But they generally did not have plague energy. To get the party started, I put my remaining plague energy into a shot, aimed – yes, that had to be done, critical damage depended on where I hit! – and loosed an arrow at the shaman. I might have said the hunchbacked old coot drew my ire from first glance, but that wasn’t really what guided me. It was always important to take out the mage first. They had the least life but could do the most damage. I was hoping one shot would send the shammy to his beloved astral plane.
So imagine my disappointment when the arrow just missed! But the kobolds didn’t miss my arrow, which whistled right over the meaty ear of its target.
The warriors instantly shot to their feet and turned their disheveled heads in alarm. The chieftain barked a series of commands, pointing in my direction but, despite my expectation, there was no rush to attack.
The fighters circled around the elite and faced me. The shaman got in formation next to them and immediately started casting. I only realized what he cast after I used Fast Shot, my only special attack for now, loosing a rapid series of arrows. All of them stuck into an invisible obstacle, slowed to a complete stop and disintegrated. Another bark from the chieftain and the shaman summoned adds. The soil bulged, releasing some small earth sprites around the height of the shaman himself.
Once active, the shaman gave them a command and they went back underground. The soil stirred above them as they moved though, showing they were heading in my direction. I didn’t really have to worry. After all, I could always activate curse of the undead. But still I took a couple steps back when the ground in front of me exploded, spraying clumps of dirt and stones.
The spirits turned solid and all attacked at once. As soon as they saw where I was hidden, the kobolds tore off in my direction as well. The chieftain stayed where he was. Either he was planning to cover the shaman, who was summoning more spirits all the time, or he figured his warriors could handle one lone enemy. And they could have. My health points were falling very fast, but...
Curse of the Undead activated: all damage taken reduced by 100%!
This curse will remain active until you completely restore your health or deactivate the skill.
Sensing something, the shaman fired off more spells at machinegun pace and, to be honest, the packs of adds did nothing for me. They gave no experience and dropped no loot, so I decided to stick to my plan and take out the old man first. And I stopped using the bow, changing to good old-fashioned fists.
I scattered the warriors and adds with a Ghastly Howl and ran toward the spirit talker. Two warriors were still dogging me, the howl didn’t work on them. But with my speed bonus, I quickly left them in the dust.
The chieftain proved his mettle, blocking the shaman with his chest. I missed, but then he kobold raised a clawed hand, held it out and said something in human language. That was so unexpected that I stopped.
“Wait, human!”
Talking mobs were nothing new, but generally they were found in quests or dungeons. Normal mobs attacked first and asked questions later. Although, this elite actually was part of a quest. Alright rat-person, I’ll hear you out.
We stood opposite one another, me with my head angled down and him with his chin stuck out, bearing his teeth.
“Your foolishness and bravery know no bounds, outlander! Most people like to fight all head to toe in metal, hiding. But not you! You went into battle wearing nothing but a loincloth and wielding a silly chunk of wood I can’t even quite call a bow! Forsooth, you must be off your rocker! Are you suicidal, human?”
“Nothing of the sort, kobold. I’m not off my rocker, nor suicidal.”
“So your madness goes even further! And your cunning! You hid in the bushes and loosed an arrow at the honorable Ryg’xar the spirit-talker!” Grog’xyr barked out. “Did the Shadow Walkers send you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, chieftain.”
“The Shadow Walkers. Our former clan. Did they send you?”
“No, Grog’xyr. You’re a criminal and Tristad has put a bounty on your head. See...” I opened the quest window and read aloud: “Leader of a gang of kobold outlaws. Murderer, thief.”
“So you’ve come for my head.” The chieftain stroked his belly, cracking some caked dirt off his fur with a nail. “Say human, what makes you so confident? You’re weak and all alone. But we...”
I looked around and found myself surrounded with warriors and earth sprites, each of which was holding a spear tip a foot and a half from my face. Even though the tips were made of stone, it was pretty scary. The kobolds were snarling and emitting a stench, which could be seen as a form of psychological attack. And then I laughed. Their insurmountable confidence amused me.
“Come now, Grog’xyr. Can’t you see that I am no human?”
In thoughtful silence, I could hear the shaman’s command clearly. Behind me came a crack and a rustle, then a shadow rose above me. I turned. All the sprites had converged into one mega earth sprite several times as tall as a human. Unlike its smaller components, this one had legs and the body looked to be carved out of a solid piece of stone. It had no neck, but its colossal arms and hands could crush a person with ease. And it was holding a massive club. One look at its spikes made me nauseous.
Earth Elemental, level-15
Minion of Ryg’xar
With a flick, the elemental tried to squash me into the ground. The attack was as unexpected as it was pointless. I didn’t even fall over, but the club was smashed into a thousand pieces.
Still, it was a very powerful blow. All the more energy for me. I walked up to the elemental and slammed it with a Hammerfist, filling it with all my plague energy. The monster exploded and clods of mud, muck and rock dust came raining down.
You have damaged Elemental: 1217.
Elemental is dead.
Someone loudly cleared their throat. The warriors, frozen stock-still, were filled with dread.
“If this conversation is over, let’s get started.” I stashed the useless bow in my inventory then unclenched my fists. “That was a very dirty trick, shaman.”
“Agreed. Old man, you acted dishonestly!” Grog’xyr yelled, turning with indignation to the “respected Ryg’xar.”
“But Grog, he’s undead!” the shaman noted, quarrelsome. “I can see power in him, but I cannot tell its source. This boy must be hiding something! I was just testing his might. He hasn’t shown us everything he can do yet. There’s no use fighting him, better just turn yourself in. See, those people won’t execute you right away, they’ll send you to prison. You’ll like it there, Grog. I’ve been once or twice...”
Then he retreated to the cavern. Seeing where he was headed, the chieftain frowned, sighed, waved a hand and turned toward me. His fists were clenching and unclenching on his pick handle.
“You’ll never take me alive!” he barked out. “Just please take mercy on my tribe. I challenge you to an honest duel, just me and you.”
“If you say so.” I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to draw this out. But then it dawned on me. “Wait! Grog’xyr, there’s another way!”
“And what is that? Will the rulers of your city be content with the head of old Ryg’xar?”
The shaman started coming back.
“Oh nether with them, the rulers. Who do you bow to?”
“Kobold god Kurtulmak leads the kobold race to domination and superiority over the high races,” Grog’xyr answered without a thought. “Kurtulmak especially hates dwarves. If you were one of their ilk, I wouldn’t even be talking to you!”
“But now you kobold outlaws have ceased to honor your deity?”
“What makes you say that?” the chieftain asked in surprise and the warriors supported him with muted snarling.
“Because you’re no longer normal kobolds, you’re criminals. You don’t live in caves, but outside and you don’t spend your time as any self-respecting kobold might. You only think of robbery and thieving! Kurtulmak can’t possibly approve of that.”
&nb
sp; “We are not outlaws!” Grog’xyr shot out, enraged. “It was just circumstance! You think we… changed careers because things were going so well for us? We’re warriors! The rest of our tribe hides in burrows and won’t even stick their out noses when they see a person!”
“So it isn’t you, it’s life? Come on, chieftain, don’t be ridiculous. The world is always the same. The only thing that changes is who lives in it. Your god commands you to search for gold, embers of the sun, which you must return to the sun. But you have decided to live otherwise. Now either you man up and admit you no longer honor your god or return to his rules and remain faithful. Where are your candles?” I asked bombastically, happy that reading the game encyclopedia while sitting in stealth had paid off.
“We no longer carry candles, human,” the chieftain’s voice rang out dully. “There is no longer a need for them and it’s too late to go back to our former lives.”
“It’s never too late!” I shouted but he turned away and didn’t answer so I stopped.
Grog’xyr withdrew for a long time and his warriors realized the fight was delayed indefinitely and sat on the ground. Rain had set in and their coarse-whiskered wet snouts were looking more rat-like with every second.
“What do you suggest? Join your pack? But you have no pack, human!”
“Not my pack, but you have the right idea, Grog’xyr... Many, many winters before Kurtulmak appeared on earth, this world was ruled by other gods. You know them as the Sleeping ones...”
The kobold shuddered at the mention, but came closer, intrigued and perked his ears. The chieftain was listening very closely, but his stony face gave no clue whether he was truly taking to what I said or just wanted to hear me out.
“... by the power of unity. It is not an empty faith for ephemeral temporary power. It provides guaranteed growth of all stats from intelligence to strength, endurance to agility. And I allow you, Grog’xyr to be first of your kind to join the ranks of the followers of the Sleeping Gods.”
The kobold outlaw chieftain looked back at his pack, mentally calculated possible bonuses, crossed his arms over his chest and barked out:
“I’ll believe in your gods as soon as I see what you promise. What needs to be done?”
* * *
After meeting an emissary of the Destroying Plague, I wasn’t feeling up to making a final decision on the quest. I’d been forced into too many big decisions in the last couple of days as it was. But what really had me wound up were the constant monkey wrenches being thrown into my plans.
I had three months to complete the Destroying Plague quest and the Sleeping Gods temple quest had no time limit, so I didn’t exactly have to push the sound barrier. But to the nether with all that. My hands were itching for a fight and I was so nerve-wracked over my stalled-out level I gave up on both the unarmed combat master and my plan to level cooking. I made up my mind to stop dilly-dallying and ran off to farm experience. In fact, I was in such a rush that I didn’t even complete the Olton Quarries quest, leaving the Eye of Murkiss taking up one of the three slots in my inventory, after the new class “bonus.”
All I did was drop by the archery trainer to unlock the skill. Hunter Conrad taught it to me for one gold, trained me an attack and told me to return for more when I was ready.
As I left the hunter’s place, I remembered the epic loot Crawler promised, but there was nothing in my mailbox. What was more, he wasn’t even in the game, just like the other Dementors.
I ran out of Tristad to the southeast in order to begin my great campaign for the heads of the most wanted mobs. And that was where I encountered the kobold camp. By the way, the quest marker didn’t show a specific place on the map. It just encircled an area where the mob could be found which, in the worst case, might take one day to explore.
But I got lucky. After an hour of wandering interspersed with taking down low-level mobs, I found Grog’xyr. However, instead of taking his head, I left the camp with twelve new followers of the Sleeping ones and just as many randomly assigned attribute points. The one thousand two hundred experience points and hitting level twelve were just a pleasant bonus. I was only sore that I now couldn’t add any more followers until I rebuilt the temple of the Sleeping Gods, which I now saw as a progress bar:
Followers of the Sleeping Ones: 13/13.
To my surprise, I was immediately elevated to the top position in the hierarchy of the rat-people miners, and the kobolds said they wanted to come with me. But I didn’t see a benefit.
“Grog’xyr, it would behoove you to stay in these lands and defend your pack. When the time comes, every fighter will be important. Stay away from humans like me and become stronger warriors.”
I was not certain respawn would trigger for them. As far as I could remember, named elites like him disappeared after their quest was completed and they died, then they would be replaced by either a simple monster or a more dangerous beast. And that creature would only be subject to a bounty after being reported on by the let’s say crime blotter of Tristad.
“I understand, my lord.” Grog’xyr and his clan bowed their heads. “Any further orders?”
Did he call me “lord?” That I found amusing. Soon enough, I would become a dark lord, especially considering who I was dealing with – the deadly Destroying Plague and the ghastly Sleeping Gods.
“Only one. If you speak with any of your former tribesmen and perhaps any other intelligent creature – trolls, troggs, gnolls...”
“The gnolls are our sworn enemies!” the shaman raised his voice, before that standing in ashamed silence.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, I don’t know who you might cross paths with but, regardless, tell them the name of the true gods.”
“Yes, my lord!” Grog’xyr barked. “Will we see each other again?”
“I will come see you... sometimes,” I answered ambiguously. I couldn’t appoint any of them priest, which meant I would have to pay them a visit occasionally to see if they’d made any new converts. “I promise.”
I left the kobold camp and went straight into Gloomwood. On the boundary between the forest and a mountain range, a quest said I could find the lair of a cannibalistic ogre. A special variety of intelligent race, cannibals were not a great rarity in this world. They lived a life of solitude and, due to their perverse appetites, made little effort to socialize. What was more, their diet made no distinction between humans, elves, gnomes, dwarves, trolls, goblins and orcs.
I walked to the next spot with the curse off. By the time I left the kobolds, you could see my flayed strips of skin and rotting flesh from far away, and it was not worth the risk. Then a question popped into my head: what if I waited for the transformation to be complete? If I let the curse of the undead turn me into a fully-fledged undead, would anything change? Or was it just a visual effect?
I didn’t have time to finish that thought, because I got attacked by an enraged level-eight boar. The creature charged at me, sticking its tusks into my tenderloin area, and I spent the next few seconds in flight, filling the surroundings with a scream. And at that the wild hog’s momentary triumph was over.
In just a few blows, I took the boar down and moved on. With the inventory penalties, I couldn’t even carry a pot with wood and fire-starter, otherwise I’d have cooked up the big forest pig right then and there.
The mobs in this part of the sandbox were low level and I encountered players quite often. I also saw gankers, looming over the disappearing corpse of a player. But they were beginners and, when they saw my level, preferred to keep their distance.
As I went, I mowed down all kinds of life forms, often running into scattered groups of low-level bandits from a gang called the Nettles, led by a wanted criminal that nobody in Tristad could track down. I took a quest for his head, but it just showed an area that covered the whole sandbox. And that gave me the impression that the leader might be anyone at all.
For the most part, the Nettles were normal mobs, though they were human. They had a
set couple phrases they would shout, and their behavior was pretty absurd. Classic mobs for levelling from one to ten. Downed bandits would respawn fifteen minutes later, and it was a waste of time to expect even a morsel of intelligence out of them. Still, I thought about trying to make converts of them. It had worked with the kobolds so, in theory, it was possible with the bandits as well. If, of course, I could somehow solve the temple issue.
But I was left wondering whether the gang leader really did exist. No one believed he was real, but would the city really put out a bounty for the head of a nonexistent mob? Those thoughts spawned others. Maybe Nettle was real, but wasn’t just some elite or rare mob but a real-deal raid boss.
The journey was starting to drag. Without curse of the undead, I wasn’t building up plague energy and I had to get by on honest damage alone. I pulled a mob with my bow, getting off three shots before I had to enter close combat. Fortunately, Hammerfist solved all my problems, and it never got too hard. In all that time, my life never went below half, though it did hit exactly fifty percent one time. When I crossed paths with a whole pack of Hardened Wolves, a wandering Branchhorned Elk suddenly attacked from behind, having decided out of the blue that I was trespassing in its territory. Eventually, a Black Bear joined in on the fun as well and thankfully that was after most of the wolves were no longer breathing.
Apostle of the Sleeping Gods Page 12
