by G. Akella
With those words, he rose easily to his feet and started northwest. With a nod farewell, Merit and Kevin hurried after him.
"Max, take the gang to Ellorian while Rexar and I do a bit of marauding," Donut said, turning to the warrior as the trio disappeared into the forest.
"All right. We'll wait for you by that statue of an elf with a shovel that's about a half a mile out of the city."
"That's an axe, not a shovel," Luffy corrected their leader.
"I don't care if it's a ballistic missile, so long as they know what I mean," Max waved a dismissive hand, and started toward the main road.
Chapter 6
Coming up on the dark elf capital, one got the distinct feeling that this impenetrable thicket had been magically transplanted from the wilderness and plopped right in the middle of a blooming meadow. On his first visit, Max had been too consumed with finding Alyona to marvel at the grandeur of its defenses, but even now, gazing up at the giant trees and their interweaving branches that came together to serve as defensive walls, he wasn't feeling particularly reverential. According to Donut, these improvised city walls were thoroughly infused with defensive magic, making them fully fireproof and as hard as stone. In the event of a siege, the interlaced branches afforded enough space for thousands of archers and mages that, while enjoying the protective cover of the forest, would unleash a hailstorm of magic and metal upon any enemy that got within an aimed shot of the city. That might explain why, as far as Max knew from the history of this world, the dark elf capital had never been subjected to a siege.
The tract leading into the city was bustling, with small squads of wardens and elk-drawn carts moving briskly in either direction. Of those headed into the city, no more than half were players—evidently, the latest royal decrees and levied taxes were serving as a powerful deterrent against visiting the elven capital without a worthwhile purpose. I bet there's an hour-long line for any minor social quest, Max thought with annoyance. What terrible timing. He had zero desire to linger in the city, all the while paying a hefty fee for the privilege. Though they had saved up enough to last them several months of city life—nearly four hundred gold, not counting the thousand or so they were due for turning in quests—who knew what expenses awaited his group in the future? Masyanya had passed all of their money to Donut yesterday—the rogue's inventory was well protected against theft, and besides, it takes a thief to know one.
"Watch out!" a yelp rang out over the tract, giving him a start.
Moments later, a small cavalcade rushed past them and toward the city. Riding a white unicorn at the helm was a young red-haired elven female in green leather armor. The woman looked remarkably graceful in the saddle, her uncovered hair fluttering in the wind like tendrils of fire in the rays of the rising sun.
"It's picturesque scenes like this that make me a fan of fairy tales," Bonbon grunted, following the group of riders with his eyes. "If this were real, she'd be coughing like mad and wasting many hours washing the grime and dust from her hair. But here she can cut a dash and not worry about the consequences."
"Interesting. Is it like in the real world that only a virgin can approach a unicorn?" Masyanya muttered musingly.
"You've seen horned horses in the real world?" Bonbon feigned shock and horror.
"Cut it out," the young woman frowned. "You know exactly what I mean."
"All right, let's roll with it. I'm picturing a horse hoisting you up into a gynecological chair to examine your lady parts before deciding whether or not to let you ride him. Sound credible?"
"Gods, you really are an imbecile," the huntress rolled her eyes with exasperation.
"You should lighten up on the romance novels—it'll keep your gray matter fresher," Bonbon snorted, paying no attention to her insult. "Think about it—why would the devs implement such ridiculous restrictions? They need money, first and foremost, not your chastity. That redhead is probably hundreds of years old—do you really think she's never hooked up with anyone? What level was she, 250? And did you see how sleek those reindeer of hers and her riders were? She belongs to the upper crust of some High House, no less. So don't worry, you've still got a few years to catch up."
"Oh, go to hell," the huntress dismissed him with a wave. "Mopsy is quite enough for me." She turned a quizzical gaze to Max, but he was already shaking his head.
"We've talked about this, Masyanya. We don't know how the guards will react to your reptile, and besides, we don't want to attract needless attention. Let's just hand in our quests, drop by the auction house, catch up on sleep, clean ourselves up and split. Please hold off on summoning Mopsy until then."
Donut and Rexar turned up not fifteen minutes later. Their expressions were content, if not thoroughly satisfied, causing Max to deduce that though they had located the corpses, the haul proved to significantly worse than they had hoped.
"Twenty seven gold," the rogue reported. "A pair of rough sapphires and a dozen potions. The gemstones will fetch a few gold each, no more."
"You seem displeased," Max chuckled.
"Free is free," the rogue retorted. "But you always want more than what you get. Well, let's get going?"
The reaction of the guards at the gates to their party was rather favorable. Whether it was the etiquette inherent to the race or the party's reputation gains in recent days, Max couldn't care less. After paying twelve silver coins per person and taking a long passageway buttressed by giant branches that served as the city gates, they were finally inside the elven capital.
The interior of Ellorian, as with all the other settlements Max had visited thus far, was comprised entirely of wooden structures. Even the pavements resembled smooth tree bark. Native Marlorien were interspersed with cultivated constructions that rose as high as five-six story buildings but otherwise looked entirely familiar, like your standard residential dwelling. The devs and their sick imagination, Max thought to himself yet again. In his mind, artificially cultivated lodgings should look nothing like the typical wooden shacks and cabins humans used to build back in the Middle Ages. On the other hand, there was logic to this approach—how else were you supposed to accommodate such huge numbers of players and NPCs on a territory of roughly sixty square miles? Sure, you could force them to live in trees, but then the elven capital was never terribly populous to begin with, at least according to Donut. That would explain why the game's creators had designed even the exotic elven cities in a way that would be comfortable for the players. There was something about Ellorian that reminded Max of one of the Baltic cities he had visited on a business trip a few years back. Take away the usernames floating above their heads, and you could still tell players apart from the locals by their sudden, hurried movements, purposeful expressions and a dozen other subtle signs. Again, this made sense. For the locals it was business as usual, whereas his compatriots were still scrambling to find their place under the sun. With about half an hour of travel time left to the inn, Max decided to do something useful with the time they had.
"There's one thing that's been bugging me, Donut," he said to the rogue in a private message.
"Yeah, boss?" he replied, sounding somewhat juvenile.
"How did you know about that method you suggested to those Americans?"
"Well, for starters, I've been playing for a few years now," the assassin spoke evenly. "Didn't it surprise you that in two years I've only leveled to 31 while my buddy, the one that's in the Blades, is already 150?"
"I never gave it much thought. I suppose you could have been reskilled down to 30."
"You might not know this, Max, but only NPCs can reskill a character. If killed by a player, you're given several options for resurrection among previously used bind points. Just how badly would I have to piss off an NPC that they would corpse camp me?"
"Fair enough. Just tell me, then."
"All right. You know that different people play the game for different reasons. I've seen my share of dungeons and battlegrounds in other games, so here... Look, I bet I
've amassed just as many kills as that ranger from America; the difference is, in the arena fighters aren't sent to a resurrection point, but are revived after the battle is over. As for leveling, there used to be an option in the settings to stop gaining experience."
"I see," Max grunted. "So you've been ganking noobs all this time?"
"Not exactly. I didn't attack players well below my level, and also..." the assassin hesitated. "I never killed women. I know it's silly to admit as a rouge, but it's true..."
"So you were Robin Hood, without fear and beyond reproach?"
"There's no need for mockery, Max. We all played the game our own way."
"I was just joking, dude..."
"You know, it's been instilled in me since childhood that hurting women is wrong. And, actually, I was part of a pretty close-knit group back in Vaedarr."
"PKing in a city? Are you serious?"
"Max, you're like a child sometimes, I swear... Every city has areas where the guards almost never go. There is also the sewer system, which is incomparably cleaner in the game for reasons that are quite obvious."
"Fine, but why level 30? Why not keep developing your character?"
"First of all, level 30 here is the rough equivalent of an average person back on Earth. It's all very approximate, to be sure, but that used to be the general consensus. Level 31 is when rogues get advanced stealth, making it easier to sneak around even densely populated enemy towns. If you learn the pathing of high-level guards, you have a pretty good shot at surviving. Of course, there's still the element of luck—or lack thereof—and sometimes shit does hit the fan. Still, being a level 31 rogue used to be considered the pinnacle of skill, and granted a certain status. And earning a Master Assassin achievement at level 31, which grants a ten percent increase to chance to crit when attacking from stealth, to date has been accomplished by less than a thousand people in the whole world." Seeing the look of surprise directed his way, Donut turned away, pretending to study the sculpture of a female archer rising from the fountain. "Yes, I became number seven hundred sixty five," he grunted in response to the silent question. "You would see all of this for yourself if we were in the same clan, but this kind of info is concealed from party members."
"But none of that has earned you any epic gear, at least that I can see?"
"Max, a character with over a dishonorable thousand kills on his record drops ten pieces of gear upon death. I'd gotten unlucky a total of four times in all this time. Procuring new gear in my case was fairly problematic, which is why, after Sage had so graciously redyed all our usernames blue, I wound up in Ellorian wearing pretty much only trousers. Having said all that, I never did get my hands on an epic..."
"Any regrets?"
"About wasting so much precious time?" the assassin chuckled. "No, not at all. After all, this is what led me to meeting you all, and Masyanya. You know, I've always been attracted to girls with attitude. I suppose they remind me of my twin sisters."
"Mm-hmm," it was all Max could muster, freezing still with surprise. His hesitation was gone momentarily, however, as he reached for a cigarette in an attempt to explain the pause.
"Where are your sisters now?"
"In Vaedarr, I told you," the assassin said, seemingly relieved from unburdening himself. "They selected the human race. Like I said, it was a fun crowd—a real motley crew."
"Are you telling me you were scouring the sewers with your sisters?" Max asked dubiously. "Are they assassins as well?"
"Well, yeah, we're triplets, remember? We were attached at the hip. And the girls were keen on tight leather outfits, daggers, traps, shurikens and the like."
"Hart almighty, every question with you is like pulling teeth," Max groused, trying to contain his emotions to avoid drawing the group's attention to their private conversation. Donut must have had his reasons for not mentioning any of this before. "So, the three of you were born at the same time?"
You're a genius!" the assassin seemed even more amused. "I wasn't sure you knew how that stuff worked. We're all twenty eight years old. Our parents had passed. All we had was our work and each other. Adult life can get pretty tedious, and games offer the chance to escape..."
"Do you miss them?"
"Well, sure. On the other hand, I don't have to worry about anyone looking over my shoulder. I was the baby of the three, by the way, the last to leave our mother's womb—and they never let me forget it... The truth is, everything is just fine with them. About six months back we purchased some land with a working inn. Not in the finest of Vaedarr's neighborhoods or anything, but a decent enough location—right on the bank of Aqasana River. And the fact that they're alone now," Donut gave another bittersweet chuckle, "is nothing new. Back IRL I'd worked as a systems administrator; Diana, the eldest, was a cop; and Erika, the middle one, was an army contractor. Which is to say, between the three of us, it's me who's the damsel. I'm not worried at all. Besides, with all the countless tunnels and dark corners in the Vaedarrean sewer system, they're certain make it to 150 long before me."
"Why didn't you say anything before?"
"What would be the point? It's not a secret or anything, but I try to avoid pointless chitchat. Even now I only gave you the story in broad strokes, leaving out the details, and only because seeing that guy Alex invoked a strange kind of nostalgia. If they do turn up at the Crane, we should try recruiting them. There's plenty we can learn from that dude, I assure you. I'd love to duel him, especially after I ding 100 and unlock the archery branch..."
"If they turn up, we'll talk about it," Max agreed. "Looks like we're here," he added, gazing up at the signpost of a white bird doing a strange dance in front of what looked to be an inn. The creature on the drawing looked more like a white crow posing awkwardly than a noble crane. "I'm guessing that you'd rather I not bring up what we talked about with anyone else?"
"Please. I'm not keen on Masyanya finding out about my past heroics," Donut sighed. "At least not just yet."
"Don't be a fool," Max snorted. "Do you really think she cares about who you were before?"
"You're one to talk, o Knight of the Woeful Countenance! Or rather, Knight of the Middle Finger, as Bonbon so aptly dubbed you. Why haven't you professed your feelings for Alyona? Or do you think she doesn't see the way you look at her?"
"Touché," Max chuckled. "All right, no need to get into all that. Let's go meet the innkeeper and see what the fuss is about."
The innkeeper was named Zurab. Just Zurab, and that's it. Hook-nosed, enormous, and hairy all over, his appearance almost seemed in accord with his name. A deep ugly scar ran across his face. The bear of an elf turned to the sound of the front door screeching open, sizing up the visitors with a heavy, dour gaze. Suddenly he smiled, and spoke with a slightly Turkish accent.
"Good day! Are you here for a meal, or will you be staying the night?"
The smile and voice of the white-haired giant gave Max the willies, as his hand involuntarily twitched toward his blade.
"Do you think his daddy is a troll? Or his mama?" Donut exhaled into the party channel, struck with awe.
"Both. And his grandpa as well," Rexar echoed.
The innkeeper's gaze stopped on Max, and a shadow seemed to cross the giant's face. He paused for a moment, then regarded the rest of the party, and said:
"Come in, come in, don't be shy," he made a welcoming gesture. "I do not eat my kin. At least not today. If the sight of me didn't send you running away screaming, I reckon we'll get along."
The inn's prices turned out to be quite reasonable indeed. There were vacancies, and the group ended up renting three rooms at two gold per room, per day. One for Helliona and Rexar, the second for the girls, and the third for the four guys. Casting a disconsolate glance in Masyanya's direction, Donut mumbled something distasteful on the topic of unicorns, the gist of the story having been relayed to him by Bonbon, and headed toward a long oaken table.
The dining hall was empty, breakfast having long ended, and lunch still hour
s away. All of the inn's guests were presumably out and about, taking care of business. Much like its owner, the inn's menu had an unmistakably Mediterranean quality; despite the dishes carrying original names and descriptions, they still felt quite familiar. Max decided on indulging himself with a portion of beer and the local equivalent of strawberry punch. The girls all ordered a cola, referred to as "kuhalo" by the locals, without coordinating their orders beforehand.
"A telling name for a beverage, wouldn't you say?" Bonbon remarked about their choice. "Almost rhymes with 'guano'... Who'd like to venture a guess what they carbonate it with?"
His witticism went unappreciated, or at least ignored. The food was brought pretty quickly by a comely barmaid. After wiping non-existent crumbs off the scratched tabletop, she brought over a stack of wooden plates, hoisted a huge bowl of roast meat in the center, and withdrew without saying a word.
"Things are looking up, eh?" Luffy broke the silence, the first to finish his meal.
"Agreed," putting his plate aside, Max sipped on the punch and reached for a rollie. "I hope twenty gold each will be sufficient to see the city? The plan is still the same. I'll go see the quartermaster of the High House of Marten, Donut will write to his buddy, and the rest of you will explore the city."
"Helliona and I will probably take some time to review and allocate talents," Rexar said. "With all the leveling we've been doing lately, there hasn't been much time to go over everything in detail."
"Just try to keep the noise down while you're doing all that, um, allocating," Donut chortled. "Last time around you must've frightened all the animals in a one-mile radius."
