“Our informant turned out to be a double agent,” Stacey smirked sadly. “They were leading us around by our nose, like a bunch of lambs, slowly leaking the info we were looking for. The Celestial fleet will land on our continent tomorrow evening and they’re bringing an obelisk.”
“One thing on top of another! What’d you decide?” I was certain that Phoenix would have decided on a plan of action by now.
“Remember our meeting with my father this morning? He was checking to see how well you understood the situation. He wanted to see whether you’d understand that there are ‘specially trained’ people whose job it is to develop strategy or whether you’d begin to spout off one idea after another. This morning, my dad was disappointed in you, yet our analysts now believe that the option of attacking the obelisk transport in your Dragon form is the only possible way to stop the invasion. And you managed to come up with it in mere seconds, on the fly…You don’t have any desire to study statistics and data processing by any chance?”
“Thanks, maybe later. So in other words, we need to attack the Celestial fleet tomorrow? Will it be you and I or will Plinto join us?”
“We need someone who can destroy the obelisk. Plinto is the only one who could do this quickly and completely. Dan, tell me, what was the kiss with your student all about?”
How in the…?! I understand very well that poker is not my thing, since I blushed from head to toe. No one’s ever caught me so handily before.
“A spontaneous friendly kiss as a sign of gratitude for inviting her to the clan and helping her become a Dragon,” I blurted out the first think that popped into my head.
“Can I see the video? You were recording, weren’t you?”
Everything turned upside down inside of me. Stacey was asking the questions so calmly that I got scared. Lying would be useless, as would be wheeling and dealing, I felt in my heart of hearts that it would only make things worse. I was desperately trying to remember how long the kiss had lasted and where my hands had been, yet I managed to reply in a relatively calm voice:
“Yes, of course. I’ll bring it up on the screen right now.”
Both of our capsules were connected to our home AV system — such was the symbiosis of a powerful computer, a smart home, a multimedia center and god knows what else, all intended for the single purpose of extracting as much money as possible from the consumer. Stacey had set up the capsules so that the footage from Barliona was immediately recorded by the computer — to make it easier to analyze it, according to her. Today’s kiss was there too.
“Didn’t I tell you — a simply formality!” I said, sensing all the pressure leave me. Without expecting it, I had turned into an athlete before the final burst — every muscle was tensed to its maximum and then some. My kiss with Fleita-Draco had lasted only eight seconds, I counted, and my hands remained hanging at my sides, while my generally shocked appearance only suggested one thing — I had no idea what was going on.
“Mmm…” Anastaria hummed significantly. “A friendly kiss, you say?”
“Of course!” I reassured her and trying to change the subject, asked: “Why don’t you tell me what you dug up about the guy with the treasure map?”
“Basically nothing. Hunter Sabantul the Fortunate, Level 85, just over a year total play time. There’s nothing about him that stands out. He doesn’t post on the forums, the Hunter trainer doesn’t remember him, and he doesn’t even have a rare pet. An ordinary mediocre player. There’s an endless number of players like him in Barliona. His current whereabouts are unknown, but my people are on it. That’s all the info I have from today’s efforts.”
“Weird,” I continued trying to put distance between me and the kiss. “How would such an ordinary player have a map like that?”
“The weird thing is something else,” Stacey corrected me. “He could’ve found the map. Barliona’s full of coincidences. The question here is how would he know that you’d be interested in his offer? How does he know that you’re interested in Karmadont and anything related to him? He wrote two letters and yet they’re so different that in my view, they were written by two different people. The style’s different. The approach’s different. The gist is different. Everything’s different! Only the sender’s the same.”
“Then let’s meet with him and get to know him better.” Stacey had piqued my interest. Really, how did this person find out this info?
“First we need to solve the Celestial situation, then we can get back to Sabantul. He’s not going anywhere, that’s for sure. For the moment, my dear husband, the time has come to figure out how you react or don’t react when someone kisses you…Is there something you want to tell me?”
I was forced to expend my full arsenal of words and explanations to prove to Stacey the most evident thing — that she was my one and only love on the entire planet. Embracing the girl quietly sobbing on my shoulder, I swore to myself that there would be no more kisses! I’d exhausted all my arguments this time around and I wouldn’t survive a second one…
I looked dejectedly at the glacier and cursed the developer who had come up with it…Or perhaps (just as likely) the player who had caused this chaos. Over the twelve hours of my temporary absence, the ice had receded from the trees. Not much, only a few meters, but the burbling brooks were glibly informing me that this anomaly had come into existence recently and would soon vanish. This was no natural phenomenon and I could even guess who had caused it. Kreel the Titan had the ice affinity, so I could bet that his big old paws had something to do with ice popping up this deep in the hot and smarmy South. It couldn’t have been anyone else.
Stacey had been kind enough to grant me six hours to figure out the issue with the hermit, after which she explained to me that I would be “grabbed by the scruff and sent to save the continent from the invasion.” Six hours of which I’d already spent twenty minutes sitting here meditating on this ice, unable to understand what I was supposed to do. To prove that I was worthy of meeting the master…The most logical outcome that followed from this phrase was that I had to craft some pretty and preferably unique thing — here and now. To prove that I was a cool Artificer and all that. The one problem was how that would help me solve the problem. It remained unclear. Besides, I was certain that creating an artifact was just too banal to earn a meeting with the hermit. He wouldn’t even notice such a trifle. I needed something more large-scale. But what?
The shadow from the nearest mountain shielded the glacier from the sun’s rays, slowing its melt. Various beasts would periodically emerge from the forest, look at the obstacle that had appeared on their customary paths with surprise — their Imitators would begin to compute new paths, while the model froze in an entirely unnatural pose. I especially got a kick out of a Level 83 wolf who began to update his pathing while standing still on one paw. I figured that even a Shaolin monk would have envied his technique.
Once the wolf had vanished back in the forest, I shuddered — the tautology notwithstanding, the ice was freezing, forcing my thoughts to move slower and slower. Eventually it occurred to me to call Kreel and ask him about the hermit — an intelligent and worthy idea — however, to my immense surprise the Titan wasn’t available: I could not communicate with a player who was in the divine chambers.
In a burst of irritation, I kicked a hunk of ice beside me. A small piece broke off of it, rolled along the ground, encountered a spot of sunlight and vanished in an instant. It didn’t even leave a wet spot behind it. A wry smile unfolded on my face — so they had used Kreel to create an ice trial for me? Excellent! I’ll deal with it like an ordinary player!
And what do ordinary players do when they encounter a problem? They ask for help!
For the first time in a long time, I opened my clan management screen. Yeah…It was time to scratch my head in bemusement — the clan membership counter was growing without pause, incrementing by one or two members every couple seconds. At the moment, the clan had just over 30,000 members, of whom about a third were
currently online. It took an effort to look away from the statistics — all the various classes, races, primary professions, secondary professions and their levels that were in my clan. There was so much diverse information about every clan member that, just for laughs, I tried to find the ‘real address’ and ‘real name’ data tables. Damn, these were there too! No one had entered their addresses, and yet more than eight thousand players had entered their real names. I hummed. Clan management was turning from ‘let’s run around together’ to a serious enterprise that demanded time, energy and resources. I had an outsourced manager who dealt with the clan’s financial issues. I had recruiters who looked for people to join the clan, but no actual leadership. There weren’t any raid leaders, treasurers or officers. There were thirty thousand people who wanted to get their projections. I looked at the little dragon whirling around me — I had grown so accustomed to him that I barely noticed him anymore — and I realized a terrible fact. I needed one more deputy. I needed someone who would play the role of the head of the Legends of Barliona. Someone who would make the decisions, organize the raid parties and act as the clan’s representative at various events. Shaman Mahan had to step back into the shadows and do what he did best — craft. Managing people wasn’t my thing.
When I made this final decision, it was like a stone had rolled off my shoulders. I sent my current coordinates to Viltrius, returned to the clan settings, found the mass mailing tab and sent out a letter to everyone in the clan:
Hello everyone! People, I need your help. Right here and right now I need players who can cast fire spells. Anything they can — lava, fireballs, bonfires — hell, if you’ve got a lighter, if such a thing even exists, I can use it. I need to melt a huge mass of ice in a few moments. But I need organized help — I need groups of players. I need raid groups that will become raid parties. And the people who organize them will become Legends of Barliona raid leaders with all the attendant privileges and powers. The raiders that come with them too! I need people within the hour, whether they’re our own or strangers — it doesn’t matter. The groups need to be sent to me through the Altameda portal — my majordomo has my coordinates. Feel like taking a chance and becoming someone in this clan? Then make it happen! You have one hour. The countdown begins now.
I didn’t really have another choice. Stacey had placed really tight time constraints on me. Swiping away the notification that had appeared before me just like any other member of the clan, I kept an eye on the clan chat. A minute after my letter, things were still quiet, and then the chat exploded. Dozens if not hundreds messages began streaming in every second, announcing their services as officers as well as footsoldiers.
“Why? ” Stacey’s thought popped into my head. “The hermit?”
“Not quite, but close,” I related the current situation to Stacey and the decision I had made about dealing with the glacier. To my surprise, Stacey didn’t approve of my sudden initiative. She explained that since only a third of the players were in-game, the chances of there being good organizers among them were minimal. There would be no consideration for the players’ level distribution, nor a common pool of resources. Only she, Mr. Kristowski, and I had access to the clan statistics, so in a word there was nothing here but my urge to melt the glacier. Things just weren’t done this way and this was no way to determine clan leadership…in clans that take themselves seriously at least.
“What do you want me to do?” A pretty female voice jolted me from my prostration. When she really wants to, Stacey can still artfully place everything in its right place, leaving whoever’s talking to her with the certain feeling of his personal insignificance and foolishness. I checked the time — five minutes had elapsed since my message and there were already five hundred players standing before me with an elf at their head, waiting for my orders. The clan management screen displayed all the information I needed about this long-eared girl: Marle Regina, a Level 155 Elf Priest. Real name: Stacey. Clan membership: 14 weeks. That was it.
“I need to melt this crap,” I pointed at the glacier. “Turn it all into a lake of magma.”
“I need clarification. You want us to melt the ice or melt the ground and stones into a lake of magma? That would require different resources.”
“The latter.” I became curious whether terrain in Barliona could be terraformed. Would the game allow such drastic changes to the terrain? Would the Guardian’s Imitator permit it? I wanted to check it out!
“Lucca, I need fire mages. Lots of them,” Marle called a friend on her amulet and then looked back at me: “Mahan, do you know any geomancers? Or do I need to find those too?”
“That’s an odd profession, but it rings a bell…” I liked Marle’s approach to the problem at hand. The only thing that interested her were clear, laconic, pointed questions.
“Geomancy is terraforming. The geomancer’s spells allow her to change the Barliona terrain to her wishes. We won’t be able to create a lake of magma unless we use players that have such powers. At the moment, I don’t know anyone who can do this, which is why I’m asking you whether I have to find them too.”
“I see. Wait a second,” I reached for an amulet and called Svard, one of the independent players of Barliona who dealt with crafting.
“If this isn’t pizza delivery, I have nothing further to say,” barked the voice in the amulet.
“This is way cooler than pizza,” I replied in kind. “I need a specialist who can vandalize Barliona terrain.”
“Is that you, Mahan?” The tone changed immediately and completely.
“Uh-huh. Svard, I need a high-level geomancer. And I need him now.”
“What am I, a recruiting agency?” The answer came in such a tone that without seeing Svard I knew he was already deep in thought. “Do you need someone from Malabar, or will Kartoss do too?”
“Could be from the Celestial, for all it matters,” I gibed. “I’ll send you the contact to my new raid leader. She’ll get in touch with you.”
“So it’s true and Stacey is with you again?”
“Yes, but this is isn’t Stacey. That is, this one’s called Stacey too but she’s not the Stacey you’re thinking of. The girl’s in-game name is Marle.”
“Hmm…interesting. Give me ten minutes. Over and up.”
“You heard me, here are the contacts,” I sent a copy of the amulet to Marle.
“Raid leader?” The girl’s face displayed an emotion for the first time. Trying to act precisely and accurately, as if she had some military past, Marle wasn’t ready to receive the third rank in the clan from me just like that. Without any test. Well, this will let her know the kind of crew she’s running with now.
“Welcome and all that,” I smiled, making the necessary changes in the clan settings. “You are the first to bring me a combat-ready group. So you’re a raid leader already. No point in wasting time. You have your orders. By the way! If any new groups appear, you’re in charge. I need complete coordination among all the raid parties, senior raid leader!”
I made the last remark as the portal opened and players began pouring out of it. Raid party number two had arrived. Excellent — it’d only been have ten minutes. If I understand correctly, Marle had managed to assemble her raid party within the clan, without advertising it to Clutzer or Magdey. She had players between Level 80 and 160, who clearly posed no interest to the other raid leaders. No big deal! Low levels is something everyone has to reckon with. The important thing is that the players have the desire, the opportunity and the ability. I’d take care of the rest.
“The time has come. Everyone’s in position. We are ready,” said Marle exactly an hour after I had sent my letter to the clan. By this point in time, a huge crowd of people had gathered at the glacier — three fully-equipped raiding parties with fifty fighters in each, about a hundred Mages, Necromancers, Druids and other magic classes who could cast fire, as well as Svard with a trio of taciturn players, Spiteful Gnum who had climbed out of Altameda for the occasion, Anastaria
(astonished by such a gathering of players), and the chief raiding parties of Phoenix. There was a host of people. Marle’s amulets didn’t fall quiet for a second, but the girl didn’t even think of complaining. Her quick replies, eagerness and demeanor made it clear that she was relishing the responsibilities that had been entrusted to her. Perfect! The important thing was that she didn’t wither under the pressure. I’d need to make sure to issue her some nice bonus as compensation and incentive to continue in this vein.
“Let’s begin. Let me see a lake of fire instead of this ugly glacier!”
I didn’t really know myself why I needed a branch office of hell here in the foothills of the Elma Mountains. But to be honest, what drove me to invite all these people here remained a mystery to me as well — as well as why they’d all agreed to come. In my view, there was only one correct way to reach the hermit: craft a fire artifact. And yet my premonition, stubbornness and desire to do everything my way, all demanded their own course of action. A course of action that would go against all reason and logic — just the way I liked it.
When the ice began to melt, I turned into a Dragon and flew up into the sky. The spectacle the players had effected was hypnotizing and I didn’t want to miss a single moment. Red streams of lava from the Mages, golden fire elementals from the Shamans, the Druid’s phoenixes sparkling with all the colors of the rainbow, the Necromancers’ dark and grim demons…Thanks to the game’s physics engine, the ice was melting without any heat or steam, so nothing kept me from enjoying the show.
“Your turn, Svard!” Marle commanded when not a shiver of ice remained. Svard, Gnum and the three taciturn players Svard had brought, stuck a staff into the ground. The top of the staff looked like a gnarled root with other roots sticking out of it. Then the geomancers joined hands and began to circle it. At first I couldn’t help but smile, but when the staff’s roots began to emit a green fog — a thin snake that darted towards the flaming section of terrain — my smile vanished. The wisps of fog was at once beautiful and terrifying. On their way they pierced several fallen trees as if they didn’t notice them. Only the embers that flared up in their wake suggested that the wisps were real and not at all harmless. After ten seconds, the geomancer circle began to slow down, the players’ faces grimaced with pain, and yet they went on spinning, performing a ritual only they understood. Reaching the area the glacier had occupied, the tentacles of fog began running its course back and forth and interweaving until they formed a fine grid that looked like a net superimposed over the varying slopes of the terrain.
Clans War Page 13
