Note that this story is a response to a writing prompt on Reddit. Full prompt here.
Rookie Numbers
“What is that?” I ask, gesturing to the 4ft runt standing before me. He’s wearing tattered clothes and has goggles on his head.
Carlos grins. “That is our tank…”
“Our tank? He looks like a stiff breeze would kill him. We are heading into the deepest, darkest dungeon that Rithwir has to offer. The lowest level monster in there will be in the 200’s. We need someone capable of taking hits in the thousands.” I turn to the runt. “What is your current HP?”
“57.”
I turn back to Carlos. “He’s a total noob. I’ve had farts that did 57 damage. Go back to the tavern and find us a proper tank.”
“No can do. It is Friday evening. All the tanks are either out adventuring, or they are fall down drunk. This guy was the best I could find. Trust me, he will do just fine, won’t you Frank.”
Frank nods, his head bobbing precariously on his beanpole body, as if he is going to tip over any minute.
I resign myself to the fact that I will just have to tank. When Frank dies in the first 7 seconds of combat I can maybe use his frail corpse as some kind of shield. It is certainly the only way he’s going to be useful as a damage sponge.
Sarah is more patient than I am. “Nice to meet you Frank. Do you have any abilities that we should be aware of? Something we could maybe sync with?”
Frank nods. “Me tinker.”
A tinker? I have only heard rumours of them. Some kind of mechanical class. That explains the stature. Tinkers are usually small, makes it easier for them to fit inside machines. Still, what use is a tinker without a machine? It’s like a gnome without his hat, pointless.
Sarah says, “Ok, I’m not really familiar with tinkers, is there anything you need before we go in?”
“Shed.”
I exhale, trying to control my urge to kill Frank and then probably Carlos. “A shed? We are heading into a dungeon, not someone’s allotment. We aren’t going vegetable picking. Where do you think we are going to find a shed?”
Frank points. Just inside the entrance to the dungeon is a rickety old building, its walls pitted with rust and holes. You have got to be kidding me. It’s a bloody shed. “Ok fine, problem solved, you go hide in the shed and we’ll knock on the walls if we make it back alive.”
Frank ignores me and skips towards the shed. Have you ever seen a tank skip? Healer, sure. Bard, maybe. But not a tank. It’s not right.
There is a loud crashing and banging from the shed. I glare at Carlos. “Your new friend isn’t doing much for our stealth. He’s going to draw every demon for miles.”
Now Frank is whistling a tune. I vaguely recognize it. “What song is that?”
Carlos smirks. “It is from a Saturday morning tinker play called the T team. I’ve caught snippets of it when I am in the market square early. Something about a group of plucky tinkers that can build their way out of anything.”
“Sounds as lame as our tank.”
The whistling stops. I stare at the horizon and see the dark shapes forming. The shadow demons. We’ve got ten seconds before we are swarmed.
“Form up. Sarah’s on healing, Carlos, you’re our DPS. I’ll do my best to take the hits…”
The door of the shed explodes. Are tinkers magical? I don’t recall hearing about tinker wizards.
There is a loud thump as a metallic leg stamps its way out of the shed. It is followed by another. A mechanical knight, at least eight feet tall, steps out of the rickety building. It has a spinning lawnmower blade in one hand and a chainsaw in the other. There is a large metal tank on its back that is pouring steam out of two exhausts. I raise my shield. “What in the name of Grimdaw is that?”
Carlos cheers. “That’s Frank. Looks like he’s fashioned some Peiriant armour. Come on, lets follow him before he leaves us behind.”
Frank plows into the shadow demons, scattering them like skittles. They claw at him with no noticeable effect on his HP bar. I use my analyze skill and gasp. He still only has 57 HP, but he now has 10,000 points of armour and his DEF stat is through the roof. He swings his huge mechanical arm back and forth, sweeping the chainsaw through the demons, making them considerably shorter.
One of them throws a fireball his way and I close my eyes, expecting to see Frank incinerated alive in his contraption. Instead he turns his back and the fireball hits the water tank. With a high pitched whistle the jets of steam become a roar. He bends over and a jet of red hot steam blasts out of a lower exhaust pipe, doing damage in the thousands and killing the rest of the demons instantly. He stands back up and surveys the damage. A hatch opens and Frank grins at me. “57 fart damage is noob number, you got to boost numbers.”
