I carefully moved her leg off me, sat up and tried to stand. No such luck! As it turned out, I was significantly over-encumbered! After glancing at my inventory, I spent some time looking over the contents in astonishment, not believing my eyes. The whole bag was filled with long wet strands of shaggy green seaweed, as well as the clipped buds of exotic flowers. In my inventory, there was also a new barrel of beer, a silver wine goblet, a Demon Gardener skull fragment (based on the length of the teeth, the size of the gardener's mouth must have been around that of the prehistoric megalodon), a two-meter dinghy oar and the very same porcelain statuette of the dancing girl that Taisha had earlier attempted to steal.
Also, Amra, it seemed, had taken a serious debuff called "Hangover," which reduced Intelligence, Agility and the speed of any action by two times. Based on the timer, my troglodyte would be spending another nine hours and change hungover. By the way, I remembered, how had the drinking contest with the elder ended? I opened my menu and brought up my quest history. Well, well. Looks like I'd burned the candle at both ends!
Mission completed: The respect of the Demonologist
Experience received: 4000 Exp.
Darius and Darina will be returned to the Gray Pack
Optional condition fulfilled
+10 to relationship with members of Brotherhood of the Coast, +1 barrel of the dark dwarven beer King of the Depths
Mission completed: Silent assault
Experience received: 3200 Exp.
+10 to relationship with members of Brotherhood of the Coast, +1 to Trading skill
Mission completed: Bloodthirsty Demon Gardener
Experience received: 4000 Exp.
Stealth +1
Mission completed: Seaweed is also a plant
Experience received: 320 Exp.
+5 to relationship with members of Brotherhood of the Coast, Herbalism +1
I was especially intrigued by the strange mission on the demon gardener. I opened the description of that finished quest. I needed to clip ten buds from one of the wizard's bushes, evading an encounter with the bloodthirsty garden caretaker as I did. I looked in my bag once again. Based on the inventory slots filled with hundreds of bright petals, I hadn't limited myself to just ten buds. And based on the gardener’s jawbone, the owner of the garden and I had kicked the ghastly bloodthirsty demon caretaker to death so he wouldn't get in our way and stop us ripping out flowers.
I even found some lines in the logs about getting over ten thousand experience for killing the Demon Gardener and Amra reaching level thirty. Based on the logs, I had shot the demon from my blowgun for more than twenty minutes (increasing my exotic weapons skill by two in the process), not doing him particular harm, then the enemy had abruptly died for some reason. Either Valerianna Quickfoot or Max Sochnier had come to my aid, or the elder had simply grown bored with the lengthy game and undone his demon servant. My goblin vampire had sampled the blood of the demon immediately, and I was very much hoping that the big-eared troglodyte had at least done so out of view of others.
A short beep rang out again, similar to my normal alarm clock, but this time, I immediately recognized the sound as that of an incoming paid message. Yesterday, I'd managed to acquaint myself with some of the messages that came in and was entirely disappointed to find nothing useful in any of them. Half of them were offers to meet up in some pre-determined place in Boundless Realm to allow myself to be killed for a reward. The rest could be split into approximately three equal categories: invitations for Amra to join some entirely unknown clan, offers to meet in real life and "discuss mutually beneficial cooperation," or simply cursing with threats.
Joining a third-tier clan would do me nothing in terms of protection, it would just reveal the location of my Goblin Herbalist. Letting myself be killed or meeting with some unknown people in real life didn't sound too good either. So now I, also without particular interest, pressed down on the mail box icon, but gave an abrupt shudder when I saw something interesting: next to the mail symbol, there was a little flower shield, meaning the sender was from one of the top one hundred clans. I looked closer at the letter. The sender was a rock dwarf, a level two-hundred-fifty warrior named Headshots_For_All. The name seemed familiar to me, and I rummaged through my memory, recalling that my sister had once told me he was the main tank of the Keepers clan, who didn't even take a piss without ten support players.
"Amra,
you may not know me personally, but you probably have heard of our clan, the Keepers. We are one of the strongest clans on the Southern Continent and the largest in number. No, we are not offering to let you join our ranks, as you may have thought. We have very strict requirements in level and combat skills for our candidates, and your character has a long ways to go yet before meeting our selection criteria. That said, we can offer you something else that is sure to be of interest. You see, we have common enemies — Mariam Standing_Right_Behind_You [GOONS], along with the whole rest of her clan. In your clips, you've already done significant damage to that detestable lady's ego. In fact, you've done such a good job at it that, on an order from their leader, a large part of the Goons are planning to take part in the hunt against you. So, here's my offer to you: keep trying in each of your releases to bruise Mariam’s ego with your acrid comments. Ideally, this will lead to her removing the rest of her soldiers from her territory. The Keepers, then, will try to make sure the Goons simply have nothing to return to.
P.S. As leader of the Keepers clan I am authorized to promise you ten percent of all future loot taken from the castle on the Goons' territory."
Not bad, not bad. Such high-level clans didn't make idle promises, as it would have too detrimental an effect on their reputation. It was too bad, of course, that I was offered just a percentage of the value of the "loot," without considering the castle itself — in Boundless Realm, the value of even the smallest castle was one million game coins. Ooh-wee, how I'd like to get ten percent of that! But here, I shook myself for being overly ambitious. I was already going to keep teasing the Goons for free, so ten percent of the loot on top of that was just amazing!
In a great mood, I opened my mailbox to look at the message that had awoken me, as well as all the other unread ones. Would you look at that! The last letter was also marked with a shield for a top-100 clan. And what a clan it was! Legion of Steel! The clan with the most combat power on the whole Southern Continent!!!
"I don't think there's any need to introduce our clan, so I'll sidestep that and get straight to business. As you may know, the admins have already forbidden the Legion of Steel from participating in the mass hunt. And although it's not an official rule, it was entirely unambiguous. Of course, it is unfortunate, but our clan abides by the law, and we will not be breaking the rules set by the Boundless Realm administration. But no one forbid us from observing the developing events and sharing our observations with players that have caught our eye.
So then, Goblin Herbalist, don’t think you’ve made a clean getaway on that merchant galley. Sure, it was unexpected to the majority of your pursuers, but we'd already tracked your group from Stonetown to the sea coast. In the village of Ookaa, we found a group of fishermen players, who told us about a trade ship that regularly visited the village, Tipsy Gannet, and even remembered the main points the trader stopped at: the Island of the Wanton Widow, the Coast of the Striped WIldmen, and the port city of Vaant.
The Legion of Steel's analysts believe that, at present, you and your friends are located on the Island of the Wanton Widow. You can be sure that, if our clan managed find that out, then at least ten other strong clans have that information already as well. By midday at the very latest, fast-moving drekars and triremes will be paying the Island of the Wanton Widow a visit. And on the Coast of the Striped Wildmen, there will also be people waiting for the Tipsy Gannet. I hope you take this information into account.
P.S. If, in the future, you become interested in protection or reliable cover, in your next video clip, just say the ke
y word 'Steel' or mention the Legion of Steel in any context.
Alexander the Great3st. Human. Level-230 Priest of the Sun [LEGION]"
I felt as if a tub of cold water had been poured over me. Not a trace now remained of my once relaxed, and tranquil demeanor. After throwing everything I didn't need out of my inventory to get unencumbered, I went into the hallway and found myself nearly face to face with the first mate. He was standing stick straight and reported in a loud voice:
"Captain Amra, we bought everything you asked for on shore. Ten barrels of corned beef, groats, salt, flour, fish, vegetables and fruit. The whole crew got cutlasses, and another twenty bow and arrow sets with plenty of arrows. Also, a spyglass, and a tricorn hat with a feather for the captain, plenty of resin, screws, tools, five bags of saltpeter and wax. The tavern on the island had just one barrel of rum. We bought it and rolled it into the hold. There wasn't enough coins for everything, but the trader agreed to accept notes from the Underground Bank of Thorin the Ninth at half their value."
What? In horror, I checked my character's wallet and discovered that there really were no more coins. Not even one. And at that, in the logs, I found a record saying that at four seventeen AM, I gave Ziabash Hardy nearly two thousand silver coins. Plus, I added another ten thousand in underground bank notes. A while after that, five minutes later, I gave max Sochnier notes for... here I nearly had a stroke... one hundred thousand!!!
My eyes glazed over. My big-eared character stumbled and could barely stay on his feet. The first mate had a slightly inaccurate assessment of the reason for my stumbling and shouted to someone down the hallway:
"Bring the captain some brine!"
"Don't scream like that..." my head really was splitting. The debuff worked in a very realistic manner. "Cutlasses I understand. And the food too. But remind me, why did we need so much wax?"
Ziabash Hardy shrugged his broad shoulders ambiguously:
"It's not for me to know, captain! But I remember you saying something about Alchemy and flaming projectiles for our new catapults."
Greek fire? An incendiary mixture of tar, saltpeter and wax, used back in Ancient Greece to destroy enemy ships, and which could not be extinguished with water? Had I really decided to do such a thing last night in a drunken fit? Well I'll be... This might actually work!
"Did you buy clay pots to hold the fire in?" I asked, starting to worry.
"Yes sir! Three hundred of them, just as you ordered, captain! We bought all the local potter’s supplies!"
At that moment, a human boy ran up and extended me a bucket of brine. I thanked him, drank half of it, then asked in a more kindhearted mood:
"You're that kid... what's your name, dang it... Johnny. Yeah, that's right! Johnny the lookout from Tipsy Gannet! What are you doing on my pirate bireme?"
The first mate answered for the boy:
"Captain, last night, when you offered the liberated oarsmen from the trade galley the chance to become pirates, the lookout boy asked to join us. None of the other members of the galley crew wanted to. Of the oarsmen slaves, twenty came over to White Shark. A dozen orcs, six humans, a couple goblins and one dwarf."
"A dwarf sailor?! A thousand dead squid! I have to see that!" I burst out, then started laughing. "That's like a troll ballerina or a mermaid merchant riding a camel!"
"That's exactly what you said last night, captain," Ziabash Hardy informed me, smiling with his tusked mouth. "You also, to be honest, said something about a man-eating warg embroidering a cross. But the dwarf answered that he's a good mechanic and knows how to repair anything you might come across. Also, he has fairly good skill working with military machinery like ballistae and catapults, so you agreed to accept the dwarf into our crew, captain."
Good then. A mechanic-repair-man really would make a valuable crew member. In that regard, I was in complete agreement with my past self. Although, all that — new soldiers, provisions and ammunition — was of secondary importance now. What mattered most was the fact that our enemies now knew where we were docked. The chance that my crew could withstand the expected assault by high-level players was zero, with or without cutlasses. That was why we absolutely had to leave the bay of the Island of the Wanton Widow no matter the cost!
The pickle brine took effect — although the Hangover debuff time was not removed, the negative effects to Intelligence, Agility and movement speed were reduced by half. Now walking entirely confidently on the lurching floor, accompanied by the first mate, I went up onto the upper deck. The weather was as bad as it comes — it was downpouring with a very strong wind, making the White Shark lean to the port side. The anchor chains were creaking in strain. And this was all happening here, in a safe harbor beyond the breakwater! Calling what was happening at sea anything other than "complete and utter shit," would be hard. Huge breakers slammed into the seaside cliffs with a deafening roar. The water was foaming and misting, as if we were in a gigantic hellish cauldron.
"What do you think, Ziabash, will we be able to overcome this madness and get out to open waters?" I asked the first mate.
He spent a long time gazing into the ghastly howling of the tempest at the exit from the bay, after which he asked tentatively:
"Captain, are you seriously asking me that? The chance of the boat overturning, or being broken on the cliffs is nine out of ten! Finding the safe passage is hard enough as it is, but in weather like this, the only way to make it out is with the help of the gods!"
I looked the huge orc from top to bottom several times, then stated quietly:
"Drekars of undying are coming here to the Island of the Wanton Widow. They'll be here by midday and destroy all pirates they can find, whether in the bay or on the shore."
The orc took another look at the fervent water and stroked his bald head in contemplation:
"We will have to completely remove the sail, of course. We'll have to go fast, using all our oar-power until we get to that cliff... then we'll have to turn hard to the right... then go backward and catch a wave... then make it through the breakers in the gauntlet... Captain, if we can do this, it will be a sure sign the gods are on our side!"
Mission received: It's not the Gods, who Fire the Pots
Mission class: Rare, group, time-limited
Description: Take the bireme out of the bay to open sea within one hour
Reward: 8000 Exp., +10 to relationship with members of Brotherhood of the Coast, Foreman skill +1
"Ziabash, order the crew to prepare. Three strong oarsmen on each oar, three watching out on the nose, five port and five starboard. You'll be steering. Order a barrel of rum brought out of the hold and placed on the oar-deck. As soon as we raise anchor, have that barrel opened, and have the shaman stand next to it with a ladle. Then, let Ghuu personally give out the medicine to calm both the nerves and noses with his blessing."
Foreman Skill increased to level 17!
I was hoping for help from the gods of Boundless Realm, but I was more counting on my sister's Water Magic, which could calm the waves for some time. But, unfortunately, Valerianna Quickfoot was offline, so I had to leave the game and call Val on my cellphone. Valeria answered, but it took her some time.
"Tim, what the hell is wrong with you?! I was forced to go messing around with you all night, entertaining the master of the island and getting him drunk. I only got to sleep two hours ago! Let me rest!"
I apologized to my sister for waking her, but still painted her the worrying picture I had before me. Val snarled like an animal, then snapped through her teeth:
"Alright, I'll log into Boundless Realm and help you with my magic. But then I'll need something from you. A half hour ago, I got a call from an employee of the Department of Human Services. She said that I've been missing the legally mandated conferences and medical checkups for two years now, and that my personal record is missing school information."
"Wait up Val, what do they mean there's no school information? Officially, youattend distance learning. Not so very l
ong ago, you took the grade seven exams and passed with honors. You and I also sat and studied geometry together. It even made us miss a few raids in Kingdoms of Sword and Magic!"
"I don't know, Tim. She said they didn't have the info. And that I would have to update my details, otherwise they might take away my disability card, and that would be a huge problem. They want to see me in their office today at three thirty. Tim, please, come with me. You know I get all agitated when I talk to strangers!"
Of course, I promised my sister that I'd go with her for moral support. Although it all looked somewhat strange — both the lack of important documents in my sister's personal record, and also the never-before-mentioned conferences and medical checkups for the disabled to confirm their status. It was hardly likely that these bureaucrats thought a disabled girl could suddenly grow a new pair of legs, right?! We had never hidden from the organs of social welfare and, if their employees had not once found the time to visit our place in the criminal outskirts of the metropolis, that was their problem!
Before entering the game, I tried to call Max Sochnier a few times. There was a fully founded risk that the Naiad Trader was not on the White Shark, but on his galley or on shore. But my French friend wasn't picking up for some reason, so I had to simply leave him a message asking him to call me back, and close the cover of the virtual reality capsule. I didn't try calling Leon, as I was absolutely sure that the Ogre Fortifier and his flame were on my ship and could log back in later.
So then, the screen lit up, although it wasn't very bright out. The thick black rainclouds made day seem like night. Everything was ready for our mad dash through the raging sea. The sailors began blustering, steeling their courage with exclamations. The oarsmen, based on that, had already begun taking the "medicine," and were calling out the gods of the sea with scornful words. The shaman Ghuu Ghel All-Knowing, it seemed very likely, had personally tested the quality of the rum, as he was shouting loudest of all and singing out indecent songs, which was a bit strange for the normally respectable shaman.
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