Another impact shade flew from my strings and the quest counter ticked once again, reckoning the fourth victim. Hah! Easy as pie! Watch out, a cereal killer stalks these woods! I wonder what name the press would give me? I would gladly take something like ‘the Grim Minstrel.’
I jumped off the branch and mechanically glanced at my hands. They were trembling again, although the battle had not been that difficult. Well at least I can count on myself to fight on autopilot even in stressful situations. I couldn’t say the same for concerts and corporate events. People would throw all kinds of crap onto our stage: from sweaty t-shirts and plush toys to bottles and shoes. On top of that, they would with depressing regularity try to break through to the mic to sing drunkenly. One day someone even shot off a gun—fortunately, only into the air. You couldn’t really compare PvP to all that. But I still needed the practice.
The next two hours passed without incident, although I jerked at every rustle around me. I sowed my remaining seeds according to the chart I’d been given. All but the two that I’d given to Chip. I had to think a bit about which area I would skip in my sowing. As a result, the unlucky patch was a side path in the direction of the Arras. It probably had some strategic significance, but personally I did not need it. I will simply tell Lotos that I lost a couple of seeds while running from the free citizens who had ambushed me, and he can decide for himself whether he wants to assign me further quests.
AT LAST the moment came when I first laid eyes on the Arras. To tell you the truth, I had been looking at it for a long time already. My imagination had drawn pretty pictures from Stephen King’s immortal work Under the Dome, but the forest looked quite ordinary around here and there was nothing obscuring the sky overhead. I even began to doubt whether my calculations had been correct, when the air ten meters away wavered noticeably as on a very hot day. A step and another, a third, and I beheld the Arras.
Inconspicuous, almost transparent, it resembled a soap bubble, with rainbows playing barely noticeably on its walls. But it was the size of the bubble that was really astonishing. It reached way up high and out, marked by the faintly shimmering air. By the almost inconspicuous curvature of the visible area, I could get a sense of the Arras’ circumference, and I couldn’t help but whistle. It’s like the pyramids: You know about them in theory, you see holograms, but as soon as you’re there in front of them, all your prior notions evaporate, leaving only admiration. The Arras truly was a monumental spell.
Curiosity prodded me to touch the faintly iridescent wall, but I restrained myself. Who knows, maybe there is a warning system or like border guards or something...They will catch me and send me to the local jail. No, I’d rather experiment once my raiding party arrives. They’ll be able to help me fight off any law enforcement if anything. After taking this prudent decision, I dispelled Eid, exited the game and contacted Sloe. Fortunately, he was not in the capsule, so he answered right away.
“What’s up? Did you make it to the Arras?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Send me the coordinates. The raid will assemble in an hour. It’s hard to say how many of them will break through to you. You’ll have to wait.”
“I’ll wait in real life. I want to get some sleep. When they get close, call me on my visor and I’ll enter the game.”
“Great! Do you need anything else from the outside world?”
“You know better than me what’ll come in handy at my level. The main thing is to bring the amulets of communication so we can talk without leaving the game. And some kind of mount would be nice.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Sloe reassured me. “Have you learned the language of Kartoss?”
“No,” I confessed. “I was thrown out of the library, and reading books in a foreign language has not yet produced any results. And is it really that necessary? If it is, we can call each other in meatspace and talk things over.”
“That won’t do,” Sloe said. “It’s too slow. Okay, we’ll buy you a language pack. Just make sure to accept the present in-game.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Talk to you soon.”
Chapter Nine
When the hour struck, I was sitting at the foot of the Arras, drowsy and glum. I couldn’t see any raid party, but there were flashes and sparks glinting on the other side of the magical barrier, so I assume the battle was in full swing. I didn’t even consider trying to break through to help out. It’d be stupid. The party was composed of high-level players and my assignment was a simple one—sit tight so I can lead them through the Arras once they break through. So I activated the Kartossian language pack, camouflaged and sat down on the grass. Yawning periodically, I drowsily examined the minor changes in the game interface.
Anica’s and Salamander’s frames had vanished—their time in the world of the living had expired and they had returned to the Gray Lands. By way of farewell, the two left a new bookmark in my quest journal with timers that counted down the time left before the souls would plunge into Erebus. Anica had just over ten days left, while Salamander had an entire three weeks. Damn, I need to start thinking about the quest for the girl like now...or compose a song to sustain her...I had no doubt that the story of the rebellious king would make a great ballad. It was stunning stuff. As for Anica...A medallion that brought a mysterious death is something of course, but it inspires me to solve the quest rather than compose a song.
My eyes again came to rest on the faintly visible barrier. The blight that had sprouted from the seeds I’d sown crept up to the Arras as to the foot of a wall. It was as if a blade had chopped the black earth off. I guess the spell protecting the Hidden Forest prevented not only living beings, but also magical phenomena from crossing its perimeter. Curious.
Meanwhile, the flashes had subsided and a picturesque group of players appeared from among the trees. It was my first time seeing a raiding party in Barliona, and the spectacle was impressive indeed. The average level of the raiders was 280. The band, consisting of members of all kinds of races and classes moved with an evident, yet mysterious purpose. The leader was a hulking creature clad in plate armor with a pavise in his paw. A tauren, one of Barliona’s animal-inspired classes. His name was short and simple—Pops. The party’s flanks were guarded by two other heavy classes: A human paladin named Thoughtful Fro and a gaunt drow with a huge two-handed axe at the ready. But it was the drow’s name that was the true killer: Sylvan Darkness. It’s like he knew ahead of time what kind of adventure he was signing up for.
A zombie priest named Dickery Dirk stepped out from behind the tauren and regarded the Arras thoughtfully.
“Ah, there she is,” said a drow rogue named Murderous Angel, pointing in my direction.
I started, came out of camo and waved my hand in greeting.
Dirk waved back, cast a magic shield on himself and gingerly touched the Arras with his hand. Nothing happened. The priest ran his hand over the scarcely noticeable barrier, knocked on it with his staff and clearly wanted to do something else, but was rudely interrupted:
“Why don’t you test it on your tooth while you’re at it?” asked a suspiciously familiar voice.
That’s right—Sasha, whose in-game name turned out to be Bogart the Base, stood leaning against his crossbow. An immense cat with protruding fangs sat at his feet, as if it had just stepped from the cover of a book on paleontology. It was the size of a leopard, ginger colored, with a powerful chest, and fangs as long as my palm. The name of this wonder was Merlin Monroe. Bogart scratched his darling on the scruff, drawing a purr of pleasure from Merlin, and went on, “Or headbutt it or something. On second thought, you might want El Toro there to take a crack at it. Isn’t that right, Toro?” He winked playfully at the tauren.
“Keep talking and you’ll be picking your teeth out of that shit coming out of your mouth,” Pops promised laconically, without however taking any aggressive action.
Next to the mighty tauren, clad in full plate armor, Sasha’s Bogart the Base looked like a bum w
ho had been crashing in a three-legged rocking chair behind a dumpster. Heavy-set, muscular, green, covered with tattoos, Bogart the orc looked quite different from the human playing him. Of course, their personalities were completely identical...
“Come to think of it, I could use some dental work,” said Bogart.
“You’ll be sneezing them through your nose,” the tauren added phlegmatically. “But later.”
“Oh! You do rhinoplasty too?” the orc said, puzzled. “Merlin, were you aware of this?” He patted his pet on the withers.
The sabretooth, obviously accustomed to its master’s jests, hardly blinked an eye.
“Kiera,” he called to me. “What’s that all about?” A green finger with a gnawed fingernail pointed to my outlaw status. Turning back to the raiding party, he continued, “Make no mistake, fellows, her blood thirst knows no bounds. In the midst of one of her moods, you will be lucky indeed if ye save yer skins. If she doesn’t kill once a day, she starts getting these withdrawals, loses her mind and turns on her own friends. I tried to muzzle her once but she gnawed it all to hell.”
“I’m about to gnaw someone’s nose off,” I threatened the joker.
“There, you see?” Bogart sighed contritely. “But no worries, you needn’t be afraid—I am with you and I will bear the brunt of the first blow!”
Bogart struck his chest with hollow sound. What an alpha gorilla...only balder and greener. He must have had a painful childhood. You’ve really got it coming now, Snegov...When we get back to meatspace, I’ll serve you a good turn. The object of my musings could not even imagine the barbs prepared for him once he would leave the game, and in the meanwhile he switched to more pressing matters:
“Tell me, my dear turnip, what are we waiting for?”
“We’re waiting for my brain to warm up after my nap,” I said dryly, pushing away my revenge fantasies. I approached the Arras with a bit of apprehension.
My imagination was painting a variety of pictures: From making a hole in the protective spell to being turned into a heap of ash for crossing the border without authorization. But everything turned out quite a bit more ordinary. When I touched the Arras, it flared brightly and began to shimmer with iridescence. Bogart yelled, “Bonzai!” and hurled himself against the altered section of the Arras—striking it pitifully with his head and collapsing shamefully on his ass.
“Semper Fi!” he groaned, crossing his eyes and feeling the bridge of his nose.
His Merlin sat down next to him and sympathetically rubbed her face, purring something comforting.
“Let’s try another way,” I muttered, and held out my hand to Bogart.
My flimsy biota palm vanished into his giant paw. I wonder why he’s decided to play as this musclehead? Is this how he imagines the orc race? Or is this his Napoleonic complex manifested in VR? Although...I examined the dark orc’s hypertrophied body mass one more time. This looks more like a complex of complexes...
As soon as our hands touched, the iridescent radiance spread to the orc and his pet and they crossed the magical barrier without any difficulty.
“I hereby claim,” Bogart let go of his She-Ra’s ear, which he had used to drag her across the Arras, and assumed a triumphant pose, raising his battle axe to the sky, “this land for the Spanish Crown!”
He stuck the point into the earth between his feet.
“Ain’t I as cool as a Columbus?” he asked his audience.
Pops clapped his paw to his face and silently shook his head. It seemed that Bogart had managed to really get under the tauren’s skin during their journey to the Arras.
“Let’s not waste time,” Dirk ordered. “Line up in two ranks, touch Lorelei’s hand and step through the Arras. Tanks, healers, keep your eyes peeled. Who knows what might be waiting for us on the other side?”
I spent the next couple of minutes feeling like a turnstile in the subway. Though, instead of loose change, crumpled bills or transit cards, here, a handshake sufficed.
“Well this blows,” Fro concluded, as he stepped onto the blighted ground. “Is it far from here to the grass that doesn’t give you a debuff?”
“Not particularly, but there are a couple of Forest Sentries waiting for me there,” I replied honestly. “They can’t step onto blighted ground. However, the renegades might find us here.”
“Let’s get to work then,” Bogart said in an unusually serious voice.
With a sour expression, the orc fumbled with a shaggy green cloak.
“The devil take it,” he snorted with annoyance. “It doesn’t fit...”
“All right,” Dirk snapped at him, “let’s make a deal. If you are going to keep traveling with us, which I recommend from the bottom of my heart, then no more improvisation. You do what the raid leader says. That would be me. If you do not agree, it’s your business. But something tells me that you’ll be dead in the next 10–15 minutes. And I have no idea where you’ll respawn. Make your decision!”
Bogart the Base silently rolled up his shaggy cloak and stuck it back in his bag, then he looked around the party with a look of equal parts amusement and contempt.
“So what are you standing there for? Are we waiting for someone?” he finally inquired.
“We are waiting for our raid leader’s orders,” said Pops, laconically.
“Elk, Soul,” Dirk commanded, “scout ahead.”
The two rogues nodded and disappeared from sight.
“Cranton,” the priest turned to the colorful troll with a huge bow over his shoulder. “Bogart’s with you. You will explain the basics to him. His orders are not to die.”
“Got it,” Cranton nodded and beckoned to Bogart with his blue paw. “Follow me, brother, I’ll tell you where to stand and what to do.”
Bogart waved at me and followed his new partner, while Fro came up to me and began to take out a variety of junk from his backpack—some gear fit for a Level 20, a few satchels with fifty inventory slots, one of which I immediately passed to Bogart and another to Fro. There was also a small set of alchemical potions for my level and a few scrolls with spells. But the most valuable gift was the horse. Thanks to the game mechanics, the paladin did not have to drag the animal with him literally. He simply handed me a bridle, which when activated caused the animal to appear next to me: a small, sturdy black horse with a cute forelock, which made it look like a little cartoon horse, and a long, plush tail.
“Kiera, your new name is going to be Kiera Khan,” giggled Bogart, looking at my new mount. “A real steed of the steppes.”
He stretched out his paw and stroked the animal on its muzzle. Merlin, evidently growing envious, didn’t let him go any further and wheezing unhappily pulled her owner away from my pony.
“Do I have to feed her or wash her?” I clarified just in case, admiring my new mount.
“Nothing of the kind,” Fro reassured me. “Summon, ride and dispel. Elementary.”
“Uh-huh,” I nodded. “Thanks.”
“Think nothing of it,” said the paladin. “You helped us, we helped you. Everyone is happy.”
“What about Sloe and Chip?”
“We’ll meet with them later and give them some gear,” Fro reassured me. “What are you going to do? Are you coming with us or heading out on your own?”
“Depends on which direction you go.”
“We’re going to meet up with Sloe and start combing the forest.”
At this point, I felt a pang of conscience. After all, I know the dungeon’s location and I could tell them, and yet...Who knows whether the guild players will honor my request to remain uninvolved until the end of the scenario. They might break in and start killing the renegades...Or the renegades will start killing them and then begin investigating who ushered in the outsiders. And at that point I could kiss the grand finale goodbye.
No. I’d rather tell them when it’s all over.
“Try to stay off the blighted ground as long as you can,” I requested. “I have some ongoing quests there and you mi
ght spoil things.”
“We will take your wishes into consideration.”
Well. There’s an answer for you. I won’t promise anything, but I’ll take your wish into consideration. On the other hand, it was silly to expect anything else.
I asked them to transfer a couple of my amulets to Sloe and Chip, said goodbye to my new acquaintances and began to study my new stats.
The rare items pleased me with their noticeable boost to my stats. After my basic gear, the growth of my stats from equipping the rare items seemed fantastic: +158 to Intellect, +56 to Constitution. The latter, unfortunately, was capped by my racial penalty, so that the final figures in the stats turned out to be more modest: I now had 246 Intelligence and 58 Constitution (the racial penalty cap kicked in here). At least, this did not factor in the buffs from being on blighted ground.
After hesitating a bit, I dumped all my unallocated stat points into Intellect. With my racial bonus I ended up with 528 base Intelligence, or 720 Int when you factored in all the gear and profession bonuses.
I cast my Shadow Shield and admired the new numbers. A new monster killer stalked the unsuspecting newbies of the Hidden Forest. How many scalps had Geranika asked for? Thirty? Easy as pie!
And on top of all this, I now had a mount to ride. I activated the bridle and summoned my mare. Or stallion...In the world of Barliona, all animals had the anatomy of a Ken doll and the determination of the creature’s sex was frequently left to the imagination. And still, my new pet needed a name, so I started to think. Of short stature, with fluffy forelocks and a lush tail, I associated her more with a girl. And if so, she would be a mare.
Now the name...A ringing silence immediately filled my head. Not a single thought on the topic. I always have problems inventing names. And then a character from a legendary book series surfaced in my memory. He too always had a hard time coming up with names for his horses so that finally he decided to solve the issue in the simplest and most elegant manner possible:
A Song of Shadow (The Bard from Barliona Book #2) LitRPG series Page 19
