The Way of the Clan 7

by Dem Mikhaylov

  Soon we would encounter. My competitors and I. It was unavoidable. There would either be a random or deliberate meeting - since I did not give up on my idea. I wanted to collect a whole set, though my chances are close to zero at this moment. I need some sort of trump card, something that can win me the boots. Therefore, I came to this building in particular - the library.

  A few coins rattled, a smart little boy disappeared behind the stacks to return after three minutes and deliver, on a special cart, an enormous folio in leather binding with gold embossing. The name was simple: "The clans of Valdira." Here were listed all the clans, absolutely all. You could find this book in every library of the game world.

  In the book, each clan has exactly one section - two pages. A text that briefly mentions the name of the clan, the time of the foundation, the motto, the chapters, the description of the appearance of the clan symbol, the location of the clan citadel, the color of cloak, the list of orders, medals, and other awards.

  There was only a picture on the second page: the clan symbol.

  Let's see ...

  "The Sleepless Clan," I said quietly, and the pages rustled by themselves, unmistakably opening in the correct place.

  Oof! A huge fiery eye on the steeple of the clan citadel.

  It stared straight at me with anger, and I felt as if I were bathing in a fiery lava.

  But it was impeccable. Obviously the clan had paid a lot of money to "local" artists and indicated what decorations and styles to make it in. Fiery red, bright orange, almost quivering on the page.

  It was an interactive book, that’s for sure.

  It looked good, but I did not know the name of the clan I needed.

  Let’s try a little differently.

  "I am looking for," I said, and waited a moment before I added: "Blue raincoats, and a white sun."

  The pages rustled and opened to the proper page.

  The battle clan of the Solar Mice.

  In the alliance with Lemmings Chaos.

  The head of the clan: Shining Atom.

  Just a few lines, and as much information as I needed. I slammed down the folio, handed the assistant a couple of small coins, and left the library building.

  Why?

  Because here, it was impossible to solve the problem without thinking about it.

  Lemmings Chaos - very serious clan. I recently heard about them and their desire for a few legendary catches. This is a powerful trade organization, and in turn this means that the clan

  never does anything for free or for charity.

  You can say about these people that they will sell their own mother for a Nickel, and then they will donate a penny for the construction of a temple - to atone for their sins.

  No sense in going to talk to them. To arrange long and painful negotiations - and what do I have, to propose to them? It is they who will propose to me - sell the collected items of the Silver Legends to us.

  In any case, it takes time, but I do not have any. In short, my timid dream of having a full set of the Silver Legend has been ground into the dust, just like a child's sand castle from the impact of the bully's foot.

  But it seems that the Silver Legend is not for Lemmings, but for members of the combat clan the Solar Mice.

  And it is obvious that these two clans are one whole - not only because of their alliance, but also because of their common names. Both of them are named after rodents.

  I wonder why a formidable battle clan would name themselves mice.

  And the player with the nickname Shining Atom - I have already heard of him. He had changed his nickname from Nuclear Atom. Why? Because he was once a great aggr player.

  Under the command of Atom, the Solar Mice drove peaceful players like hunters drove herds of deer or bison, leading them off a steep cliff or towards some other dead end.

  Screams, whistles, laughter would sound as they chased the poor devils like a tsunami wave drives a dozen fragile fishermen to their deaths.

  To imagine what it looks like, it is enough to look at any film where the Indians organized a massacre for the whites. Very similar - up to the colored stripes on their faces and the

  skulls around the horses' necks. If it was possible to remove scalps in the game, they would have.

  And Shining Atom was head of the fighting clan. Long ago, when I was an archer, I itched to understand how Atom managed to "repaint" himself - to wash off the red aggr coloring and turn it back into a peaceful green. It would not do to go into combat against such formidable foes without thought. This time, I would have to think it through everything thoroughly, take into account every detail, and calculate all possibilities. Or at least cross myself forty times, write a will, and only then, jump into this hellish situation.

  It was all too much. I had to distract myself.

  "Honey, how is fishing? Anything fishy?" I wrote, trying to squeeze out a miserable joke.

  "It is about to begin!" I got the quick, concise response. “And they’re watching us very hard.”

  Hmm ... well, given that Kira was in charge, I was not particularly worried - she does not care

  cheat and will not try to. Let them watch.

  There was a flash.

  At the revival location I had been passing appeared a naked young man in short leather shorts with green embroidery.

  He grabbed his head in his hands, stared at the black-and-green wall of the gloomy Dark Edge and screamed:

  “I did not even have time to see anything!”

  "Nothing at all?" I asked, not trying to sneer.

  “Almost nothing,” the player spread his hands and stepped off the plate, obeying the request of the gray-haired elder feeding the army of pigeons crumbs. As if you do not heed the elder’s words, then by his order the pigeons will fly at you and cover you with a layer of dung.

  You should not joke with elders - I learned this long ago.

  The sufferer in shorts, meanwhile, continued to pour out his heartache:

  "Almost nothing! A whistle, then a crack, and I fell, and something grabbed my leg, dragged me along the turf, threw me into a hole, dragged further underground, and only then… listen, but my outfit, the goods from my pack, where is it all now?”

  "In the hole," I answered sympathetically, remembering a half-orc hunter's story from the tavern, who had about twenty-three scars on his face alone. “Within forty large steps from the place where you were seized. The depth of the hole can reach ten meters. There is a whole labyrinth of holes, and in each one is a separate monster. What?”

  “Damn it!” Gasped the player - and I, to encourage the unfortunate, gave him a bottle of good

  wine purchased in the same tavern, and three gold coins. “Here.”

  "Thank you. OH! Wait, you are Rosgard! That Rosgard!"

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  "The legend!!"

  “Uh…”

  "You have three sons from Lizanna!"

  "No, no! You are mistaken!”

  “There is a video! Where you and Lizanna are together for the first time! The erotic drama about the evil sorcerer.”

  "What? What video? What did you see?"

  "I did not see it. People say it's either already happened, or it will soon.”

  “Damn it. Okay, good luck, I hope you'll find your equipment.”

  “Ros! Listen, give me an autograph! On ... on whatever ... Here! Sign my shorts! You

  have a pencil?”

  “I do not give autographs,” I hurriedly said, and hurried away from the player, the elder and the deadly pigeons.

  Ignoring the cries of the naked man, I kept walking. It is better for me to stay in the shade than in the rays of such a bright, erotic glory. And if Kira finds out, what would that mean?

  Damn gossipy players! They will be the end of me!

  "Ro-o-osga-a-ard!" Came an extremely unexpected cry from the revival location. “It is yo-o-o-ou!”

  The scream worked just as well as a battering ram, literally punting me forwards an
d driving me into the dark alleys - that is certainly the escape of a dark sorcerer.

  I have to find this director and give him a kick in the ass...

  To hell with the director and his erotic drama. I am not going to shoot anything like that. Not for anything. Although, if I am suddenly promised a part of the legendary set for it, then I ... oh ... there is something wrong with my reasoning...

  The essence of my problem now was that I had absolutely no idea how to approach The Dark Edge, nor the question of acquiring the Silver Legend.

  To assemble a raid at my own expense and try the forest that way? It is tempting. Only if we stumble upon the camp of giant cannibals, and one of the participants of the group sees the silver hammer or silver cuirass lying on the altar, then chances are extremely great that he simply take the booty and instantly port very far away. He would realize quickly what a treasure was in his hands. So entrusting that responsibility upon someone else would not work. For such targeted campaigns, you need a detachment you trust completely, one whose honesty and decency you would not doubt for the world. In the virtual world, such qualities are rare - because the players here come just for the sake of freedom, to take off the mask of respectable citizens every once in a while.

  Having reached the store, I immediately began to buy what I needed, tearing off the useless silk and replacing it with the tough fabrics suitable for a battle mage.

  A dark canvas vest of double firmware, increasing mana and intelligence. Added protection from physical damage. Pants of the same set, with the same bonuses.

  Knee high boots which gave an increase to carrying capacity and mana, gave protection and slowed fatigue.

  A jacket with a high collar and hood and fastened copper hooks, descending to the hips.

  Bone kneepads with good protection from physical damage.

  Bone shoulder pads.

  A wide cloth belt with a square bone buckle. A plus to life points and carrying capacity. A dozen pockets for elixirs and a wooden case for scrolls.

  Fresh spring water in a large flask of enchanted wood.

  A large woolen cloak without a hood, grayish-green with interspersed threads of yellow.

  Glasses with round lenses, a slightly yellowish glass with a silver rim. A plus to intellect, a one percent chance of inflicting critical damage and a plus one chance of noticing something interesting and unusual, including in the search of vulnerability in an enemy.

  A wide bone necklace - consisting of bony plates fastened together on the neck. Excellent protection from physical damage and reduces inflicted magic damage.

  Improves chances of survival of critical hits to the neck or back of the head.

  Gloves - a dull gray silk with black arrow-shaped stains.

  Bonus for mana and life.

  A shirt of white silk - gives an increase to life and regeneration.

  A hat woven from green silk spider web.

  And here, I stopped - I am decked out beyond the standards of the average player.

  And no, I am was not going alone to attack the monsters inhabiting the Dark Edge.

  Oh yeah, I forgot about jewelry. Rings with rubies and sapphires, two bracelets inlaid with the same stones, a golden chain with a large diamond-shaped ruby on the neck.

  For weapons - my own spells and a wand with different charges - chain of lightning, fire blow and stone throw.

  Twenty magic scrolls with mass spell. Among them, one "meteor".

  Four scrolls of teleportation.

  Twenty cans mana and ten cans of life.

  A dozen different-sized potions for regeneration, running speed, and delaying fatigue.

  More I do not want to take - I do not plan to travel too long, and the whole journey will be reduced to a short outing to one important place.

  Saying goodbye to the seller, I left the shop, and immediately dove into the next door - the hotel.

  I was in my private room .... not a living soul.

  I was unloaded, preparing myself for the onslaught ahead. I almost tripped over Tyrant’s belongings, lying in a corner - his legendary armor.

  Going down the stairs and into the hall, I smiled at the girl behind the counter and gave her a list, which included the names of a few textbooks, as well as the name of one huge book called "Gods of Valdira: The Ruling and Fallen, the Complete Divine Story.” I left her a sum of money and asked her to leave them at the counter, that I would pick them up when I return.

  I looked sideways at my hanging picture - just reveal the leg a little more, and my identity would no longer be a secret to anyone. Outside the door, I pulled out my case of scrolls, took one out and whispered:

  “Cliffside.”

  A bright flash swallowed me. Then I was five steps from the outskirts of the village and a stone's throw from the village guards, who saluted me. Answering with a nod, I looked at the majestic river flowing past, and quickly found what I was looking for - a very grim stone rock covered with scattered trees on its slopes, a bare and inhospitable summit.

  The Rock.

  Adjusting the woolen cloak, I broke into a run, angled going down to the river and moving along the coast. With every ten meters, the rock became closer. Soon it hung over me like a gloomy hulk. The gray-black stone was covered, in some places, by fertile soil, green shoots of grass, swaying flowers, and bird’s nests. But I did not care for the birds. No, I was interested in an overpass which extended over the river water. It was from there that Grim the Inconsolable Silver Hammer threw part of the legendary armor into the river Elirna. It had lost much of its power after the fall of the light God Gravital, who was turned into a horrible creature and cast into the abyss of divine Hell of Tantarial.

  The fall led to a disaster and to the death of many ....

  When I reached the hollow of a slope littered rubble, I began to climb up, weaving between trees, trying to avoid the creatures there. The combat rod was clamped in my hand, and in my other palm was loaded my very first, and perhaps my favorite spell.

  I stopped only once, pressing my back against a lichen-covered oak tree trunk. I took a deep breath, looking down. Quiet ... no players in sight. No "locals" wither.

  Just me and the forest ....

  Continuing up, I easily overcame the last hundred meters and then was on top, the wind tearing the hood from my head.

  Here ... here is where it happened. A terrible tragedy on this very spot, when the crazed werewolf Grim inflicted mortal wounds on the woman he loved.

  And I could clearly see the traces of the battle - on the sides of boulders and on the rocky wall, on the bare rock underfoot, I could see deep claw marks on the rugged stone. A couple of paces away, from a narrow crack in the stone, grew a tall flower bush covered in lush flowers with scarlet and white petals. Not far away, from the same cleft, a gnarled black tree with several rare flowers, gray-yellow in color.

  The impression was that the gnarled tree was trying to reach the flower bush and break it, but the wind was whistling to meet it, not allowing the branches to reach the delicate petals scarlet and white flowers, but in no way affecting the flower bush.

  What a plac, but at the very top of the cliff, there was something like an elongated bench created by nature. I understood the silent invitation. Closing my woolen cloak, I sat down on the bench, and the panorama opened a wonderful overview of all the land around the rock, the distant glittering snake of the Elirna River.

  Resting my elbows on his knees, I put my chin on my hand and stared blindly into the distance. I needed a little rest, to think about it. And to wait a bit - perhaps, something unusual might happen.

  The two unusual plants fluttered in the gusts of the wind. Somewhere high up at the top, a huge eagle sought out prey. Chirping grasshoppers hopped among the dry yellow grass.

  I enjoyed it .... Peace and quiet.

  The two shrubs were obviously a direct allusion to the drama that had played out here a long time ago. The ugly black bush with ash-yellow flowers - it was definitely Grim. The bush
with bright scarlet and white ones- Myrtle the faithful beloved, who was murdered. They were

  different and so similar. And Grim persistently reached out to Myrtle with his spiky ugly

  branches ....

  But the bushes were silent, there were no mysterious signs on their branches. Which is quite often what happens in Valdivia.

  No bones. No skulls.

  “Hey!” I cried, just to see what would happen. I looked around, but saw no trace of any ghost. No one was here ... perhaps I could come here on a dark night, set up candles in a certain pattern, read a spell .... but there were no graves for Grim and Myrtle. Their bodies were far away. Myrtle’s body was frozen into ice. Grim’s body ... the monstrous werewolf fell by our hands to the floor a dark crude dungeon in the Karst Caves, and his wolf's head was given by me to the Guild of Mages in Algora. So it was just a monument. You could sit here and read a book about the exploits of Grim and Myrtle, drink wine, lay down flowers and enjoy the magnificent view. That was all…

  By the way ... What about a drink? The grass was yellow… it probably had not rained in so long.

  Taking my jar of spring water from the bench, I took a drink, saluting Myrtle’s bush.

  I took a breath, stepped to the bush, and poured all the water onto it.

  “Drink, Myrtle. The water is cold… if I knew, I would have brought wine.”

  I looked askance at the bush of Grim and muttered:

  “And you are lucky I did not bring Tyrant! He would lift his leg and mark your grave.”

  The tree of Grim did not answer me, except for the grinding of its thorns on the bare rock.

  But someone else commented on my words, sarcastically remarking:

  “Do not talk to the bushes!”

  I turned sharply, almost falling… one of my hands lifted the wand, and the other groped the case with scrolls.