“Why are you ruining your karma?” I asked them directly. “Are you PKing people? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“There was a small skirmish, had to get our hands dirty,” Svenn sighed.
“No biggie, we’ll wash it clean!” Diareus dismissed me, unconcerned.
“So you decided to join a clan?”
“Yeah, now we have our own private Idaho,” Diareus winked at me.
They were members of Gentlemen Bastards. Yikes. I opened his kill rating. It wasn’t exactly impressive, although considering that ten days ago, the clan had been all but dead... They had ten active members, counting Helga and a few other failed Liberty recruits in their ranks. The last few kills gave me pause. The victims were part of our alliance, they belonged to one of the carebear clans renting Wild Lands territory from the Watchers.
“So Panther got you to join?” I asked, looking at the five-pointed red star on their black tabards. “Why are you killing people on the alliance lands? If you keep it up, they might put you on the wanted list.”
“They started it,” Diareus said. “We were the first to enter the instance, and they started to get pissed, saying it’s their spot.”
“They thought that if they outnumbered us, we were toast,” Svenn grinned. “Well, we had to politely explain to them the difference between winners and losers.”
“So you had a falling out over a dungeon,” I chuckled. “And that’s why you racked up twenty-three kills on the alliance lands?”
“The dungeon’s inside the kingdom, it’s not Watchers territory,” Svenn emphasized every word. “As for kills in the alliance lands, well, we followed them. Things got a little heated, I grant you this.”
“But then, why make excuses? We killed them because we can,” he continued. “For us, it’s the point of the game. If they were a little bit more polite, nobody would be hurt.”
“And we don’t care about the Watchers anymore. Let them try and hunt us, if they want,” Diareus chimed in. “It’s fun!”
I shook my head, unconvinced. Players who refused to submit to authority figures and considered PvP the main goal of Sphere were bound for the Wild Field, swelling the ranks of clans such as Nonames. A strong landed alliance would sooner or later kick them out of their territory, as soon as they started messing with them.
“Panther wants to talk to you,” said Svenn. “Here he is, by the way.”
Captain Panther had decided to stay in Eyre, becoming my neighbor. I had stumbled into him in Karn’s inn a couple of times, also often meeting him in the arena. Panther was a warrior through and through. In battle, he completely lived up to his nickname: cold-blooded, extremely fast, and dangerous. He even moved with somewhat feline grace. He was also always very polite, wickedly well-spoken. Against him, I had never won more than two fights out of five.
“Hey Cat!” Panther cut to the chase from the get-go. “So you’re now in charge of trade in the Watchers? It’s you who goes to the Bazaar, arranges transportation, right? Will there be a delivery soon?”
Upon getting a confirmation, he continued.
“We want to work with you. What kind of transporter will you order, a barque?”
“A nave. We have a lot of cargo this time.”
“All the better. A coaster’s half-empty when it leaves here, anyway. Could you grab some of our stuff and sell it at the Bazaar? We’ll give you a cut.”
The plan was simple. Delivering goods on a flying ship cost a lot, so moving small cargo was unprofitable. Everyone wanted to get in with a big order to save on the logistics. Green, apparently, had used it a lot — the clan paid for the transporter, and there was enough space in the cargo hold to smuggle something “on the side” — for a fee, of course. Just like in real life. I was certain the Watchers’ leaders knew about those small tricks well enough, but chose to let it slide. But what kind of cargo would it be? I opened the contract linked by Panther. Silver bullions, copper, some arroundour, thunderwood... Common resources found in the northwest of Dorsa. I got why they wanted to send it to the Bazaar: the Eyre market was chock full of such stuff, they’d never get rid of it there.
“Hmm, Panthy. Where did you get it? No way I’ll believe that you took up mining.”
“We happened upon it,” Panther grumbled. “So, will you take it from Eyre? We’ll give you ten percent, fair and square.”
I checked the kill rating once more, cross-referencing the dates, the kills, and the loot. Yep, just as I had guessed, the newly minted Gentlemen Bastards had robbed a trade caravan of the carebears they had grappled with because of the dungeon. It looked like there were lots of hard feelings on their side.
“You just happened... OK, I will,” I said, accepting the contract. “Hey, those are our allies, why did you attack them?”
“They’re too cocky! I’m actually thinking of arranging a lockdown for them. Fat chance they’ll ever get through the border again!”
“Watch out, you’ll end up in the KOS list,” I warned him.
“We won’t get caught,” said Captain confidently. “And Komtur won’t stick up for carebears.”
And then, it dawned upon me. Carebears, resources, caravans, transport, logistics, Bazaar... Actually, that idea had been gestating in my head for a long time now, but it was my conversation with Panther that finally made it take shape.
“Hmm. A lockdown, you say?”
Each day at the Eyre auction, while flying over clan territory in a birdie, I saw long lines of NPC caravans carrying various cargo — resources, ore, metals, gems, dungeon loot, and ingredients. Some of them ended up at the Eyre auction, but the bulk got sent to the Bazaar on flying ships. That got me thinking. I started to analyze the situation, trying to figure out the carebears’ turnover based on indirect data, but my reflections got interrupted by the Magister.
* * *
Unsurprisingly, the Order Stronghold was full of players. Drawn by the new series of faction quests, they filled the once half-empty fortress, training together with knights on the tiltyard, handing over wagons of supplies to the Order’s stewards, and working with NPCs in the workshops — the forge, the kitchen, the stables. Quest givers could be quite ingenious while picking on players. I still remembered my misadventures in Eyre during my first month. Back then, I had done every hard labor I could think of: lug beer, sharpen swords, even search for a halberd dropped into a ditch by some guard...
“Is it your handiwork?” asked the Magister after I found him in one of the square towers. Clutching the battlements with his sinewy hands, Balabanov was watching his domain from a bird’s eye view, wind in his short grey hair.
I looked down on the fortress teeming with players. Hehehe. Serves you right, guys.
“It is,” he observed. “Mostly, it’s not so bad. Some of them have even merited becoming full-fledged brethren. I even devised a way to use them. When we get more, I’ll surprise you.”
Then he turned to me.
“Time’s running out, Cat. What are your results? According to my sources, you’re constantly traveling between Eyre and the Bazaar, not giving a damn. Hurry up and look for Svechkin.”
“I’m exploring my options. It’s not that simple,” I replied. “This world, Dagorrath...could you maybe advise me a way to get there? I tried going through the Netherworlds, three times. You can see the results in the kill rating.”
“I do. Too bad you’re in the Pandas’ crosshairs. You’ll never pass through, don’t even try. Go through Helt Akor. Reach the Seventh Layer, find a local guide there.”
“It’s easy for you to say it. One does not simply walk into the Endless Paths.”
“Look for ways. Focus on it,” said the Magister. “Players are raiding it all the time, some even live there. You must reach Svechkin, above all else. And soon, because...”
He stopped, looking at me askance.
“May I ask you something?” I seized the opportunity. “What if we call upon the gods to help us with that?”
“Gods? Why...wait, has one of the deities taken an interest in you?”
He’s shrewd, I concluded. Or maybe he just knew the mechanics of his own game down to the last detail. I decided to continue getting information straight from the source.
“Yes. Tormis. He’s watching me, constantly increasing my reputation,” I replied.
“Tormis. I see. That was to be expected... I can’t tell you anything useful, however. The deities are a capricious and, well, a devious lot, especially your so-called patron. It means he wants something from you.”
“But why me? How am I different from thousands of other thieves and traders?”
The Magister smirked and thrust his finger at the silver hilt of Aelmaris that hung from my belt.
“You’re one of the Seven; you have a flaming weapon. You also probably have a personality type matching a follower of the Great Thief,” he explained. “I suppose, he thinks that you could perform some complex task for him. But remember, nothing is free. Gods have their own interests and play their own game.”
“You talk about them as if they were alive,” I couldn’t resist saying. “But they are NPCs created by you with a purpose in mind.”
“I’m saying it as it is. So you still don’t get it,” Balabanov replied. “You know what...find my speech at the New Tokyo conference on the Net. Keywords are Artificial Intelligence. Watch it and pay attention, then think.”
“All right, I will. So what should I do with Tormis? Could he help me with Helt Akor?”
“How the hell should I know?” Balabanov seemed angry. “Maybe yes, maybe no! Use your brains, Cat. Go to his temple and ask him yourself.”
Chapter 11
I HAD WANTED to deal with my divine patron for a while now. Tormis, the god of rogues and traders, had definitely been making overtures toward me, marking successful ventures with increased reputation. Currently, my rep with him was close to Respect. Little by little, in the odd moments between doing clan business, trading, and negotiating, I was looking into his potential use.
The first step was simple: forums, guides, Net surfing, finding and studying all available information. So what were gods in Sphere of Worlds?
They were controlled by a separate, extra powerful, AI. There were three main groups: gods of Light, Darkness, and Shadow, plus dozens of smaller subgroups. They warred and allied with each other and could also move between worlds independently, albeit with some limitations.
While a leader of an NPC faction, usually a lord or a king, was rank five, deities were at least rank six — and counting. Rank six were demigods, while seven or eight signified full-fledged divinity. Only two rank nine entities were known to players, the Lord of Light and the Demon King. Curiously, gods could be destroyed — but that was far from trivial. Considering how powerful and inapproachable they were, fighting them demanded tremendous resources. I read about the previous attempts and smirked. By all accounts, for gods, smashing a few raids like they were nothing was a cakewalk. Those efforts also had exacted a huge toll on the quality of surrounding buildings: several cities got almost destroyed. However, most commenters concurred that the situation was only temporary and depended on the accumulated power of the players. So far, Sphere simply didn’t have enough characters with maxed out skills and gear who could challenge the celestial beings.
The way gods interacted with humans and NPCs was complicated, and one could spend a lot of time digging into that. In short, I learned that gods had temples built in their name, and their power relied on the number of worshippers and sacrifices made to them. In return, they granted formidable long-lasting buffs, and sometimes, items. Players and NPCs with disciple archetypes — initiates, priests, and high priests — received special skills and could pray to their divine patrons, talk to them, and summon them. I remembered the malevolent shadow twice summoned by Svoy. During the battle between PROJECT HELL and the Pandas, it almost managed to shoot down the Steel Guard’s juggernaut — and it was only a “projection,” not a god in flesh.
Tormis. The God of Shadow. None of the deities could match him in guile, in thieving, or in lying. He was an illusionist and a magician, the god of trade, profit, and eloquence who favored beggars, thieves, merchants, and thrill seekers. Tormis was a very controversial figure in the pantheon, a slug in salt. In Earth mythology, his closest equivalent was Hermes the divine trickster.
Eyre had no temples to Tormis; factions that worshipped the gods of Light would never tolerate them in their lands. They could only be found on the border between the Wild Lands and the kingdoms, in the PvP zone beloved by PKers of all kinds. His shrines were usually hidden and scattered across the world. All right, so now to priests, rituals, preferred offerings...
It was a pretty nifty concept. Temples of Shadow were intended to serve as “fuel stations” for groups of adventurers away from civilization. In exchange for offerings, they usually gave out basic consumables, making them unpopular with players. In addition, such spots were pretty dangerous, as campers often attacked travelers right at shrine entrances.
The forums had very little player-posted information about Tormis. Some people did want to worship him, but they either were unsuccessful or didn’t want to share their findings. Personally, I suspected the latter. It seemed just like Tormis to have close-lipped servants. I found a few brief accounts of people catching his attention after big profitable transactions, and that was it. The Guild’s chatroom was also silent. Apparently, it was a delicate topic.
Strange, but I was unable to scrounge up any specific data on Tormis other than common knowledge, even if what I found intrigued me. True, there was a description of several rituals and basic buffs, but it wasn’t anything useful or comparable with the scroll given by him in the temple. I had only one option left: visit a temple myself and present a generous offering to his altar. Who knows, maybe he would deign to talk to me? Or — I shut my eyes, my imagination running wild — maybe I would get another helping of divine perks? I had to try.
An interactive search of the nearest shrine was yet another surprise. Turned out, only a few of them existed. Dorsa boasted ten shrines, three of them on our continent, with the closest one that abandoned temple where we had fought the PROJECT const party.
That was where I headed, paying a visit to the Magister along the way, to mix business with pleasure. Thankfully, I had enough reputation with the Order to use a portal. In Eyre, they were locked due to the war, but the Watchers’ castle had their own gateway, which I promptly took advantage of.
I stood before a half-ruined entrance to an underground shrine. That was a dangerous place, as the kill rating testified, but I was careful and willing to take risks, especially since the coast seemed clear.
Inside, everything was the same: a dark square hall pierced by a few dusty pillars of light from the holes in the ceiling; statues of gods above the altar plates on the opposite end from the entrance; a cracked stone floor and elaborate wall carvings.
Still, a subtle change hung in the air. After looking around, I finally realized what had happened: the room was cleaner, with no more heaps of trash and rock chippings, no debris in the ruined corners, and no moss crawling up the altar stands. It was neat and tidy. The carefree face of Gella, the Goddess of Love, was wreathed in freshly cut flowers, a few thick scented candles stood before the Sleeper, and a pile of silver coins was scattered in front of Tormis himself.
The shrine didn’t look abandoned anymore, as if someone had been looking after it. Had it been visited by the players who had flooded the Order?
I made a few steps and stopped before the altar. Tormis was depicted as a beggar asking for alms. The statue’s face was hidden under a broad cowl, and all I could see was a sharp chin with an acerbic grin on his lips.
I pulled out my offering, stood on tip-toes, and put a necklace with magic gems into the stone palm. The golden chain entwined the fingers of the statue. After that, I untied a heavy purse and poured out several newly minted shiny coins on the altar. Like any
trader, Tormis was fond of the filthy lucre.
Nothing happened. The items didn’t disappear, meaning the god didn’t accept my offer. What did he need?
A soft cough came from behind my back. My reflexes worked faster than my fear — I immediately jumped away, reaching for my sword. Being taken unaware in those parts meant nothing good.
Upon seeing a glowing sword, the stranger recoiled in fear.
“I didn’t mean to scare you!” he blurted out. “Put your weapon away, I’m not a threat.”
Holding off on sheathing my sword, I carefully examined him. He was a thin elf or a half-elf of average height with high cheekbones and dark hair tied in a ponytail. He wore a cloak of disguise, its hood down. He wasn’t a player, but an NPC. What was he doing there?
The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series Page 16
