A Trap for the Potentate

by Michael Atamanov

  My friends went silent in thought. Finally, Max Sochnier stopped drumming his fingers nervously on the table and spoke up:

  “That's all well and good, Timothy, and I'm prepared to accompany you on this adventure. But I'm not really getting how you plan to drum up all that interest in your video clips. After all, there are thousands and thousands of streamers in Boundless Realm, and only some of them manage to become popular.”

  I gave a sad chuckle and, with a heavy sigh, admitted to my colleagues:

  “Well, I have one very important difference from the other streamers. My character is infected with vampirism! He was made that way from the very beginning of the game and, all that time, my Goblin Vampire has been forced to play only at night and regularly drink blood. I think now is the very time to tell that secret to the whole world. We can even present that fact as yet another whim of the developers.”

  My friends stayed silent for a long time, shocked at my admission. Finally, Leon squeezed out:

  “A lot of your Goblin Herbalist's behavior is clear now. Both how you play at night, and how you take blood samples for 'antivenoms.'“

  “I bet people really will watch your streams,” Max Sochnier continued in deep thought. “Just think — one of the very last vampires in the game! What matters now is for our group not to be set upon by a huge group of paladins, fighters of the undead and various other vampire hunters...”

  My friend's fears were very well founded. I had already thought them through, though.

  “That is precisely why we'll announce the vampirism only once our crew is a bit further from inhabited areas. If someone wants to bag a vampire, let them follow us into the gloomy and dangerous lands around the river of death. I imagine there won't be many impatient enough for that, if any such busybodies are even to be found. Most players will watch our journey and wait for us to return, hoping to catch my Goblin Herbalist after the dangerous trip.”

  “But, sooner or later, our campaign will end,” Leon noted justly. “And what will you do when your Vampire comes back, and hordes of players are waiting for you with wooden stakes, silver crosses and wreathes of dried garlic?”

  I shrugged my shoulders indefinitely. Why worry now about what might happen in the very distant future, and may not even happen at all. What was more, there was an important nuance: it wasn't enough for the players to merely know about the Goblin Herbalist's vampirism from my video clips. In the game, that knowledge wouldn't help their characters one bit. In order for the quest to trigger, they'd need to uncover the vampire in the game itself, and I was certainly not planning to help with that. Furthermore, my level-20 Veil skill allowed me to hide my name, and my sister could use her illusions to disguise my big-eared goblin in any number of ways. And then, try to find the Vampire in the crowd, if he looks totally different and has a different name! Also, no matter what, I always had the option of flying away on VIXEN and losing them again. In general, I didn't consider myself doomed, and was even sure I’d be able to squirm out of it.

  My friends and I spent another hour sitting at that table, arguing and vividly discussing the concrete details of our forthcoming campaign. Above all else, in order to solve the problem of supplies and provisions and, at the same time, help Max Sochnier avoid chicanery from the financial control service, we agreed to buy supplies for three hundred orc pirates with all the money the Frenchman had borrowed from me. We agreed on the array of purchases and delivery location carefully and in great detail.

  Beyond that, I asked my friends to look for any old maps left after the twenty-six unsuccessful expeditions to the upper Styx. I was certain these maps wouldn't be publicly available. I'd already checked, but maybe we could find a player willing to sell.

  What was more, we also needed more companions, preferably NPC's, who could serve as guides and scouts in wild and dangerous locales. Neither we nor my goblins and pirates had the requisite experience and knowledge to survive in the harsh swampy climes. But such characters could probably be found in the game, so I asked Max Sochnier to find and hire them in the ports and cities his Tipsy Albatross passed through on its trade route.

  We discussed further plans as well, but then my alarm rang out at nine, and I came to my senses. It was time for me to go into Boundless Realm.

  Lost Oasis

  SO THEN, loading. There weren’t any new messages, which served as yet another confirmation of the fact that my Goblin Herbalist's popularity had fallen among both players and viewers. During the great hunt, I was reminded, I had grown tired of digging through the huge mountain of constant incoming messages. Well, I'd hope this was all just a temporary phenomenon.

  A table displaying my character's stats jumped before my eyes.

  Name

  Amra

  Race

  Goblin Vampire

  Class

  Herbalist

  Experience

  513172 of 540000

  Character level

  40

  Hit points

  336/336

  Endurance points

  293/293

  Statistics

  Strength (S)

  42 (42)

  Agility (A)

  49 (150)

  Intelligence (I)

  5 (21)

  Constitution (C)

  44 (55.5)

  Perception (P)

  3 (45.3)

  Charisma (Ch)

  78 (96)

  Unused points

  0

  Primary skills (6 of 6 chosen)

  Herbalism (P A)

  15

  Trading (Ch I)

  18

  Alchemy (I A)

  23

  Dodging (A P)

  22

  Stealth (A C)

  23

  Exotic Weapons (A P)

  13

  Secondary skills (6 of 6 chosen)

  Veil

  13

  Acrobatics

  18

  Athletics

  16

  Foreman

  26

  Riding

  18

  Animal Control

  14

  No matter how you spun it, my Herbalism really was limping with both legs. My other skills needed attention, too. But this was business as usual with a character that earned experience primarily for completing quests, and not by slogging through hours’ worth of farming. At any rate, I'd think up something to correct the situation.

  So then, the world finally loaded. It was late evening. The sun was already beyond the horizon. Lots of stars were scattered in the sky. Orcish tents were densely packed all around me and, behind them, I could hear a dismayed crowing from many throats and bickering in elevated tones. I was standing next to a small fire pit, where a group of orcs was boiling a pot of something that didn't smell too appetizing. My arrival was met with a storm of adulation:

  “Captain! Captain Amra is back! He can solve this for us!”

  I could already tell by the increasing volume of the shouting behind the tents that my immediate intervention was needed. I pushed the pirates aside and hurried to the din of the fight. I had come just in time. There were already sabers and knives drawn. As far as I could tell, one of the groups of rioting pirates was led by the shaman. The other side was a horde twice as big as the first, commanded by my first mate.

  “What is going on here?!” I shouted. My rage-filled cry stopped the knife fight, and both sides of the conflict hurriedly sheathed their weapons.

  Fortunately, I made it in time. Only the troll had been hurt, but the huge green creature had perfect regeneration, and pulled a curved blade from his chest, which had gone in to the very hilt. In silence, he returned the weapon to its owner. First Mate Ziabash Hardy took a step forward and set out the essence of the conflict:

  “Captain Amra, I got an order to continue our path through the desert. But my guys are dead tired, and have already been walking for days on red-hot sand without a break. More and more often, they ask me
where they're even going. The sea, after all is in the complete opposite direction, and before us is only sand and death... Still, I drive them forward, as I was ordered. But the crew is reacting less and less to my angry shouting. It’s practically reached the point of open rebellion!”

  “We nearly died today under this unbearably scorching sun!” rang out the dismayed voice of an orc.

  However, the speaker preferred not to say that to my face, and hid behind the others.

  “Anyway...” sensing the attitude of the crew, the first mate continued his speech now much more confidently. “Our last day in the desert was a total shit-show. Our water reserves were gone by midday, and the sun just kept burning mercilessly. Any of us would have killed for a gulp of water. Only by evening did we find this tiny oasis, hidden amongst the dunes.”

  The troll, whose wounds had already fully healed, continued the orc's speech:

  “Here, we have water and shelter from the sun but, as for food, it's totally barren. A couple palm nuts for three hundred hungry mouths is basically nothing. And meanwhile, none of us have had a bite to eat in two days. A dozen volunteers led by Shaman Ghuu headed out toward those cliffs to the south on a hunt, but they didn't even get a thousand steps from camp before an ifrit attacked...”

  Now an ifrit... We already had enough problems... I understood my crew’s dismay perfectly, but I also didn’t know what I should do in this situation to reassure the pirates and restore order.

  “Ifrit?” Valerianna Quickfoot had now also loaded up Boundless Realm and reached the dustup, jumping right into the conversation. “Are you sure it was an ifrit?”

  “Yes, madam enchantress,” said the shaman Ghuu Gel All-Knowing, stepping out in front. “It was a Sandstorm Ifrit, level-77. A huge semi-transparent spirit, looking like it was made all of sand and flashing lightning. We didn't even manage to draw our weapons before the demon spun up a bunch of dust storms around our squad. Lashing, howling wind and sand blasted us right in the eyes. We couldn’t see at all, or orient ourselves. And after that, as if in a ghoulish nightmare, the sand under our feet opened up, and three orcs fell in up to their belt. They were crying out in such pain it was as if they were being skinned alive. And with every moment, they were pulled deeper and deeper...”

  “It was horrible, captain!” confirmed the very orc who had stabbed the Troll in the chest with his saber a minute earlier. “The shouts of those three unfortunate souls is still ringing in my ears. We turned to stone in fear and couldn't move. We just stood and watched as our comrades died. A few moments later, they were pulled completely under the sand and the screaming stopped. After that, it was as if our invisible fetters fell off, and we could move again. We ran away in panic.”

  “And I beat a retreat with the rest, captain. My magic was powerless against such a ghastly demon...” the shaman told me, lowering his head. “As soon as we got back to camp, I summoned some spirits for advice and they told me the further we went in the desert, the worse it would get. There would be more and more ifrits like that one, and the demons would get stronger. The spirits advised us to turn around quick, before it’s too late! They told me the only thing we could expect from going forward is death!”

  The pirates started talking in raised tones. There were some who thought we should return to the copper mine as the shaman suggested. Now here was some grief... I hadn't even considered the fact that my pirate crew might not want to make the dangerous journey to the upper reaches of the Styx. What should I do now?

  Fortunately, my sister came in with a very timely comment about the ifrit, although it was from a slightly strange perspective:

  “Well I can’t believe what a stroke of luck this is! Ifrits are considered great sources of loot by the undying. They live for hundreds and thousands of years, and collect lots of treasure. Somewhere near where it attacked you, there should be a lair with all his riches. Normally, ifrits live in caves with very well-concealed entrances, using magic among other things. But Captain Amra is good at finding hidden places, and I can draw back the magical curtain. I think we should return to the site of the attack and look carefully for the entrance to the treasure cave!”

  I immediately sensed the mood of the horde changing. Just a minute ago, the Sandstorm Ifrit had caused the Orc Pirates to feel nothing but tense horror and a desire to get as far away as possible. But now, my brutes were hesitating. Their fear of the ghastly demon was struggling with the temptation of its riches. And while the scales were tipping, I needed to support my sister's idea.

  I took a step forward, calling for silence with a gesture and announcing loudly, so all the pirates would hear me:

  “It really is rare luck on our part to find such a creature. Whichever of you was first to see the ifrit will get a reward of fifty coins from me personally! If he is alive, of course,” I said with a happy chuckle, and many of the orc pirates laughed.

  Foreman skill increased to level 27!

  “Ifrits are dangerous only because they catch you by surprise, but a well-prepared team can take down such a creature without particular problems,” the mavka assured everyone just in time, and the last doubts of the pirate crew passed without a trace. Now, everyone saw the ghastly monster as nothing but a valuable prize.

  “We really were lucky to find the ifrit. We'll have to clear the desert spirit’s cave, so our suffering through the Great Desert won't have been in vain. But only the strongest and bravest will come with me for the treasure. I can’t have my warriors scampering away as soon as the wind picks up...”

  “I'll go!” my NPC wife Taisha called out without even waiting for the end of my sentence. She was decked out in a full suit of green dragon-hide armor and looked very impressive and resolute.

  I gave a nod of approval, and the goblin beauty burst forward with a joyful cry, hanging off my neck. Then, Shaman Ghuu walked forward, squeezing his gnarled staff and muttering something about wanting to dig through the demon's treasure. After that, gathering a team of volunteers was very simple. There were more than enough takers.

  “I really hope you weren't wrong and we can take down the monster,” I whispered into the mavka's ear when we'd gone away from the pirates and could talk one on one. “Otherwise, I'm afraid my authority as the successful captain of a pirate crew will nosedive and never recover.”

  “I hope so too,” Valerianna Quickfoot answered me just as quietly. “Anyway, dumbo, you should get over to those far-away palms. I see a respawn circle there...”

  * * *

  “The best part about ifrits is that the weakest defense they have is to physical damage,” the forest nymph informed me, already having studied the article on them in the Boundless Realm Bestiary. “Ifrits are magical creatures. They are very hard to kill with magic. They actually have complete immunity to air magic. But at that, they are very vulnerable to normal arrows and simple physical weapons. Also, they are not exactly famed for their brainpower. It's generally recommended to send one or two tanks with good armor and high HP against an ifrit, then have others shoot it from a distance. A pretty dumb strategy, but it works.”

  “Are you saying a desert demon doesn't even have enough smarts to dodge an arrow?” I asked, somehow doubtful.

  “Tim, can you really expect intelligence from simple desert winds? Beyond its huge size and ability to summon whirlwinds, an ifrit is just an idiotic stream of burning air and sand, brought to life by demonic magic. And it will stubbornly attack whatever enemies are found nearby. So, if we use our troll, pack him in some decent armor and let him take the hits...”

  I imagined the plan and rejected it:

  “No, Val. A level-77 monster will quickly shake our level fifty-four troll down, regardless of his armor and regeneration. And even healing magic from our shaman won't help. The level difference is too great. So, I say we use Taisha and I as lures, darting around before the ifrit's very nose. Meanwhile, twenty orc bowmen will shoot it full of arrows, as Taisha and I dodge the gusts of wind and shifting sands. The shama
n will support us, increasing our Strength and Agility. And you can create copies of us with your illusion magic. That’ll really throw the ifrit off his game. We can even take the Gray Pack and our Goblins Irek and Yunna with us. They cannot die, and extra experience won’t do them any harm.”

  The plan was extremely simple, and I had no doubt it would work. Here, the main thing was provoking the ifrit, to force him to expose himself and crawl out of his hiding spot. Then, from there, we could handle him quickly. In theory, it was all simple, but reality had a surprise in store. No matter what we did, the ifrit just didn't want to show itself. We spent a whole hour in groups and alone wandering around the darkened desert, but the malicious sand demon was in no mood to come out. I walked the area up and down, activating my Search for Life and Night Vision skills, but didn't discover a thing.

  “Maybe you were wrong after all, and this isn't the right place?” the mavka asked the shaman for the umpteenth time. But Ghuu Gel All-Knowing continued assuring her that he was not mistaken, and this was the very place where the ifrit had attacked the orc hunters.

  The shaman's words were also confirmed by a trail of huge orc tracks I found leading from the oasis and back, which cut off abruptly. The dust devils the Ifrit had conjured must have wiped away all traces, leaving nothing but unmarked desert sand.