The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)

by G. Akella

  Three more mobs appeared before Gloom. The first managed to land a heavy blow with his two-hander on the razorback's head before dropping to the ground with an arrow in his eye-socket. Catching the second skeleton's attack with my shield, I let the razorback drive the third into a rod post. I instantly switched targets to assist on the incapacitated third mob, ignoring the other one. As the boar landed a finishing blow with his tusks, the momentum carried us outside the gate.

  Striking the ground no more than fifteen feet away came the brightest lightning I'd ever seen, accompanied by crashing thunder.

  "Yes!" Standing up in the saddle with my arms spread wide, blinded and literally thunderstruck, I bellowed up to the heavens. "It is me, Ingvar! Check out your lieutenant!"

  Your reputation has increased! Residents of the Krajde Princedom are neutral to you.

  Your reputation has increased! Residents of the Farot relate to you with respect.

  Your reputation has increased! Residents of Ballan, Feator and Uriatta relate to you with reverence.

  The crowd behind me erupted with shouts of joy. VICTORY!

  You've completed the quest: Saving Ballan.

  My XP bar was nearly spilling over into the next level. With a heavy sigh, I fished out Treis' voluminous flask and took five deep swigs. Then I removed my helm, shut my eyes and craned my neck, letting the rainwater wash over my face.

  I listened to the rain. To the drops champing as they struck the damp ground, drumming on the wood of the broken gate and the metal armor of Daeron's slain soldiers. The death knight himself was lying in an unnatural pose over by the right gatepost, his visor open, the black pools of his eyes looking up at the overcast sky. His face looking entirely, eerily human. Black hair, straight nose, thin lip line. Death had reduced the man in size quite a bit.

  I hopped off the razorback, bending over his mangled body. Three rares: level 155 plate gauntlets, level 160 longbow, and level 165 chain legguards. Five unusual quality items, seventy five gold and a dozen or so vials of varying purposes. Seems too good a haul... Maybe due to the continental event? But hell, I'm not complaining. I shrugged, then headed over to the casters I'd killed first.

  Struggling to keep my balance on the soggy ground, I walked up to the liches. Damn, Gloom and I sure had our fun with them! The hapless bastards' bones were scattered all over the square, itself nearly ten feet in diameter. The loot was pretty decent too with three unusual items and a bunch of coins totaling around three silver. The rest of the stuff was relatively useless to me: three mana potions and some alchemical junk. So, a thousand mobs around level 170 should net me one hundred gold, I made some quick mental calculations. In addition to the actual loot.

  I had always been fascinated by the game's economy. After all, in the era preceding the latest patch, an average player could make over ten thousand dollars a month simply by grinding mobs for money. Even if mobs dropped twice as much money during events as I'd theorized, killing two thousand mobs over the course of one month was well within the realm of possibilities. And two thousand mobs translated to ten grand. Not bad at all! Sure, lower-level mobs dropped far less, but they were also easier to kill, and the local conditions weren't as harsh as I had it here. On the other hand, considering the immense player base and the standard six-hour respawn time for most mobs, your earning potential suddenly looked far more bleak. Plus, simply playing the game had expenses, some of which were pretty damn exorbitant. Want a private castle for your clan? The construction alone would set you back at least fifty thousand gold, NOT including the cost of the land. Then there were the regular expenses like armor repair and upgrades, and reagents for trade skills. If you wanted to become a pro, you had to shell out serious money. Perhaps that was why game gold was so highly valued? Thankfully, back in my past life I was already making over ten grand a month, and without all the extra hassle. Why am I even thinking about this stuff? It's pointless. I gazed up at the sky which had mostly cleared up—immersed in my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed that the rain had ended. Dollars don't exist for me anymore. Neither do rubles or yen.

  A loud champing sound at my back startled me. I spun around sharply, and my jaw slowly dropped. Even before the crazy raid on the village I'd noticed a huge filthy puddle on the side of the road leading up to the gate. Well, the puddle wasn't there anymore—it was displaced entirely by my valiant mount. The razorback—plastered from hoof to withers with the brown slush, the bridle and the saddle and all—was lying on his back, kicking the air with his hooves in the most comical way, and casting sidelong glances my way. Was he expecting a reaction from me?

  The villagers were crowding at the gate, shouting and pointing fingers. Little demon kids, having slipped past their naturally worried guardians, were running headlong in the boar's direction. I covered my face—whether to hide shame or glee, I wasn't sure—then took a seat on the nearest rock, and lit my pipe. Gloom let out some kind of half-indignant half-inviting roar, frightening the children silly. Are you calling me over or something? I snorted. Sorry, I pass. You go ahead though, knock yourself out. It all felt so familiar, like washing your car right before the rain.

  What now? I was thinking, inhaling the aromatic smoke. I'm kind of a hero to them now, so I should take advantage. I wonder if they have a tavern? It would be good to chat up the elder—any new information is worth more than gold to me. I don't see any quest-givers, and that's too bad. Maybe after things calm down? It's settled—today we rest and figure out future plans. I knocked out the pipe against the rock I was sitting on, and started toward the village.

  "All right, hero, enough is enough," I chuckled at Gloom reveling in his mud bath, and kept on walking. There was a splash, followed by the boar's puffing at my back.

  When the two of us came into view, all conversations died down at once, and all the heads turned our way. Their faces were warm and friendly, and not tense at all. Nobody spoke, perhaps out of politeness, waiting for the elder to clarify the situation. I walked past a heap of bones and metal, looking around for Gvert. I'd pick up the loot later.

  "Sir knight! I... We... We don't know how thank you... We didn't touch your kills," he gestured at the skeletal remains. "We did loot our kills, but if you want we'll be happy to—"

  "Don't worry, Gvert," I protested. "Where is your inn? I also need a blacksmith. And I have some questions, if you have the time."

  "Um, well..." the demon sighed, spreading his arms in dismay. "You see, we don't have an inn. We used to have one, but it burned down thirty years ago, along with One-Eyed Reym. Nobody bothered to take over the business—we're a small village, you see, and it's just not very profitable. We've been doing booze runs to Feator, or making our own in a pinch. But the boys from Feator, now they make proper moonshine..." the elder faltered. "Or rather, used to make..."

  "The undead filth, they destroyed it..." said a young black-haired demon in plain dun chainmail and a sword at his waist. He spat on the ground angrily, turned and started toward a smoking house, shoulders slumped. That was where the villagers had been carrying their dead. The attackers' corpses were being dragged outside the gate and tossed into a pile. Only the ones I'd killed were being left alone.

  "You can stay with me, sir knight," Gvert removed his leather cap, gripping it with his huge hands. "And we do have a smith. Aye, and a skilled one at that," he nodded to a face in the crowd. "Skyle!"

  "What do you need, dar?" a gray-haired demon spoke up, wiping his hands on a grimy rag.

  "My lance needs repair, and some other stuff," I shrugged. "Maybe buy something."

  "I doubt my stock will interest you," the smith shook his head, looking over my gear. "I don't even have any decent iron currently. Only what we just took off of them," he motioned at the corpses. "I'll be happy to do the repairs; as for the rest, you'll need to look elsewhere, I'm afraid."

  "Quit standing around!" the elder shouted at the gawking villagers. "Get back to work! Kart, get that gate back up before some other fiends show up. Beg pardon,
sir knight," that last part was for me. "Come with me, I need to show you—"

  "Hold your horses, Gvert," I turned to him, barely holding down laughter as I motioned at Gloom. "And speaking of horses, where do I, um, park mine?"

  "Your... horse?!" the elder's eyes were wide with incredulity. I heard chuckles and giggles all around.

  The razorback really was a thing of beauty. Looking like a clay sculpture from a mental patient's worst nightmare, he kept shifting his gaze from me to the elder. Moreover, the way he was eyeing the elder was a bit unsettling... almost like the demon was a forbidden treat.

  "You know what I mean. Horse or razorback, does it really matter?"

  "But I've got sows in the shed... He's not going to, um, hurt them, is he?" the demon mumbled with pure horror in his eyes.

  "What do you mean?" I demanded. "What could he do?" Then I looked at the razorback, and the elder's misgivings suddenly made sense. Gloom could indeed hurt those sows, whether by devouring them or, ahem, engaging in other activities.

  "I know!" the elder smacked himself on the forehead. "We've got a shelter that way," he pointed down the main road. "Survivors from Feator and Uriatta are currently housed there. Behind the building is a stable, a spacious one. Not like the cattle shed—forgive me, but your 'horse' just wouldn't fit in there... But he'll be just fine in the stable, I assure you." The elder hesitated, looking flustered. "Before we head over, I do have to ask that you take care of those," he gestured at the corpses piled up near the gate. "It's just that we want to burn all this filth sooner rather than later."

  I walked over to all the skeletal remains, throwing all the loot into my inventory. For anyone keeping score, Gloom and I were responsible for the death of seventeen skeletons, not including the three liches and Daeron! Not bad at all. Besides money, five unusual quality pieces and twelve healing potions, I found six bones of a peculiar shape. How odd... I thought, and then...

  You've accessed the quest: Old Bones.

  Quest type: unique, recurring.

  Hand in 500 old bones to Askel, Xantarra's Quartermaster.

  Reward: experience, increased reputation with the Krajde Princedom, increased attack and defense for you and your allies over the duration of The Cursed Princedom event.

  Oh really, only five hundred? I snorted, but took the bones anyway. They weighed almost nothing but could still prove useful—who knew what the future might hold?

  "Done," I said to the elder. "Let's go to that barn of yours..."

  The elder lived in a two-story log house in the center of the village. We headed over there right after I'd taken Gloom to a spacious stable, situated close to the windmill. The lady of the house swiftly put together a bite to eat, and we drank—first to our victory, and then to the fallen. The elder was still clearly ill at ease: either he still hadn't recovered from the battle, or there was something about me that unnerved him.

  "What's gong on, you ask?" Gvert spun an empty glass in his gnarly fingers, then put it on the table and frowned, leaning back on the log wall. He sat there in silence for a time, eyes downcast. "It all started about a month back. Things had been quiet around here since the times of the Black Lord. We were here, and the undead were somewhere else. I wasn't even around back then. But my grandpa was—he'd taken part in the defense of Xantarra. When Erisjat's army broke through the walls and razed half the city, including Wolce's Temple, and began laying siege to the citadel..." the elder fell silent, as if remembering something.

  What was it with these cheap dramatics of NPCs pulling cliffhangers!

  "That was what, almost three centuries ago?" I took my pipe out of inventory automatically, then shrugged and put it away.

  "Be my guest, dar. If you have some tobacco to spare, I'll gladly join you." Taking the pouch from me, he nodded in appreciation, then reached into a huge trunk by the wall, produced his own pipe and proceeded to stuff it. "It was all very strange. Grandpa used to say that Erisjat had been a wise ruler when he declared himself a free lord. But then..."

  "He got tangled up with the Twice Cursed?"

  "Yes!" Gvert took a deep, satisfying drag. "All I know is that Satrap Gorm wiped out a mission of the disavowed, and a month later General Korg's legion was at Xantarra's gates."

  "Gvert, you forget that I know nothing of your history or your politics. Could you clarify for me who's who?"

  "Apologies, dar," he nodded. "Satrap Gorm was Xantarra's ruler, and Korg was the commander of Krajde's first legion at the time. So, first Gorm pillaged Suonu, and then he showed up here."

  "And what happened then? Did the city hold?"

  The demon poured us some moonshine. Without bothering to clink, he exhaled and downed his shot, then raised his somewhat murky eyes at me.

  "Grandfather said that they were preparing for death, preparing to kill their own wives and children to keep them away from the dark bastards' altars... And then... Then Ahriman's getare cohorts smashed into Korg's rear," the demon concluded, falling silent once more.

  "I see," I picked up my shot glass. "And what's happening now? You said things have been quiet."

  "Aye," Gvert nodded. "For nearly three centuries there had been peace. Some say there are still sentients living in Gilthor. I wouldn't know—I am but a simple farmer. At least we've been able to reap the season's harvest, or things would have been even worse..." The elder grew quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

  Was he drunk or something? He was a bloody computer program! It shouldn't matter if he drank two shots or half a bucket. Or was it the way farmers always acted, all quiet and taciturn?

  "Gvert, you promised to tell me what's going on in Krajde nowadays. I'm listening. Or is something giving you pause?"

  The elder's eyes flashed with anguish. Seemingly coming at a resolution, he poured himself another shot and upended his glass. Only then did he finally begin to talk.

  "You see, Master Krian, in these parts we mainly worship Wolce and Ahmen, even though we're children of the Lightning god. On the other hand, he's a true god. Maybe they'll come to an understanding up there," Gvert stuck his index finger upward. "It would be better than what's happening now. Our warriors are probably with Ingvar as well, and—"

  "Hold up!" I threw up my arms, stopping his verbal diarrhea. "Gvert, I'm here on my own accord. I couldn't care less about Wolce, Ahmen or any of their divine politics."

  "A month ago, an undead army appeared from the direction of Suonu," the elder began, clearly relieved. "For one reason or another, they ignored Farot and moved straight at Xantarra. Gorm defended the city again, but that was only the beginning. Suddenly graveyards all over the satrapy were in unrest. Their eternal sleep disturbed, the undead began to rise, swarming our lands. The swamp beasts awoke as well. They weren't aggressive, sure, but who would want them as neighbors? For a while we simply stayed behind our walls, waiting." Gvert pulled on his pipe, then pressed the tobacco with a finger. Looking up, he explained, "I used to get my tobacco in Feator. But with the roads closed..." he spread his arms. "We kept waiting for Xantarra to send over troops, or for someone in Farot to wake up and do something..." Taking another drag, he glanced in the direction of the narrow window which looked more like a fire slit. With a heavy sigh, he continued, "This is the result of our waiting. The day before yesterday we received refugees from Uriatta, and yesterday from Feator. There are no more villages left. I had a brother in Feator... That bastard you've put to rest by the gate had caused us all great sorrow. Thank you..."

  "What are you planning to do? Or do you think there'll be no more attacks?"

  "What can I do?" the elder peered into my eyes. "This morning I had twenty of my own hunters and sixteen from other villages. How many are left? Maybe half."

  "Then give me some of your people. I will try to clear the area."

  "With all due respect..." Gvert cast down his eyes again. "I can't," he sighed. After a long pause, he looked up suddenly, his eyes flashing with a kind of audacity. "Cleanse the village of the blight,
dar! Clear out the swamp cave, and I will give you people!"

  You've accessed the quest: Cleansing the Area.

  Quest type: unique.

  Cleanse Feator and Uriatta of the undead blight, and kill all the monsters in the swamp cave.

  Reward: experience, reputation increase with the Krajde Princedom, reputation increase with the residents of Ballan, Feator, Farot and Uriatta. 10 peasants to command.

  "What's this swamp cave and where is it located?" I produced the map from my inventory and laid it out on the table.

  "Roughly five miles toward the Great Lake, in a swamp-ridden wood, there's a strange structure that's been there since the olden times. It's easy to spot due to an elevation running the length of the swamp, and the old road to the lake cutting right across." The elder took a drag, released a ring of smoke, and pointed to a spot west of Ballan. "After Ahriman's army departed from the princedom, something happened there. First a caravan went missing, then a group of hunters that were deployed to investigate. Some time after that a squad of soldiers from Farot vanished as well, but the authorities were too busy dealing with other problems. To this day the locals give this place a wide berth, and a new route has ben laid further north."

  "What kind of monsters are there?"

  "Hunters report seeing huge glowing toads the size of your, um..." the demon faltered, but then, seeing my wide grin, he grinned himself and continued, "your war mount, yeah."

  "I got it," I rose. "Thank you, Gvert. I'll see what I can do."

  "You're not staying here?"

  "No," I shook my head. "I'm used to being with the boar. And I'm sure you're plenty busy yourself." Bending slightly so as to not hit my head on the low door jamb, I walked out of the house.