by Akella, G.
The Long Road to Karn
Prologue
"Reporting, dar! Twenty three disavowed and a head priest," Elnar opened his visor as he rode up, pulled the glove off his right hand, and wiped the sweat off his brow. Then he pointed toward a three-story temple, out of which figures in muddy-gray robes were being unceremoniously dragged by his legionnaires.
The temple of Helcas—a rectangular structure of gray stone whose facade came out to Suonu's main square—looked every bit as drab as all the other buildings standing along the perimeter. Four of the portico's eight columns had collapsed, leaving a single head and part of an arm on the pedimental bas-relief, which otherwise looked rather similar to the one decorating the traders' guild in Nittal. With cracked walls, yawning windows and debris of statues demolished by the disavowed in front of the entrance, it made for a lugubrious sight.
I gave a wave of the hand to Gorm, signaling for him to stop the raid. Dismounting the boar, I tossed the reins to one of the legionnaires shadowing me, and turned to address my colonel.
"Any casualties?"
"No casualties," leaving the saddle as well, Elnar followed me toward the captives, leading his bay steed by the reins. "The bastards holed up in the temple and tried to make a stand," James continued. "But Reece and his team," he nodded toward the fountain, where the legion's mage squad was situated, "lit a fire under their asses right quick. I don't think we'd have taken anyone alive if not for Vaessa. We were following your orders not to take any risks."
"What did Vaessa do?"
"You know her tricks..." Elnar grunted. "A cloud of gray mist that seeped right through the door, paralyzing everyone in the span of minutes. There was little left for me to do but give the order to drag the swine out into the square."
"Just try it! One apple! It's delicious!" A voice sounded behind me. I turned around, beholding the exact scene I'd expected to see, and still couldn't hold back a chuckle.
The legionnaire I'd entrusted Gloom to was holding two giant apples—one in each hand—and trying to feed them to the razorback. To little effect thus far. And it wasn't like the scoundrel didn't like apples—he was simply tormenting the poor soldier for kicks, as it were. Unless the handler's name was Salta, Reena, Hagedia or Tilly, his spoiled two-ton carcass couldn't be bothered doing anything or moving anywhere without some kind of bribe. And those four presently weren't anywhere in sight, which opened up just one possible sequence of events: Gloom would stand there a while, putting on airs while feasting on a dozen or so apples, then allow himself to be led after his master as though he were doing the handler a huge favor. Truth be told, I would often purposely leave the saddle earlier than necessary to let the razorback have his fun. It was becoming a custom of sorts. The bodyguards assigned to me by Gorm were now carrying a whole assortment of fruits in their bags: the men genuinely adored Gloom and his antics, and I was all the happier for it. The boar was downright venerated in the legion, and the shameless beast took full advantage of it.
The disavowed had gotten a proper beating indeed, their health bars varying between sickly yellow and critical red. Ripping off their hoods unceremoniously, James' getare were tying their hands behind their backs and forcing them to their knees, or simply leaving them prostrated on the pavement near the ramshackle gate of the city park, some thirty yards away from the defiled temple of the local god of commerce.
Humans and drow—their faces pale, their eyes burning with hatred that was almost palpable. Some were still unconscious. Eight among them were women—whoever it was that had said that a woman was like a rose had obviously never met these bitches.
"Where's Salta with the others?" I asked Elnar, who was walking behind me.
"Her century, Reena's healers and a half-century of getare went to the southern part of town with Elias," James reported. "To check on the integrity of the bridge across Ithele. They'll be back right after."
"Got it," I nodded to Vaessa as she approached, stopping and surveying the main square once more while waiting for the magus.
We had arrived in Suonu shortly after sunrise. Rounding the city quarries, the legion meandered in march formation up the grass-covered slope, past rusty heaps of obscure metal constructs, whereupon the dreary sight of the city ravaged by Erisjat came into full view, instantly evoking memories of photographs I'd seen online of the Ukrainian city of Pripyat after the Chernobyl tragedy from the last century. But no, not even those old photographs could match the despair I felt upon setting my eyes on Suonu. Perhaps it was because Pripyat had been evacuated whereas Suonu's citizens had perished—either during the raid or afterwards on the altar of the Twice Cursed God. Two hundred and eighty years had passed since the city's destruction. The decrepit houses were steeped in silence, the breach in the wall through which the Ancient Beast had entered the city still gaping darkly. Grass and shrubbery carpeted the streets, massaged by the wind that whistled and howled through yawning windows and dilapidated chimneys. The grand river abutting the dead city from the south carried its bountiful waters westward. Ithele cared nothing for what transpired on its shores, no less immune to the elder demons' curses than the forest adjoining the city walls. Nothing remained of Suonu but gloom and desolation...
"Any crossing?" I asked, looking at Gorm.
"There used to be a bridge in the city's southern section," said the tifling, not taking his eyes off the breached wall. "But you can't see it from here."
The satrap's face was grim—even he was apparently affected by the sight of the city devastated by bipeds and time.
"Then why had Korg led an assault from this side?"
"Dar, the bridge may have been made of stone, but Suonu was home to at least a dozen earth mages at the time of the attack—they would have reduced it to dust within minutes."
"Do you think it still stands?"
I wasn't enthused by the prospect of marching my army to the nearest ford, located almost a full day's travel east of here.
"I'm sure of it," the satrap nodded. "Bridges don't bother the undead none."
"Elnar," I said, pointing in Suonu's direction. "Take three standard half-legions down the three main roads. Comb through the city. The satrapy has been cleansed of the undead, but keep your guard up just the same. And check if the bridge across Ithele is intact."
The tifling nodded silently, turned his horse around, and started toward the main host.
"James!"
"Yes, dar?" the colonel pulled on the reins, looking back at me.
"There must still be disavowed in the city. I forbid you to take needless risks, but if you do manage to take some of them alive..."
"It shall be done," he gave another nod, and was off to pass the orders on to his officers.
"What do you want with them?" asked Gorm as the tifling was galloping away.
"I have a few questions for them," I said, turning toward Suonu once again, but instead of the city all I could see were the faces of demons slain by the undead. The smiling Olta, the bashful Osk, the affable Hurd... Barely keeping down the rage surging from the depths of my consciousness, I took several deep breaths and forced myself to calm down. "And I'm very interested in getting the answers," I replied to the tifling with a dark smirk.
A strange expression flickered across Gorm's face as he drew a warding-off sign involuntarily.
"Dar," he exhaled, struggling to keep hold of his horse. "You know, you probably shouldn't smile all that often. Especially when thinking about unpleasant things."
"I'm sorry, I haven't yet mastered control over my emotions," I sighed, gazing up at the clouds crawling overhead.
If you stared at them long enough, you could almost forg
et everything that had happened. As though we weren't at war, and all of my people were still alive... I could hear Elnar barking orders behind us as the first getare centuries moved out toward the city, leather screeching and armor rattling. No, this wasn't introspection—I wanted nothing to do with brooding or navel-gazing. Mine was a simple goal—vengeance. A swift, terrible vengeance as far as my reach would extend—and I would do my very best to ensure it extended far and wide.
"Krian, dar!" Vaessa's voice pulled me out of my ruminations. "There," she pointed at the temple, "stands the altar that's been subjugated to Vill. You can destroy it yourself, but..."
I chuckled and shook my head. Vaessa looked as exquisite as ever—that is, if you judged her appearance by vampire comic standards. Even the four equipment pieces from her mistress' set—gloves, armlets, sash and beret turned stylishly sideways—she had managed to integrate into her overall outfit so flawlessly that I couldn't help suspecting she had asked Celphata to design the set for her personally. Just as at our first meeting, she wore black knee-high boots and tight leather pants that clung most alluringly to her lean legs. Peeking out from under her leather top were dazzlingly white cuffs, contrasting starkly with a cloak that was as black as midnight. The outfit was capped off with a silver embroidery with a pattern that seemed to stream seamlessly from one article to another. She wore her hair in a thick braid with the familiar silver ribbon woven in. No, even the word "exquisite" didn't quite do her justice.
"What are you grinning at?" She squinted at me suspiciously.
There was a double snort behind me courtesy of Elnar and Gorm, the latter having ridden up soundlessly.
"You got a tan," I said, ignoring her question. "Looks good on you."
"Is that a clumsy compliment on your part or a proposal to wait another century or two?" the necromancer's daughter arched her brow, sizing me down appraisingly.
"Auntie! I wanted to ask you about that spell..." having teleported here from the fountain, Reece rounded his eyes, as if just now noticing me, covered his mouth with his hand and mumbled. "Pardon me, dar, for butting into your conversation—I'm sure it was of the utmost importance."
Unsurprisingly, I saw not a hint of remorse on his face.
"Scram!" Vaessa snapped at him. "The dar is about to propose, so you can to go hell with your spells! And I told you to stop calling me auntie!" the priestess of death sighed exasperatingly, then shifted her gaze to me. "Figures the brat would ruin such a romantic moment."
"No doubt," I echoed, barely holding back laughter. "Now, about the altar—you should be able to destroy it, right? I stand to benefit from it either way, but if you happen to personally wreck the altar of a deity hostile to your Mistress, that should make her pleased with you."
"You're very sweet, dar," the necromancer's daughter's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I do hope to later resume the conversation from which we were so rudely interrupted?"
Women... For some, sheer bliss comes in the form of new lipstick and their man's attention; for others, it's a new handbag, a shopping trip and a getaway to some secluded beach. And in this particular case... My lips curled in an involuntary smile, and I gave Vaessa a wink.
"What do we do with them?" she gestured at the captives. "You've asked to take at least some of them alive. Good thing I got here in time—a few minutes more with our mages..." She nodded toward a suddenly contemplative Reece. "There are about thirty corpses in the temple as it is."
"Hold on," producing the symbol of the city, looted off Korg's body, I raised my hand and squeezed it in my fist.
Congratulations! Your party has successfully managed to capture the settlement of Suonu! [Demon Grounds, Craedia Princedom, Suonu Satrapy] [City. Category 7].
Due to the continental event The Cursed Princedom, currently taking place in the Craedia Princedom, it is impossible to take the settlement of Suonu under your control until the Craedia Citadel, the primary stronghold of the Craedia Princedom, is captured. Once you capture the Craedia Citadel, the settlement of Suonu will be added to your conquests automatically.
Your party has received a bonus of 15,000 gold for capturing the settlement.
The morale of your party has risen by 3 points. Your party's current morale is +44 (a 44% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).
The message mentioned nothing about any attack on the city—evidently, the dead general had indeed taken all of the undead in the satrapy to Xantarra. Except for these bastards, of course. I felt a cold fury surging inside me when my eyes fell on the disavowed, and focused on my breathing to keep calm.
"Why didn't these scum go to Xantarra?" I asked the magus, nodding toward the captives.
Vaessa grew a bit pale, but didn't avert her eyes.
"They're bound to the altar of their god, dar," she said. "Ahriman's curse keeps them within a certain distance of the temple, while their master is prevented from coming here for the same reason. But they could still do plenty of damage without leaving the city limits."
So, Ahriman had locked the princedom for Vill alone? Other gods felt quite comfortable here, after all. Could that be connected to the fact that it was the disavowed who had started all that mess two hundred and eighty years ago? And what had they been eating here? Had they hunted? Then again, every city typically had a stock of spoil-proof provisions in the event of a siege, and Suonu was once the home of nearly seventy thousand sentient beings... What the hell am I thinking? This realm is only several months old! Even if RP-17 had presented it in the latest patch as having existed over three thousand years, long before any players were even aware of it. Speaking of which...
"Reece," I addressed the mage. "Find our quartermasters, and search the local treasury."
"Aye aye, commander," nodded the mage, and started toward the legionnaires filling up the square.
As he started walking, he gave a subtle wave of the hand, which prompted a petite black-haired girl to immediately hop off the lip of the fountain and follow him. Was our resident Dar Tagnan actually going steady with someone? Curious... I sniffed as I headed toward the captured disavowed.
"Bring that one to me!" I pointed at the one that appeared to be the leader among them.
At level 210, he had one hundred and ten thousand HP left out of one million. Not really a mini boss, but no longer a typical NPC. Curious indeed. At once two legionnaires appeared on either side of him—from the lot that had joined me back in Gilthor—yanked the prisoner to his feet and dragged him to me.
With a square chin, high cheekbones, straight forehead and a hawkish nose, G'Ryot had the appearance of a strong-willed individual. His gray robe, singed along the edges and sporting four large burn holes, was tied at the waist with a wide sash and covered in silvery runes that resembled Chinese hieroglyphics. Take away the thin lips and this dude could easily get cast as your prototypical action hero. Despite being restrained and missing nearly ninety percent of his life, G'Ryot was firm on his feet, his head held high as he squinted at me with scorn. I gestured to the legionnaires to leave us; they nodded and walked away, leaving me alone with the prisoner.
"So, it was you who had deployed the army to Xantarra?" I asked in a calm voice, struggling but succeeding in holding back my rage.
"Dark One," the prisoner spat on the pavement, and grinned. "So you've survived, after all... Master warned us about your arrival. But you got lucky. First, that two-faced bitch killed X'Tahr who was supposed to deliver you to him. Then you found these mongrels..." the necromancer looked around the square with loathing. "But don't rejoice just yet, demon—Craedia will never be yours. You and your horned dogs will rot here, in this Ahriman-cursed princedom."
"Go on," I urged him on. I was looking at a walking corpse, and his pontificating didn't bother me none. But what if he were to actually let something useful slip amid the empty threats?
The disavowed gave a hoarse laugh, and looked me defiantly in the eyes.
"I won't tell you anything, bastard," he hissed with
contempt. "You can torture me, but know that I will endure any torture—I am, after all, my master's servant. As for them," he motioned at the other captives, "they know nothing that would be of use to you."
A powerful kick of the boot toppled the prisoner onto the pavement, and before he knew what happened his larynx was punctured by the tip of my blade. A crit! The blood spurted out like a fountain, spattering on my boots.
"Sorry, guy, I never did read the Geneva Convention..."
The disavowed's body convulsed in death throes. He was still alive, but was no longer capable of speech. A black puddle of blood was quickly spreading out from underneath him. I heard Gorm grunt in approval behind me.
"Won't tell me anything, eh? Guess again!" I smiled, peering into his eyes, and began to slowly twist the blade.
The square was deathly silent—all you could hear was the whimpering of one of the female captives, and the groaning of the wind blowing through gaping windows. And this world... this world had just gotten a little bit cleaner. At least I badly wanted to believe that.
"Interrogate him," wiping my sword on the gray robe of the dead, I sheathed my sword and turned to Vaessa standing behind me. "Then raise him, lest the shithead accidentally reunites with his god."
Something soft shoved me into the shoulder blade, exhaled noisily and puffed with approval. I patted the boar's muzzle without turning around. Like a good shrink, Gloom had the gift of sensing my emotional state, and would occasionally embrace the role of a lightning rod.
Leaning over the body, the necromancer's daughter pressed her hand against the forehead, practically severed from the body.
As I'd gathered from my conversations with Vaessa, necromancers were capable of questioning the recently departed, as long as the subjects' minds hadn't been specifically protected from interrogation in life. Moreover, the set bonus for wearing four equipment pieces from her goddess' armor made it possible to circumvent even this protection, and the ring Celphata had gifted the magus through me extended the field to more than just fresh corpses. The souls of all the creatures raised by Vaessa were sent exclusively to her mistress' chambers, and Celphata would surely see to it that the disavowed was properly reincarnated. Meaning, the towheaded bastard would lose at least one of his cronies today—hardly a great triumph, but I was content even with such small victories.
