The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)

by G. Akella

  Hart, was she beautiful! With a woman like that by your side, life could never be too sour. Even now, in a plain house dress, the succubus looked just like a fairytale princess! After a struggle, I willed the temptation away.

  "What do I have to do?" I asked, my voice quivering with tension.

  "Drink your wine, dar," she smiled again, motioning at a glass atop a small marble side table. "You were telling me earlier that you intend to visit the Krajde Princedom?"

  "Yes, that is my plan," I replied, taking a sip from the offered glass.

  "There's a small mountain province in the princedom called Gilthor. Up there in Aerimean Mountains is a temple forgotten by the gods." She sipped some wine from the glass, her expression contemplative, then continued. "Nobody remembers anymore which deity is supposed to be worshipped there, and it doesn't matter anyway. Your task would be to get inside the temple and extract something from me. A trifle, really—a single jewelry case of truesilver."

  "My lady is overestimating my modest abilities. At this time I wouldn't even be able to traverse the princedom on my own, let alone extract a jewelry case from some temple."

  "Fear not. You will be met at the border and led to the right place," Janam purred. "All you need to do is recover the case, and hand it over to one of your escorts. Due to certain circumstances, he is unable to retrieve it himself. But he will arrange it with the temple guards to grant you access."

  Yes, of course—few NPCs were capable of entering a dungeon. I'd memorized the map of the Cursed Princedom pretty well, and there was indeed a site like that in Gilthor. Derelict Temple, they called it, a raid instance for levels 180+. Janam was going to assign me a companion who would arrange it with the temple guards to let us through—two people in a dungeon that required no less than fifty high-level characters?! Great...

  "Will my escort open a portal to Karn for me after I give him the case?"

  "No," the succubus' voice didn't hide her sorrow. "He will merely indicate for you the place where you could pick up one of the two fragments of the portal scroll."

  "One of the two fragments?" I leaned forward, peering intently at Janam.

  "Yes, didn't you know? When departing this plane, the gods of light sundered the key to the seal in two. Only by reconnecting the two fragments can you build a portal to the surface. With my help, you will be able to retrieve one of the fragments."

  "But I... All right! I agree!"

  "Then take this," she handed me a sealed scroll.

  You've accessed the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal.

  Quest type: epic, chain.

  You've accessed the quest: Fragment One of the Celestial Seal I.

  Quest type: epic, chain.

  Locate Master X'Tahr on the border of Ashtar Dominion, and deliver to him a message from Janam the Beautiful, second wife of Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion.

  Reward: experience, information about the first fragment of the portal scroll leading to Karn.

  "I doubt you'll be able to find the master quickly on your own," she shook her head. "But I have another proposition for you. If you could drop by Laketa and deliver my reply to Prince Ar-Iraz, he will assign someone to escort you to the border. I included this request in my letter." The succubus handed me another sealed scroll, scented with sweet perfume.

  You've accessed the quest: Special Delivery.

  Quest type: normal.

  Hand-deliver the letter of Janam the Beautiful, second wife of Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion, personally to Ar-Iraz, the prince of Jarus Province.

  Reward: experience.

  Attention! The time for completing this quest is limited: 87:59:59... 87:59:58...

  Another quest. Give a finger, she takes the whole hand, I sighed. At least there's a concrete lead.

  "Unfortunately, you're going to need to make it to Laketa on your own," Janam continued. "With the dominion in unrest, there's a ban on selling scrolls." She rose from the sofa gracefully. "And now you must excuse me, Krian. My lord husband doesn't like waiting."

  I was walking back to the inn on foot, as no one had bothered ordering me a carriage. I can build a portal to Lamorna, and from there it's only two days' travel to where I'm headed. I thought with shame that I hadn't yet found the time to visit Kort and Treis. Otherwise, considering Lucy's modest stats, I'd have many bumpy days and nights in a saddle to look forward to.

  I tried to not think about the upcoming quest, which practically reeked of trouble. Perhaps not as badly as the infamous quest from the god of thieves, but still. The very name of the master who would expect me at the border triggered brooding thoughts, but such was life in the game—the harder the quest, the greater the reward. I decided not to delay my departure to Lamorna—my gear was in tip-top shape, I'd stocked up on potions and elixirs, and even apples for Lucy. I'll get to the inn, say my goodbyes to Gerid, take the mare and set out. The early bird gets the worm. I smiled at the moon shining down from the night sky.

  Chapter 7

  At first glance, Laketa was the carbon copy of Nittal, only one tenth its size: the same radical street layout, the same citadel at the center. I'd arrived here well ahead of schedule since the city was in Jarus Province and thus outside the restricted teleportation zone. All I had to do was ask Alsuil, and he had swiftly built for me a portal to the province's central city.

  I'd spent the first day among friends indulging in idle revelry, meaning we drank pretty much nonstop. My lieutenant's stripes were a cause for celebration, and I'd asked the innkeeper to gather everyone who had joined us for the karriga hunt. The total lack of TVs and newspapers lent a kind of village festival vibe to the celebration, and there came a point when the inn couldn't fit any more people. I decided not to fight the expansion and treat everyone, especially since the total bill for the booze came out to a mere fifty gold. The legionnaires listened intently to the latest news and abbreviated account of my adventures, and after learning of my next destination, started stirring up legends about the Cursed Princedom, shouting over one another. According to their stories, you couldn't take a step in Krajde without running into some monster or other. Flesh-eating trees, packs of hellhounds, mad gods hunting mortals, and so forth. For me, the evening culminated with the appearance of Mirana. Youthful and gorgeous, the succubus gave me a friendly nod, pecked Alsuil on the cheek, taking a seat next to him, and cast down her eyes coyly. Catching my look of surprise, the mage simply shrugged and smiled blissfully. That smile of his made me appreciate this moment—just sitting there, sharing drinks with people I cared about, even if those people were actually demons.

  As the feast was drawing to a close, Kort asked that I show him my lance, which totally stumped me. It turned out that a lance was an indispensable attribute of every cavalryman, or "getare" as they were called in Demon Grounds.

  The lance was a one-handed weapon that amplified the physical damage dealt by a mounted soldier's primary weapon based on the attacker's speed. The Realm of Arkon featured its own brand of physics, and the speed of your mount had a direct impact on the damage dealt of your executed skill, doubling it every 5 mph. For example, if my Ice Blade dealt 4,000 damage, accelerating Lucy to 15 mph would knock 32,000 HP off my target, not accounting for armor class, naturally. And whenever the battle turned to a scuffle, the lance—with its slow speed and large size—disappeared, replaced by your regular melee weapon. Still, underestimating the ramming force of plate-wearing cavalry wielding such a weapon would be beyond foolish. Thus, the next morning I was the proud owner of a ten-foot pike with a four-sided tip and a counterweight at the base. The local smith had only ordinary lances in stock, so that mine had only the standard boost of +130 to strength. The purchase had set me back one hundred gold, meaning my budget hadn't suffered too hard. But I had come to regret not raising my mare's strength by 100—this would have been enough to wear light cavalry armor, which, in turn, would add 120 to stamina. Oh well, lesson learned.

  I departed the friendly village the follo
wing morning, overfed and overladen with food for the road. Just like the last time, Treis—whose bump had gotten visibly more round—had totally ignored all my objections.

  The succubus' letter was the golden ticket to Ar-Iraz's chambers, getting me there in under thirty minutes. The local security agents had examined the scroll for anything objectionable, and, having determined its authenticity, had escorted me into a room adjacent to the prince's office.

  "Name, title, purpose of visit!" barked the clerk behind the reception desk. Though he was barely up to my chin in height, that voice had to be the envy of every drill sergeant.

  "Krian, courier, letter from Lady Janam!" I yelled out like a proper private, barely holding back laughter. "Urgent message for the prince, private and confidential!"

  "Pipe down," frowned the knight of quill and inkwell. "Have a seat and wait, the prince is busy." His face grew distant for a moment, then he frowned again and added. "Master Claye will be right out."

  With a grin, I picked the chair closest to the office, lowered myself into it and stretched out my legs blissfully. I wasn't tired at all in the physical sense—the fatigue was more psychological. A few hours ago Lucy and I had come out of the portal outside the city gates, and I immediately set my bind point at the adjacent gray boulder. After going through the standard control procedure and getting my tag, I dropped off my mount at the nearest inn and set out for the citadel on foot.

  After twenty or so minutes of admiring the paintings lining the wall, the door to the prince's office opened, and an elderly demon in an umber mantle came out.

  "Go on it," he griped with poorly concealed frustration in his voice, and proceeded to march toward the exit.

  The prince was sitting at his desk, inspecting some kind drawing laid out on a dagger sheath before him. He was a tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed tifling—the prototypical "blond beast" described by Friedrich Nietzsche. He wore a dark blue waistcoat and knee-high riding boots. The office decor was rather Spartan: weapons on the walls overhanging plain, unpretentious furniture. The only real statement piece was a magnificent figurine of some yellow mineral on the prince's desk, depicting a gorgeous woman with arms spread in some kind of dance. You didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to identify the original model.

  "Let me see it," the prince's deep, rich voice broke through my stupor." I walked up to him, nodded a greeting, and placed the scented scroll into his outstretched palm. "Have a seat," Ar-Iraz motioned at one of the chairs by the wall. He then passed his hand over the scroll, breaking the seal, and immersed himself into its contents.

  You've completed the quest: Special Delivery.

  Stiff and morose at the first, the prince's expression softened as he kept reading. Anyone who had seen the transformation in the face of a grumpy old man buying a toy for his darling granddaughter would recognize the same in the prince. It was actually surprising—a demon of his stature should be able to control his emotions much better than that. And this dude, despite his hard demeanor, was all but jumping from joy. I vowed to myself that, no matter the reward, I wasn't accepting any follow-up errands to deliver back to Nittal a pearl necklace or any such nonsense—I had enough on my plate without all their lovey-dovey bullcrap! Thankfully, once done with the letter, the prince dispelled my fears by putting his sullen ruler's face back on.

  "Did you actually see Ilsheet's death?"

  "If you're talking about your courier, he was brought down by a pack of huge dogs," I said. "Not much remained after they were done with him. But if you want his courier's badge, I can—"

  "Keep it, you'll have use for it yet," Ar-Iraz's frown deepened. "Do you have any idea where Lady Janam has asked to escort you?"

  "To the border of the Cursed Princedom?" I shrugged my shoulders.

  "Irstad, the ancient burial ground on the border. A squad of ten getare will take you there, but none will enter. And another thing, Krian..." the prince seemed tormented by some inner conflict. "You appear to have gotten yourself ear-deep in some kind of mess. I would advise against diving even deeper."

  "What's at that burial ground? And what is it, anyway?"

  "An enormous gravesite that bodes nothing good for any sentient creature. We have tried to clear it on several occasions, but the more powerful undead just retreat into Krajde, where, to my sorrow, we cannot pass. All we could do was eliminate the lesser fiends, which simply respawn in a matter of days."

  "I see," I shook my head. "Thank you for the warning, prince. But I cannot refuse this quest, I just can't. There is too much at stake."

  "I understand, brother," Ar-Iraz gave a heavy sigh. "Here, take this," he took three vials out of a wall shelf and handed them to me.

  Brother? I was such an idiot! Only now did I notice the same two stripes on the prince's cheek. It appeared that the Order of Punishing Steel allowed its members to lead normal lives, without reporting their every move to superior officers. Yet again I lamented having no access to the order's charter. And I couldn't just ask the prince about it—he wouldn't understand.

  "Thank you, brother," I thank him, trying to maintain the solemnity of the moment, and put the vials away into my inventory.

  "I would gladly share a glass of wine with you, but I'm leaving right away to inspect my legion. My squad will wait for you at the southern gate tomorrow morning. They will take you to Irstad's western tower as per Janam's demand. Be sure to drop by on the way back," he offered his hand for a handshake. "I hope to be more available then." Closing the office door behind me, I shot one final glance at the prince. He was holding the figurine of the succubus, gazing at it with loving eyes. I wonder if it's real love or some kind of trick with mental magic, the kind Janam tried with me? I thought on the way back to the inn.

  In point of fact, there was more to mental magic than first met the eye. There was even a time when the devs considered pulling it from the game. Imagine, for instance, what an expert in mental magic could do to a woman in the span of a single minute? That was why, in the end, harsh restrictions were introduced to it.

  Seduction was one tenth as effective against players as NPCs. Damage-dealing skills functioned the same way as with other schools of magic, but the abilities aimed at subjugating and controlling other players were severely limited. The controlled player could not be made to remove their clothes, open their mouth or speak. And when the effect wore off, they received an immunity to all player-cast control spells for twenty four hours. Finally, the base duration of a control spell by a same-level player was a mere ten seconds.

  Certain NPCs were designed to subjugate for much longer than that. For the rest, the chance of subjugation was calculated in percentage by the following formula: (L1/L2 x [100 - R2])/5, where L1 was the caster's level, L2 the target's level, and R2 the target's resistance to mental magic. In the event of failure, the chance to succeed fell by half for every subsequent attempt. The duration of a control spell was calculated by an analogous formula: L1/L2 x base duration, with the exception of players below level 30 who were immune to being subjugated by other players altogether. How did I know all this? These were all very hot topics at one point, compelling the devs to lay out all the mathematics in the press. Any attempt at subjugation was deemed an attack and punished by the guards accordingly. Any complaints filed by players alleging any kind of inappropriate behavior during subjugation were investigated by the administration as a matter of priority.

  The upshot was that Lord Astarot's wife, even accounting for our huge level disparity, had not even a measly three percent chance of subjugating me. If she had succeeded, however, I would be her dutiful puppet for quite a while, and she could have made me say and do anything she pleased. After all, the above limitations didn't extend to NPCs, and the duration of their control spells could be hundreds of times longer than that of another player.

  All signs pointed to the prince falling head over heels for his cousin! Of course, I could hardly blame him. She was a spectacular woman, even if she was a real bitch. Men dreamt of a
woman like that, though for 99.99% of us she remained just that—a pipe dream. I chased the mental image of the succubus out of my head, and took out one of the three vessels given to me by the prince.

  Essence of Light

  Rare item. Elixir.

  Duration: 4 hours.

  Effect: 50% boost to physical and magic damage to undead.

  Break to use.

  Cool! Elixirs like this weren't generally available for purchase—you needed either a high-level alchemist friend or the auction house. Regular vendors sold similar potions with only ten percent extra damage. I should drop by an alchemist before leaving. These babies might prove real handy on the upcoming journey.

  The mounted squad tasked by the prince with escorting my precious carcass was waiting for me outside the southern gate the following morning. The getare commander was a level 240 tifling named Adurant. Towering about a foot and a half over me, the giant was clad head to toe in heavy plate, his left cheek bearing a small triangle—another member of the brotherhood. Evidently, Ar-Iraz had decided that a brother would be more fitting for the job, and I certainly didn't mind. He can also tell me about the Order, I thought with a grunt.

  Lolling on the grass next to their grazing lizards, the getare were shooting funny looks at my warhorse. Next to their massive chainmail-covered reptiles, Lucy looked like a lithe gymnast surrounded by heavyweight champions of Greco-Roman wrestling.

  "Ready?" The tifling waited for my affirmative nod, then easily mounted his dinosaur. "In your saddles!" he barked to his squad, then pressed his heels into the lizard's sides, guiding it toward the southern road.

  We reached our destination in the afternoon of day three. The road had been clear throughout, and nobody had attacked us. According to my calculations, we must have traveled at least one hundred fifty miles. Good thing this isn't real life, I thought when we'd stopped for the night at some roadside inn. Indeed, in real life I would've been unable to move a finger from exhaustion, but here I was perfectly fine. The ride atop Lucy was pretty smooth—not like a car or anything, but I hadn't felt too much discomfort.