random, red-orange cones of flames shooting out of their mouths.
I run back into the cottage. I know I don't have much time – the Players will burn this cottage down, but if I ran into the fields they'd catch me almost immediately and I'd die just to face dying again. By hiding I might extend my time in this particular virtual incarnation and hopefully reduce the number of times I had to feel the pain of death this particular day.
I hit my fists against the cottage wall. I don't want to die again, ever again, the pain has been getting worse and worse and I just don't want to die again.
The cottage windows flare up in bright red and orange colors as the dragons turn their flames upon my cottage. I run around inside trying to find a safe spot but to no avail; a falling timber pins me to the floor and I burn, oh God the fire, I burn and burn…
