Duki was a Rogue. In real life he was Johannes, from some Berlin suburb. He was an interesting guy, with whom you could talk about almost anything, ramble through an adventure together and generally have a great time. That's as long as he keeps his feet on the brakes. If Duki really lets rip, you'd better hang on! I've hardly ever seen such a nitpicky brainiac.
Sushiho was a Necromancer. Real name, Paolo: a genuine citizen of Rome. He was a two-meter-tall teacher of eastern martial arts, but chose a little gnome as his game character. He wanted to cast himself against type and he managed it very well: we met up outside the Game a couple of times and we always treated this giant as a shorty.
All of us spent a great deal of time together and even wanted to form our own clan, but never got around to it. Now there was finally an opportunity to make those old dreams a reality. On several occasions, after getting out of the mine, I almost wrote to them, but each time something stopped me. Although this was no 'something'. I know exactly what it was: I didn't want to hang my problems on others. Even if I wrote to them that everything was fine, I would have had to tell them about everything that had happened. What was the sense of burdening them with such boring and unnecessary information as my imprisonment?
After these guys, the list of my good acquaintances had run out. Now only Eric, Clutzer and Leite remained. I had known these three for only two weeks, but in that time they had shown themselves to be real men so I immediately wrote a letter to each of them, proposing that we should meet up tomorrow morning at the Jolly Gnoom tavern. The blacklist kicked into action only at the end of tomorrow, so I had a little bit of time on my hands. I think that's it. Although … no!
There was one more outstanding debt that simply had to be settled. I opened the map of Kartoss that I got from the leader of the Dark Goblin mining incursion. It contained 20% of the old Kartoss territories. I wondered whether the map remained current or became seriously outdated after the game update. A good question to which I would have loved to know the answer. But this wasn't that important right now. When he sent me that small mountain of Jewelcraft recipes, Evolett handed me a truly massive gift. I had to give him a corresponding reply. I highlighted several areas of the map close to the capital, made a copy of these and sent it to the leader of the Dark Legion clan under the heading 'A favor returned'. I may have only shared half of my 20% with him, but I thought this was sufficient not to feel indebted for the rest of my life. The Greed Toad prevented me from sending the entire map, having risen up in arms in defense of its interests.
Now I really was done. I've sent out all the warnings, meeting requests and thanks. I could now proceed to pat myself on the back. Although, on reflection, there was one more thing I needed to take care of: Anastaria. The thought of my Scaling Items was bothering me – what if they get forgotten? Despite there being an agreement in place, unbreakable as it was, I'd still rather play it safe and refresh the memory of the party involved.
"Speaking!" Anastaria's divine voice filled my personal Bank room.
"Anastaria, this is Mahan! Have you already been transported?"
"No, we had to port ourselves. To what do I owe the honor? I'm beginning to fear calls from you," judging by the girl's cheerful voice, she was laughing, "You either chuck me into some backwater shrubbery or turn up demanding to steer a raid. What did you find this time?"
"No, I'm calling you about a totally mercantile matter right now. When can I get the Thricinian items that Phoenix promised me? You see, Evolett just declared open season on me, so it would be good to get them now and not in three weeks' time."
"Not right now – I'm not in Anhurs. Let's meet in two or three hours. It will be just gone midnight and there will be fewer people around – you could barely squeeze through the crowds stomping through the city right now. Let's meet on the central square, the Thricinian place is located nearby. That work for you?"
"All right, I'll see you in a couple of hours. I am already on the square, just dial me as soon as you're here and I'll come right away. I'll have a look around the shops in the meantime."
"Good, catch you later then," Anastaria disconnected, but I was wary of her good mood. She was suddenly very calm and approachable. ... Something wasn't right here. I would have to be very careful during our meeting and keep my tongue in check.
I was about to leave, but then saw that I had just received another letter. Strange – everyone seems to be writing to me these days. I opened the folder and looked at the author. It was Evolett.
'Mahan, we urgently need to meet. In 10 minutes in the Golden Horseshoe tavern, it's on the central square in Anhurs. I've reserved a table. Evolett.'
* * *
"I'm looking for a decent clan for transfer to Kartoss!"
"Those headed for Kartoss – join us! It would be easier in a clan!"
"Selling 20 Black Fox pelts! 10 gold each!"
The last message stuck out of the general flow of messages like a sore thumb: Anhurs had descended into the chaos of people preparing to move to the Nameless City and I cringed as if beset by toothache. How could I forget that aside from the advantages of being a free citizen, there were also the downsides, such as general city chat? Although Farstead also came with various messages from players, they didn't form such an endless din that was now stressing out my ears. Until you fix the general chat settings, filtering out the unwanted channels, you end up hearing and reading everything on offer from players across Anhurs. Obvious trolling and flooding were forbidden, with the Imitators keeping a close eye on this, but even just the shouts searching for groups and seeking sale or exchange of goods combined into an endless clamor. When I was walking to the Bank I didn't take any notice of this, but now the players were really letting rip: Kartoss beckoned for many.
I quickly went to the settings and added a filter, which sorted types of messages into groups, then breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the tavern. On the outside, with its grey walls, dingy doors and dirty windows, the Golden Horseshoe didn’t stand out in any way, but that didn't stop it being the most expensive tavern in the capital, and therefore the whole of Malabar. This was the place where Barliona's elite would head to celebrate the successful completion of a mission or a raid. Phoenix is thought to have started this tradition by holding a great party there after it won its first prize for completing a Dungeon. Only players who specialized in Cooking could be chefs in the Golden Horseshoe and they were paid a handsome salary for their work. Each year this elite tavern held contests for the best chef in Malabar, offering a job to the winner, and the competition for this position could be stiffer than for gaining the 'Best Clan' title. Just the names of the dishes here were quite taxing on the brain as you struggled to imagine something like: 'Grilled flying Kamarton with slices of Devilsaur served under rwondian rosemary sauce', 'Sautéed Crocolisk in Foxrabbit skin'. ... The dishes’ names certainly created an impression.
I opened a squeaky door, noting that at least in this regard the developers didn't have to overdo it, and found myself in a fairytale.
Firstly, I immediately found myself in a tuxedo. The system determined that I had a right to enter the building and dressed me in what suited the status of the establishment. The tux was an ordinary illusion, not affecting the stats of my gear in any way, but it still felt very strange. You had to know how to wear a tuxedo – otherwise it would end up looking like it was stuck on a mannequin. A couple of steps later I realized that it was a skill I completely lacked. Secondly, the inner décor of the establishment presented a stark contrast to its external look. There was gold, crystal, sparkle and, for some reason, red satin – that pretty much summed up the dazzling sight that met me. Everything was so rich and expensive that I couldn't help feeling totally out of place here. With my paltry 60-and-a-bit thousand gold, I had no business being here. It would've only bought me the entrance fee and a couple of appetizers. Drinks were out of the question.
"Please, you're expected," one of the waiters distracted me from close examinati
on of a statue depicting a battle of an Orc and a Dinosaur. I was being addressed by a player – that was the way things were done in the Golden Horseshoe.
"Well, hello once again, you walking surprise," Evolett greeted me cheerfully from a sumptuous armchair. An identical tuxedo to the one I was wearing looked so natural on him that I felt embarrassed by my own stiffness. A snow-white napkin – as if any spills or crumbs were even possible in Barliona – was lying on his knees. The table occupied by the leader of Dark Legion was laid out for two people and the selection of silverware provided was pushing the boundaries of reason: five spoons and six forks. What was this? Did someone want to humiliate me and show up my lack of proper table etiquette? In your dreams! Clouter, I should find you and definitely make you another dog figurine, or even two. Even though I didn't really have much practice in applying my posh table manners, the lad had drilled them into me so well that I was quite sure of myself. So, my good sir, two can play this game. Especially if I keep in mind that I've been given a chance to enjoy top-notch exotic food, at someone else's expense, no less. I had no intention of paying. So where's the menu and what does their drinks assortment look like?
"Hmm." Evolett grinned when I used the salad fork in the right place and sent off the waiter to get another one for the fish. "You continue to surprise me. I'll be honest with you, I expected you to stare at the cutlery in complete bewilderment and make silly mistakes, but it looks like I could learn a thing or two from you instead. Where did you learn all this?"
"Everyone has their secrets," I said meaningfully, finishing the contents of my glass. It had to be said that the food at the Golden Horseshoe completely justified coming here: I was currently sporting all kinds of buffs: +20% Experience for 4 hours, increase of all stats by 10% and the ambrosial drink with a faint greenish glow increased my Energy to 200 points. It would only last 3 hours, but the taste that I was experiencing was out of this world.
Speaking of the taste, despite the fact that the majority of the players in Barliona didn't experience any sensations, the sensory filters were turned off in the taverns. Giving a player, who might be on a strict diet in real life, a chance to enjoy a very delicious cake without a worry about the millions of calories ... This was a very effective marketing move on behalf of the corporation. There weren't all that many places where the sensory filters were turned off: Taverns, Dating Houses, Arenas and, as it turned out, certain quests, such as 'Saving Grey Death'. The rest of the time players didn't have to think about feeling anything inside the game.
"Since we've already begun the conversation, allow me to tell you why I sent you this urgent invitation," Evolett took a break from his food, "the answer is simple: the map. I received your present, looked at it and saw that I absolutely had to have the full version."
"The full version?" I decided to feign utter surprise, playing at being totally clueless about what he meant. At the same time I was trying to figure out how the leader of the Dark Legion clan could have found out about the map. The goblin prisoner? Unlikely. Perhaps the Herald let it slip? Quite possible, but then ...
"Yes, the full one" smiled Evolett, as if listening in on my internal monologue. "It looks like you're still a beginner Cartographer if you don't know that each copy created contains the description of which part of the original has been provided. You've sent me 50% of the map and I found it quite fascinating. So much so, in fact, that I am prepared to discuss the matter of acquiring the second half."
I took a break from the food, opened the map and prepared a copy of a small part of it. I looked at the properties of the copy and cursed through my teeth – it was true, not only did it bear the record of the author, but also the source from which the copy was made. Moreover, everything was editable and if I had wanted to conceal the information all I had to do was delete it. If I had only known ...
"I see you're not taking the old man at his word." I was once again greeted by Evolett's smile: he was clearly enjoying all of this. He leant back into his armchair and was in such good spirits that I immediately wanted to do something bad and unpleasant to him to wipe that smirk off his face, even for a minute. I could just take this fork and ... hmm ... What's happening to me? I somehow never noticed such bloodthirsty tendencies in myself before. Something wasn't right! After looking through all my buffs and debuffs I found the reason: Berserker, lasting 10 minutes. Bugger it! Looks like one of the dishes that I ordered caused this effect. As soon as the buffs started to land on me in droves I stopped keeping track of them, clearly a mistake. I copied Evolett's pose and tried to control the upsurge of adrenaline. The capsule did its job well – right now I felt like I could turn the whole world upside-down, run a marathon, tear Hellfire apart with my bare hands or punch Geranika's face in. Yup! The main thing now was not to lose it and not to allow myself to express any emotions. In my case attacking another player would mean returning to the mines, and was to be avoided at all costs. Unlike buffs, which could be cancelled at will, there was no such easy option for debuffs. I lost all interest in Evolett, in the food and the surrounding world and turned into a statue. I'm a lump of rock, which sees and feels nothing. I'm a windmill, through which the wind blows without toppling it. I'm ...
"Mahan, please drink this." I came to myself as a waiter shook me by the shoulder and handed me a glass containing a liquid of some kind. There was still seven minutes of the Berserker left, so it took some effort to suppress my desire to punch the waiter in the face and instead focus on what he was saying. "Please drink this. It will remove the debuff."
With some difficulty and shaking hands I poured the liquid down my throat. It burned, but my head cleared straight away; the overwhelming impulse to act left me and I could look around with normal eyes. Hmm. Where did all these people come from? There were two waiters, standing in a line, a plump dwarf, wringing a chef's hat in his hands, an elven lady in a luxurious dress and a Herald. That was all, aside from Evolett who was warily examining my face.
"Mahan, how are you feeling?" The tension was broken by the Herald's question. The crowd had exploded: the waiters were shouting threats at the chef, the lady at the waiters, Evolett at the lady and only the dwarf stood silent and downcast, his eyes on the ground.
"What exactly happened here?" I asked the Herald in return "Why did I end up with the Berserker debuff?"
"A chain of coincidences," came the chef's whisper through the surrounding din. "Who would have thought that mixing elysks and karpatosses, while washing them down with swanna and snacking on shurpilus, could result in a Berserker? This is pure Alchemy and I'm no expert in that. No-one before you has ever ordered such an original collection of dishes, so totally unsuitable to each other ..."
Yeah, that's me all right! Fear the Shaman who has landed a freebie.
"Mahan, could I have a moment of your time?" said the Herald in an official tone. Everyone around me immediately fell silent. No-one wanted to interrupt a Herald. "Please sign Form 12.4a to submit an official complaint about a premeditated attempt to make you cause damage to bystanders and send you back to the mines." At this news the lady in the dress gave a subdued shriek and went pale. I didn't even know that a player's avatar could lose color, something to remember. "This complaint will be examined in the course of an hour. The minimal punishment for this offence stipulated by the law on Prisoners of the Malabar Empire in Barliona (and consequently the real world) amounts to a year-long confinement in the mines. The punishment will be applied to the executive manager of the Golden Horseshoe tavern …" At this the elven lady turned a shade whiter, which previously seemed impossible "… and to the chef who cooked these dishes. The form has already been filled out; all you have to do is add your signature."
A text with 'Signature' button appeared before my eyes. The dwarf didn’t lift his head and everyone else froze expecting my decision.
"Why am I not on this list?" I asked the Herald after reading the statement. "I was the one that chose the dishes – no-one was exactly force-feeding me here.
This means that I'm as much to blame as these two." I nodded towards the chef and the manager.
"According to the rules of sensory establishments," volunteered Evolett, "the checking of the dishes and their combinations is the responsibility of said establishment. Even a crazy combination like the one you ordered should've been checked for compatibility and any eventual negative results. Those who fail to follow procedure will be punished. From what I can remember, this is the ninth time this sort of thing has happened, am I right?" He looked questioningly at the pale-faced elven manager. The latter was only capable of giving a weak nod and swallowing. "The Golden Horseshoe values its clients too much to permit itself such errors."
I read over the statement once again, looked at the dwarf, the elf, Evolett and the Herald, found the small 'Refuse' button and, with a swift move of my virtual hand, pressed it without hesitation.
"Please explain your choice," asked the Herald, his words devoid of any emotion. Even the usual ringing in his voice seemed subdued.
"I've done time at the mines and I know what it's like. You have to be a complete bastard to wish ill towards someone who has tried to achieve perfection with his creation. I don't need this."
"Your choice had been made." There was a clap of the portal and the Herald sped away to his other errands.
"You're fired," the manager, who had now come to herself, hissed to the chef "I want you out of my sight and out of the tavern this very second!"
"Will you let us eat and to talk in peace already?" Evolett got their attention by leaning over the table and banging a knife on a glass. "Please sort your problems out after my meeting."
The Secret of the Dark Forest ( (The Way of the Shaman: Book #3) Page 5
