The scout and his orc a.., p.1
The Scout and His Orc: A Fantasy Harem Adventure with LitRPG Elements, page 1
The Scout and His Orc
A Fantasy Harem Adventure with LitRPG Elements - Chronicles of Grove I
by Callen Clearwater
Copyright © 2023 Callen Clearwater
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
1: A Simple Scout Job
2: A Taste for Adventure
3: A Silent Flirtation
4: Level Up
5: A Perfect Target
6: More Practice, More Creativity
7: A Very Special Night
8: The Most Romantic Facial of All Time
9: Don’t Be Seen
10: Purpose
11: Finally
12: The Fog
13: The Ambush
14: Tracking the Harpy
15: Shelter from the Storm
16: A Loaf of Bread
17: The Plan
18: Bright Dawn, Dirty Dusk
19: Mercy
20: True North
Thanks for Reading!
1: A Simple Scout Job
“Send Grove for a look,” Captain Alms said, frowning at the island.
I’m Grove, for the record. This is my story.
I was also frowning at the island from my spot on our ship’s deck. A plume of black smoke rose from the center of the landmass, cutting a dark line through the clear, blue sky above. It was about as sinister an omen as you could conjure, so far as tropical islands went.
“Alone?” asked Bjorn. “That smoke could mean a bad situation.”
Bjorn was the first mate of our ship, The Jolly Rat. He was also a Level 27 Warrior—the strongest member of our crew—who could cut kobolds in half as easily as normal people cut their sandwiches. He carried an enormous, double-bladed axe on his back at all times.
“Grove is a Shadow Scout,” said Captain Alms. “Investigating bad situations is his job.”
“He’s a Level 3 Shadow Scout.”
“And he’s going to stay that way if we don’t give him some experience. We bought his contract from the Academy of Covert Magic, so we’d have a competent scout.” Captain Alms pointed at the island. “That requires scouting. Grove’s ready.”
In that moment, I didn’t feel ready. Nervous was better adjective.
Terrified was also an option.
Bjorn crossed the deck and came over to where I was sitting, with my back against the main mast. The Jolly Rat’s three blue sails billowed overhead, cracking in the soft breeze.
Bjorn probably didn’t realize that I’d heard his conversation with the captain. At Level 1, all Shadow Scouts are all imbued with an elevated sense of hearing, sight, and smell, but the Academy trained us to keep that a secret from others, even the soldiers who hired us. I wasn’t sure why. I guess schools for Covert Magic were prone to discretion.
“Grove. Captain wants you to check out that island,” Bjorn said.
“Got it.”
I stood up and studied my objective in more detail. The island was about five miles across. There was a small beach, then thick forest wrapping around an ancient volcano. I could see a few ramshackle wooden structures around the edges of the caldera.
“Any idea what the smoke’s about?” I asked.
“That’s the question you’re meant to unravel,” said Bjorn. “There’s an orc village in the caldera. All women. They’re usually willing to trade with us. Fresh water in exchange for rice. And we’re in a bad need of fresh water. But with that smoke, the captain wants some detail before we haul our cisterns up there, all vulnerable like.”
“Black smoke coming out of a volcano has one pretty obvious explanation.”
Bjorn shook his head. “That volcano ran out of juice a thousand years before the Gods fell.”
“How do you know?”
“Because orcs know this land better than anyone, and they aren’t stupid enough to build a village on top of an active volcano. That smoke’s being caused by something else.” Bjorn slapped me on the shoulder. “Just give ‘er a quick look, then come back. Whatever’s going on, don’t get involved. This is strictly a recon job.”
“Understood.”
I glanced around the deck. The other crewmen of The Jolly Rat were all watching me. Captain Alms had bought my contract three weeks ago, so I was the new guy. As soon as I was aboard, we’d headed south along the coast of Yssgamore—our native country—then across the Pearl Ocean without incident. So, this was the first time the others would be seeing me in action.
I could tell they were curious.
Seeing as this was my first time in any action as a Shadow Scout, I was a bit curious myself. And nervous.
You’re also well-trained, I said to myself. You can handle a simple scout job.
I turned back to the island, focusing on a specific point in the middle of the beach.
I cracked my back. My neck. Then the knuckles of my left hand. It was an old habit—something I always did before casting my first spell of the day.
Today, that spell was going to be Skybolt. One of my favorites.
I mentally wound Skybolt around my body, starting with my feet and ending at my fingertips. Once I had an even coating, I shot myself seventy-seven feet into the air—the maximum distance I could manage back then.
I sent myself skyward at an angle, so I cascaded over the reef and toward the beach—wind rushing through my hair, resisting the urge to whoop with glee.
Gods, I love to fly.
I landed on the white sand of the beach with almost zero shock to my knees. That wasn’t easy to do. In fact, the first time I’d attempted to land Skybolt, I’d shattered both my kneecaps. That mistake had bought me two weeks in the Rejuvenation Temple, getting healed.
But that was a long time ago, at the dawn of my training. Since then, I’d mastered the art of a smooth landing.
At least, I had landings down when it came to magically induced flight. Smooth landings in other areas of my life—primarily romantic relationships—continued to elude me. I was prone to rather messy and painful crashes in that arena. My breakup with Sarrah—a fellow student at the Academy of Covert Magic—being the latest example.
I was still a little heartbroken about that, to be honest.
You may be heartbroken, but you also have a job to do, idiot, I thought, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.
I moved into the trees. Palms, mostly. Their shade provided a welcome respite from the tropical heat. I was thankful for that, because I was wearing a full kit of leather armor. Not the most breathable attire. I moved through the ferny underbrush. Mosquitos buzzed to life around me, attacking my exposed face and neck.
My thoughts drifted back to Sarrah again. She was a multi-class covert agent: half Shadow Scout, half Fire Mage. If she’d been here, she could have roasted every insect in the area with a snap of her fingers. Gods, she was gifted when it came to control.
Stop thinking about Sarrah! I yelled to myself.
I didn’t have any flashy fire spells, so I made do with a Citronella Aura—one of the low-level spells in my survivalist toolkit. It wasn’t as cool as incinerating the little pests, but it gave me a little bubble of peace, so I wasn’t swatting them away constantly.
✽✽✽
I reached the orc village about thirty minutes later. The situation wasn’t good.
The orcs had built their little community around a deep volcanic tube brimming with rainwater that was so clear, I barely needed my enhanced scout’s vision to spot shelves of freshwater oysters and schools of tiny, brightly colored fish darting around the depths. Their huts were constructed from teakwood boards, braided rope, and animal bones. Under normal circumstances, this seemed like a good place to live.
Unfortunately, the village had been hit by raiders.
Godtouched trolls. Seven of them.
Being Godtouched meant that you’d received the blessing of a god, which came with a class, level, and set of distinct abilities. People like me, Captain Alms, Bjorn, and these trolls were all Godtouched. The world was full of many different gods—some light, some dark, some a mixture of the two. Almost everyone in the world worshipped one god or another, but being Godtouched was fairly rare. I could always distinguish a Godtouched from an Untouched creature. There was something about our eyes, and the power behind them.
I studied the trolls.
A large part of my Shadow Scout training involved studying the bestiaries in the Yssgamore Library. A scout wasn’t much use if he couldn’t identify the enemies he spotted, was he? Thanks to those long hours of study, I knew these were Morgothic trolls, which was apparent from their gray-hued skin, long hooked noses, and overly large, yellowing tusks. The raiders were all male. They wore blackened leather armor and carried rusty steel swords. They were each about seven feet tall, with heavily muscled arms that were disproportionally long, so their knuckles threatened to scrape the ground.
The smoke was coming from a big bon fire the trolls had lit in the village’s central square. I couldn’t tell what they were burning. Too much smoke.
The trolls were busying themselves with the business of breaking into huts and pulling villagers out, then dragging them into the central square and forcing them to kneel in a frightened pack.
The villagers were all women. Island orcs. That meant they were lithe and lean, rather than the bulky physique that mountain orcs were known for. Their skin was also a darker hue of green than mountain orcs, and their tusks far smaller. Petite, even. They wore simple tops and loincloths made from bright red and yellow fabric. Neither garment covered much of their athletic bodies.
This was a bad situation. I needed backup.
I was about to head for the ship, but I was stopped by a shrill, woman’s cry.
A troll had tied a length of rope around an orc’s neck. He was tugging her around like a dog on a leash. The raider pulled her across the square, toward a much larger troll who sat on a stool in a relaxed posture. I guessed he was closer to ten feet tall when standing. His armor was a little nicer than the others, and he had an enormous steel axe slung over one shoulder.
I figured that was probably the raider captain.
“This village has been conquered on behalf of Horog the Wicked, King of the Shadowlands,” the captain said in a bored voice, like a waiter reciting the daily specials for the thousandth time. “You have two choices. Forsake your stupid ocean goddess and embrace Urgoth, God of Hatred, and you may live. Refuse, and I’ll cut your head off.” He gestured to the orc woman. “What is your decision?”
“I’ll never forsake Seraphina!” the woman snarled. She glared at the captain. “And I would rather die than let the poison of Urgoth seep into my veins.”
The captain grunted. Turned to the raider holding the woman’s leash. “Why is the first prisoner always the most difficult?”
“Might be they think you’re bluffing, Kragg,” the raider responded in a high, squeaky voice.
“Interesting theory.” Kragg turned back to the orc. “Do you think I’m bluffing, orc bitch?”
“I think that you’ve surrendered yourself to a dark god of corruption and allowed his hatred to seek into your marrow.”
Kragg laughed. “That’s exactly what I’ve done. And it feels incredible.”
He slipped the axe off his shoulder and thumped it onto the ground. With my enhanced vision, I could see that the axe’s blade was coated with a deep, rusty red.
Blood stains.
“I’ve got a lot of villagers to work through,” Kragg continued. “So, I’m only going to give you one more chance. Your life, or you goddess. Choose.”
“I choose Seraphina,” the woman said without hesitation.
She’s a brave one.
“Your call.” Kragg hefted the axe over his shoulder. “But that means I’m gonna need your head.”
The other villagers screamed and cried—pleading for the woman to change her mind. But she remained steadfast and strong—staring Kragg down with determined eyes.
Captain Alms had told me not to get involved. This was supposed to be a simple scouting job.
But I couldn’t watch this brave woman be murdered.
My mind raced, knowing that I didn’t have much time to act. I studied the troll raiders. Gauging the level of a Godtouched creature without magical assistance was more art than science. You had to watch their movements and the air around them to determine their favor with their patron Fallen God. The Fallen Gods were the sprawling pantheon of deities who provided power and magic to the mortal races of Vyyrn—our plane of reality.
Best I could tell, Kragg was about Level 10. His lackeys were a mix of Level 3 and Level 4.
Since I was Level 3, that meant the odds were stacked against me. In a direct fight, I’d have no chance.
But I had the element of surprise. And I’d been trained to use it.
I drew my curved dagger from its sheath at the small of my back. Not only was the dagger my primary weapon, but it was also a totem to my patron—Orkney Vos, God of Mischief. The blade connected us. There was a black marble inlaid on the grip of the dagger, signifying my Backstab ability.
Backstab was usually associated with Rogues and Assassins, but Shadow Scouts learned it, too. That was a good thing, because Backstab was the only chance I had of killing a higher level enemy like Kragg. But the attack only worked if I took the target by surprise. Given the situation, that was a tall order.
I knew a weak invisibility spell called Shroud, but it only lasted for three seconds, and it didn’t completely hide me. There were little disruptions in the air that were easy to spot in broad daylight. Even if I had the time, I’d never be able to sneak up on Kragg from the ground.
A plan formed in my head. It was incredibly risky, but I couldn’t think of an alternative.
“Don’t forget to stretch out a bit first,” the raider holding the leash said to Kragg. “Remember last week, when you strained that rib muscle?”
“Aye. Good thinking.” Kragg twisted at the waist a few times, then rolled his arm in a few big circles. “Can’t go straining something on the first beheading. That’ll ruin my day right quick.”
I worked another Skybolt spell around my limbs. I could use Skybolt an unlimited number of times per day, but each cast required the same stamina as doing about twenty pushups, so I wanted to make this count.
I finished wrapping the magic around my body just as Kragg finished stretching.
“All right, I’m nice and loose. Let’s see if I can get this done in one swing.” He peered down at the orc woman, who was glaring back at him, surprisingly calm. “Skinny neck like that, shouldn’t be a problem.”
Kragg raised the axe over his head.
I blasted myself into the sky at an angle, heading toward Kragg. When I reached the apex of my trajectory, I cast Shroud.
My body started to fall. I started to count.
One.
Kragg got bigger and bigger as I rushed toward him.
Two.
I landed behind Kragg without a sound.
Three.
A moment before my Shroud dropped, I jumped on Kragg’s back and stabbed him in the neck. A massive geyser of blood burst from the wound. The Backstab sent a shockwave through his body that burst every blood vessel it touched. Given the angle of my blade, that included his heart. Hence the fountain of blood.
Kragg gasped. Dropped his axe.
He was dead before his weapon hit the ground.
Kragg collapsed face-first onto the ground in a lifeless heap. I shifted my balance as he fell so that I was standing on top of his corpse as if it was a welcome mat.
I glared at the other trolls.
The fight was still six against one. Given that they were all about my level, the trolls could have rushed me. Torn me to shreds. But they didn’t know that. And they’d just seen a human in combat leathers appear out of thin air and slay their leader with a single strike.
I decided a bit of theatrics were in order.
I pointed my bloody dagger at the troll holding the orc woman’s leash.
“I could slaughter you and your friends just as easily,” I hissed in trollish. “But I smell weakness in your blood. Your souls are not worth taking. Release that woman. Drop your weapons. And you can leave here with your pitiful lives.”
My heart thundered in my chest. I glared at the troll, doing my best to look calm and threatening.
After several long moments, the troll dropped the leash and ran away.
His comrades dropped their swords and followed him.
I waited until they were out of sight, then blew out a massive sigh of relief. My pulse was still racing.
“I can’t believe that worked,” I muttered to myself.
I probably would have spent another few minutes mentally recovering from that whole series of events, but I noticed the orc woman struggling with the cord around her throat, clearly unable to breathe.
I hurried over. Knelt in front of her.
“Here, let me help you,” I said in Common, wiping my blade against my pants to remove the troll blood. I carefully slipped my blade between her forest-green skin and the cord, then cut her free. The cord fell between us. Our eyes locked. She had pale blue eyes. Beautiful eyes.
“You saved me, stranger,” she said in accented, but articulate Common. She had a light, sweet voice.
