by G. Akella
***
I was sitting on the bed when I came to.
What the hell was that?! If every quest I received came with this type of prelude, it wouldn't be long till I went off the deep end. The din of battle was still ringing in my ears, my eyes watery from the pungent odors.
You've accessed the quest: Returning the Relic.
Quest type: epic.
Deliver the banner of the Sixth Dwarven Legion to the head of the Bronzeback Clan.
Reward: experience, unknown.
I folded the fabric carefully and put it away in the bag.
The dining hall was empty, and I mean completely empty. Not only of customers—there wasn't even anyone manning the bar. The innkeeper must have stepped away somewhere. I wondered what the bar counter was called at an inn? It wasn't a proper bar, after all.
I recalled the differences in establishments between San Francisco and Moscow. To be sure, forty years of buoyant growth of capitalism made their mark, and yet the employees of Russian drinking establishments differed considerably from their Western counterparts, and not in a good way. Like it or not, historically the Russian people were always held together by the state. In a country that officially waged a war on drinking there thrived all kinds of dive bars, speakeasies and similar establishments in which nobody gave a damn about any drinking culture. All that mattered was the consumed amount. Employees of said establishments didn't need to be experts in mixing drinks, nor paragons of service. As a result, they were plainly inferior to American bartenders, as sad as it was to admit.
In the meantime, the door to the residential quarters of the first floor flung open, and out came the innkeeper alongside a frail-looking demon in a mage's robe.
"I'm sorry that I'm unable to help," said the mage. "Mirana is no healer either, but there's no time anyway. If she could find the foul beast, maybe things could be different, but it would take time," he sighed, "time that we do not have." The mage glanced at me, and his expression changed just barely, as if he saw a sticky note on my forehead. But a moment later he'd already forgotten about me.
"I understand, Alsuil," the innkeeper nodded grimly. "Thanks for dropping by." He patted the mage on the shoulder, and when the latter exited the establishment, he turned toward me.
"I'm off duty," something had definitely happened with the man, but he was keeping it together. "The cook will be here after lunch," he added and headed for the door.
"Maybe I could help, Kort?" I asked him.
The innkeeper stopped in his tracks, cocked his head and turned around slowly.
"You look more like a vagrant than a seeker or a Great Healer, light one," he spoke slowly and deliberately.
"I overheard your exchange with that gentleman, and it sounded like someone was in need of healing," I shrugged. "If that's the case, then it's really not a problem."
There was a glimmer of hope in the demon's eyes.
You've accessed the quest: Healing the Sick.
Quest type: unique.
Cure Treis, the sick wife of Kort, the innkeeper of The Genteel Legionnaire, or destroy the cause of the sickness while Treis is still alive.
Reward: experience, unique skill.
Penalty for failure: reduced reputation with Kort, the innkeeper of The Genteel Legionnaire.
"My wife has hours left to live, light one," he walked up to me and peered into my eyes. "Only a miracle could save her; my only other option is to lay to rest about twenty souls, and do it in time."
I removed a Potion of Greater Healing from my belt and offered it to him. The demon's hand jerked toward the vial, but stopped dead midway. Kort looked up to meet my eyes.
"Do you even know how much that's worth?"
"Less than your wife's life, I reckon," I put the vial into his still hand.
He nodded, clenching the vial so hard I almost feared he would break it.
"Wait for me here," he nodded and hurried for the door. A moment later his voice cried out from behind the door, "Irsa! Get up, you lazybones! Fetch our guest something to eat, along with a bottle of Rivan wine. Move it!"
It's easy to be generous and noble when it doesn't really cost you anything, I thought to myself. Sure, the gifted potion was probably prohibitively expensive, but I'd become so adapted to this world over the past few days that I stopped perceiving those around me as mere programs. And even if they were, I wasn't so sure they would remain as such. Besides, I was just like them in my current incarnation. So why not help a fellow man in his hour of need? Correction, a fellow demon… Not that they differed much from humans. I hadn't even considered that it might fetch a quest or some mysterious skill as a reward.
Typically, it was pretty easy to tell a quest giver apart from other NPCs by the semi-transparent exclamation mark over their head. But even if Lamorna had regular quests, they were too tough for me, or I simply couldn't see them at my current level. There were some exceptions to the rule, however, in the form of some social quests or the one I'd just received—the unique kind.
Unique quests were generated in real time in accordance with the game situation and certain actions of specific NPCs. As for the unique skill as a reward, typically it was something in the left field, like cross-stitching. Which didn't mean it couldn't be lucrative, because it could, and very much so. But I'd rather not count my chickens before they hatched.
In the meantime, the waitress peeked out from behind the door—warily, like a mouse from under a broom, clearly frightened. Confirming that I was the only one in the hall, she slipped through the door, laid a plate of food and a bottle of wine on the table, and literally ran back. I tossed a piece of ham into my mouth and started chewing it slowly. I decided not to touch the wine until the innkeeper returned.
Your reputation has increased. The Genteel Legionnaire's innkeeper Kort and his wife Treis consider you a friend.
It worked! This whole time I was still worried that the potion might not work on demons, or perhaps have some other effect? But everything worked out, so I returned to my meal. The innkeeper appeared five minutes later—all smiles and with some kind of bundle in his hands.
"Thank you, Krian," the demon shook my hand heartily. "Here," he shoved the bundle into my hands, "change into these. Treis is still freshening up, but she wanted you to have it right away."
I unfolded the bundle, which contained an embroidered red shirt, brown trousers, and boots of light brown leather. I looked up at Kort questioningly.
"You can just toss your clothes here. Assuming there's no emotional attachment," he motioned at the floor. "Irsa! Where are you?! Gather this gentleman's clothes and burn them."
I didn't need to be asked twice, and quickly changed into the new clothes, but not before removing the remaining three vials from the old belt. The new get-up didn't offer any bonuses. It wasn't combat gear, but at least it made me look decent. I tossed my rags on the floor and took a seat across from the innkeeper, who had already filled our mugs with wine. We drank, and then the owner led me out into the backyard.
"Don't worry, you'll get back to your meal soon enough," he grunted, noticing my wistful gaze in the direction of the plate.
The backyard was mostly empty: a stack of logs, a few nondescript barns and a wheel-less wheelbarrow in the center.
"Relax…" Kort took me by the shoulders and turned me toward him, then put his palm on my forehead. A wave of goosebumps rushed over me.
You've completed the quest: Healing the Sick.
You have gained a level! Current level: 68.
You've learned a unique skill: Step through Darkness.
You have 1 talent point to allocate.
Racial bonus: +1% to resistance to dark magic, +1% resistance to light magic.
Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 3 stat points to allocate.
You've learned the spell: Step through Darkness I.
Instant cast.
Mana cost: 100 points.
Cooldown: 25 seconds.
> You vanish from view and teleport to a set point within a 20 yard radius. Stepping through darkness removes all stun and movement-impairing effects.
Very similar to Jump, but somewhat cooler. With Jump, I remained visible and the spell required line of sight. Rogues had a similar skill called Step through Shadows, which also required line of sight. But this spell didn't, as long as there was space to teleport to.
I could even step into the royal treasury, I thought with a chuckle. I wasn't serious, of course—any decent treasury would be well protected against any such tricks. Besides, thieving was not my style. I quickly leveled my Ice Blade to three and threw three points into constitution.
"I wasn't always an innkeeper, you know, but only for the past three years, after retiring. Before then, I was a punisher for half a decade, working for Tiranus. Quit grinning—show me that you understand." He pointed to the far end of the yard. "Step over there."
I added the skill to my action bar, looked to where Kort was pointing, and activated it. I felt cold for an instant, then found myself standing by the far wall.
"Good enough," said the innkeeper. "Now jump back and let's go talk. You don't need to see where you're jumping—this here ain't like your magic tricks. Simply set the direction and distance in your head. As long as there's open space where you want to go, it'll work. With time you will learn to feel instinctively at any given moment where you can step to."
I waited for the skill to refresh and stepped back. There would be time to practice later. Unfortunately, I also noticed that Step shared a cooldown with Jump, so I couldn't use one right after the other.
The hall had about a dozen people by the time we got back: the same group of peasants boozing at the same table, the same merchant with his guards, and a pair of soldiers at the corner table. Manning the bar was a comely demoness with small horns that stuck out impishly from her raven-black hair braided with a leather string. With a friendly smile, she walked out from behind the bar and offered her hand.
"Treis," she nodded when I gave her fingers a light squeeze. "Thank you, for both of us," she rubbed her tummy and gave another, different kind of smile.
"And thank you for these beautiful clothes," I repaid in kind.
"Have a seat, I've fixed you something to eat. You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach," she pecked her husband's cheek and went back to the bar.
"Something to eat" apparently meant a royal feast. Where did they even find the time?! While I ate, Kort was was gazing at me contemplatively; he didn't even touch his food.
"How did you end up here, Krian?" he asked when he saw that I couldn't possibly stuff anything else into my mouth hole. "I've heard of light races coming around occasionally, but I've never actually seen your kind myself."
"So you did notice! And the mage you were with seemed to as well. But why didn't anyone else?" I answered his question with a question; poor manners, sure, but I wanted to understand the situation before continuing our dialog.
"Master Alsuil is a mage, and I've undergone special training," Kort shrugged. "So, where did you come from?"
"To be honest, I don't remember anything aside from the fact that I'm human. I came to just outside of Lamorna, wearing those rags. I helped an old man slay a big bad monster not far from here. Then I came here. I've got letters in my bags to deliver to Nittal," I shrugged in return. "After that, I wouldn't mind returning to the land of humans. I've got a sister back there, and some debts to repay."
"What old man and what monster?" Kort gave me an intent look, and his face took on an expression of utter shock. "You've killed Shaartakh!" he exhaled, incredulous. "But how?! Not even Ahriman's finest trackers had been able to find the beast! And, forgive me for saying it, but you don't strike me as a great sorcerer. Slaying Shaartakh… there are few lords I can think of that would be up to the task."
"The old man was the great sorcerer, I just hung out on the sidelines," I replied humbly. "But I'd rather not talk about him."
"Very well, I won't ask. The caravan to Nittal will only come tomorrow morning. What are your plans for the day?"
"I'll drop by the local blacksmith and alchemist if you point me in the right direction. I've got money, but no equipment or weapon. After that, no plans. Got any suggestions?"
"Aye, and I think you're up for it," Kort puckered his brow. "You see, Treis' illness was no accident. A karriga has taken up residence in our village. Seeing my quizzical expression, he clarified. "A karriga is a lifeless creature spawned by the God Syrat, and it feeds on the life force of women and children. Pregnant women are the sweetest prey, and my Treis happened to be with child," he glanced at his wife working the bar. "It's enough for the fiend to gaze at a living creature for them to start withering away. And the stronger the karriga, the more rapid the process," Kort let out a heavy sigh and continued. "There are currently about twenty people in the village who aren't from here: three merchants with guards and servants who are also waiting to join the caravan, seeking safety in numbers, and another ten from Vellakh's squad as reinforcements."
I noted mechanically that Kort said "twenty people," as if he were talking about humans. Indeed, the locals seemed to regard themselves as people despite being well aware of their differences from real humans.
"The beast must be killed for its sorcery to be lifted. But finding it is extremely difficult as it camouflages extremely well. For the most part, only a skilled necromancer will tell it apart from a living creature. This is where you come in."
"But I'm no necromancer," I objected in surprise.
"I know that!" Kort waved dismissively. "There's an old with living nearby named Mirana. In her youth she dabbled in all sorts of… methods. I bet she's got a remedy, only she's such a nasty hag that you can't help but want to smash her face in. I feel awkward approaching her," Kort frowned, seemingly remembering some episode from his complicated relationship with the local witch. "But you should be able to convince her. I will give you my sword as a token of my gratitude. It should fit your hand perfectly. I've been saving it for my son, so I hope you appreciate the gesture."
You've accessed the quest: Trap for a Karriga I.
Quest type: normal, chain.
Procure a means of detecting a karriga from Mirana the witch.
Reward: experience; Kort's Lightsword.
"So, she will just give me what we need?" I asked Kort after accepting the quest.
"I doubt it will be that easy," he shook his head. "But it occurs to me that the man who had vanquished Shaartakh will find the arguments needed to convince the old hag."
"What arguments would those be?" I asked, though a curious thought had already sprang up in my mind.
"A clever mage like you will figure it out," Kort grinned. "Your lot is quite skilled at persuading women to, you know… Maybe you could—" he stopped short, giving me a dubious look, then shook his head. "Scratch that, there's not enough swill in our whole village; besides, you couldn't handle the volume. Play it by ear—that's my advice. But if you decide to beat it out of her, don't hit too hard, all right? She does prove useful on occasion—a very rare occasion," the innkeeper burst out laughing.
"Where does she even live? And where do I find the local blacksmith and alchemist?" I asked.
"Give me your map, I'll mark their locations."
While Kort was drawing on the map and writing a note for the blacksmith, I ran up to my room to pick up fifty gold and another vial.
"Here, take this to Snorri. Otherwise that wily ferret will fleece you for all you've got."
I accepted the note.
"Mirana is the finest alchemist around, and she's got plenty of goodies for sale. I will also write a letter to my old commander in the city; he will help you with some advice about returning back there," he stuck his thumb behind him, apparently talking about Erantia.
"Kort, tell me briefly about these lands," I asked him, realizing that I might not get another chance to learn about where I was for quite a while.
A
ccording to Kort, Demon Grounds were nearly identical to any other nation in Arkon, only about twice as large. The nation of Alcmehn comprised seventeen dominions, sixteen of which were subject to the central and (by popular opinion) only civilized one in Balliose. The capital was Iskhart, which the developers had designed as a starting city, and it was ruled by Ahriman the Overlord. The collective might of Balliose was roughly ten times greater than the strongest of their subject dominions. It also contained the sealed passage to the Netherworld, though its exact location was unknown to the masses.
At the head of each dominion was a lord to whom all the princes—masters of the provinces—swore fealty. Satraps—another type of hereditary nobility—swore fealty to both the lord and to the princes, depending on whose land their estate was situated on.
To the south, the demon state bordered barbarian lands. Barbarians were demons that lacked a centralized government; led by small councils of elders, they occasionally crossed the border into Alcmehn to raid and pillage. Sometimes the lords reacted in kind. But for the most part, the lords and the barbarians engaged in endemic warfare.
Jarus Province where I ended up was ruled by Prince Ar-Iraz. Lamorna Village was situated practically on the border with the central province of Ashtar Dominion, serving as a transit point. It was the hub where several trading routes came together, used by caravans to travel to Nittal and other towns in the neighboring provinces, and back. For this reason, fifty legionnaires were permanently stationed here. Though Ashtar shared its southern border with barbarians, the latter almost never bothered the dominion. Most of the danger came from the tense relations with the neighboring dominions of Rualt and Lakia, spilling over into some kind of armed conflict every ten-twenty years. Sometimes those were contained to minor border skirmishes; other times whole provinces passed from one dominion to another.
I felt that I'd learned all that I needed to know, except for one final question that needed clarifying.
"Listen, Kort, the soldiers at the gates sent me to see Vellakh the elder. But when I addressed him as such, he gave me a sour look and said that he was no elder. What am I missing here?"
Kort chuckled.
"At the Barley Festival last year he'd had a few too many—or maybe more than a few—picked up the elder's daughter, and the two had themselves a fun time in the hayloft. The girl was only too happy—it was her first time, ain't exactly a beauty queen. So one of his legionnaires blabs, 'Check it, our commander has got his sights on an elder's post!' And it took off from there…"
The smithy was located near the western gates, which I would soon need to take out of the village to get to Mirana's hut. The guards at the gate were hardly enthused by their neighbor, but their opinion mattered little. Snorri the blacksmith—a stocky, broad-shouldered demon, looking like a beardless dwarf—was shaping a blank on an anvil that another demon, apparently his apprentice, was holding down with a pair of tongs.
I waited a few moments to draw their attention. When that didn't happen, I walked up closer and shouted, trying to make myself heard over the clanging of metal.
"Are you Master Snorri?"
I had to wait another minute or so for the blacksmith to put aside the hammer and come out to me from under the tent.
"Why are you yelling, scaring my apprentice?" he asked dourly, shooting me a quizzical look. It didn't get any more dwarf than that! The heavy look made me ill at ease, but I fought through the discomfort.
"Kort sent me. He said you're the best blacksmith around." I handed him the note.
"And what do you want?" barked the blacksmith, completely ignoring my attempt at flattery. He scanned the note and stuffed it in his apron pocket.
"A suit of armor. A full one. For me." I replied.
"When?"
"Either now or later, but sometime today," I shrugged. "I'm setting out to Nittal tomorrow with the caravan."
"Would you like me to forge you a djerngir while I'm at it? It's no bother—five minutes is all I need," Snorri looked at me as if I were either mad or an idiot.
"No, no djerngir necessary," I said, having zero clue as to what that even was. "Just armor, eight pieces of it," I repaid him with the exact same look. "And you don't need to forge anything, I'm looking to buy. Kort said you've got plenty of wares for sale."
"Like he knows," the master groused. "I ain't got anything at the moment. "I promised the last set to that merchant, Torius." He motioned at the anvil behind him, "just finishing up the greaves now."
"What if I beat his price?" I wasn't happy with the prospect of traveling without armor. No one knew what awaited us on the road, and I doubted we'd be traveling through zones where I could solo even one mob. If anything, a suit of armor increased my chances of survival.
"No," drawled the dwarf, err, demon. "I've got, whatchamacallit…" he twirled his index finger through the air, "professional ethic, right. Esteemed Torius promised me thirty five 'yellows,'" Snorri looked at me askance, gauging my reaction. "Do you expect me to let him down?"
With a sigh, I counted off fifty coins and weighed them in my hand.
"There's fifty here," I shrugged. "But if your professional ethic forbids you from accepting it, I have no choice but—"
"We'll bring the set to the inn in two hours," the blacksmith cut me off, reaching out his hand. "As for the, uh, professional ethic," Snorri puckered his brow, recalling the difficult term, "I find the notion rather ambiguous. Now go and stop getting in the way," he waved me away and rejoined his waiting apprentice.
Mirana's house was a half an hour's walk from Lamorna, nestled in a small grove off the side of the road, and I managed to get there without trouble. Indeed, the trouble began only on my approach. The house looked entirely ordinary—nothing sinister or macabre, like owls, skeletal decorations, black cats or bloodsucking bats. It was your typical log cabin with a green roof and a serpent for a weather-vane. The trouble came in the form of a huge Doberman—or a creature the size of a pony resembling one—that appeared out of nowhere and snarled at me as I froze with fear, then took a seat right across. Its black tongue was sticking out of its mouth, a thin thread of slobber running down the muzzle.
I liked dogs, generally speaking, but when you find yourself standing opposite one that's level 180 and staring at you with hungry eyes, you can't help but feel ill at ease. So it went on: me standing there, afraid to exhale, trying to mutter something pacifying, and the Doberman, looking suspiciously like the beasts that had torn the courier to shreds, dribbling as it examined me. The canine's patience gave out first, as it leaped up to all fours and barked. The hut's door creaked, and an old demoness in a plain dress crawled out, leaning on a walking stick. Squinting at the sun near-sightedly, she croaked.
"Who goes there, Hart take you?" she said, then continued incredulously. "A light one? What hole did you crawl out of? Get back and don't get in the way, Khron," the last part was for the dog, who turned right around and vanished behind the hut.
"Did you go deaf with fear?" the old woman turned back to me. "Speak your business."
Interesting horns, I thought. Unlike with others, they didn't stick outward but ran as if alongside the skull.
"Why don't you invite me in first, feed my hunger and quench my thirst, before pelting me with questions?" I countered.
"Shall I draw you a bath and make a bed for the night, too? Gee, I'd like that!" The woman licked her wrinkled lips suggestively, making me shudder.
"That's not why I'm here," I shot back hastily. "And I'm really not that hungry."
Mirana chuckled and motioned toward the house.
"You're already here, might as well come inside," and she headed inside first.
I followed her in and took a look around. The interior of the house was prototypical: bunches of herbs and dried mushrooms hanging off the ceiling, vessels of yellowy substance on the windowsill. There was also a black cat—sleeping soundly on the bench who didn't even bother moving to acknowledge my visit.
"Well, light on
e, speak," the old woman sat at a table and peered at me intently.
"I need to track a karriga, so I've come to…" I briefed her on what had been happening in the village.
"A karriga, eh," the crone muttered. "A vile beast, that one. I will help you. But it won't be free. Do me a service, and you'll get what you need."
"What service?" I inquired warily.
"Bring me herbs from a nearby cave. And the slime of a speckled toad—they roam nearby. Come back when you're done, and I'll teach you how to draw out the beast."
You've accessed the quest: Ingredients for Mirana.
Quest type: normal.
Bring Mirana 10 tufts of Winterberry and 5 vials of Speckled Toad Slime.
Reward: experience, Potion of Two Moons.
I was in no hurry to accept. The zone was level 170+, which meant the toads were that level as well. Even if the herbs grew right there on the path, somehow I doubted the speckled toads would welcome my attempts at scrubbing the slime off them. Nor did I have any vessels, which meant the toads had to be killed. And only a complete noob would try to solo a mob one hundred levels higher than him. Those toads would dispense with me in a couple of bites. Even if I wore a full epic set, I wouldn't survive more than three minutes against a level 170 mob. The level difference was simply too much.
A decently equipped player might be able to handle a mob within ten levels of him. With excellent equipment, up to about thirty levels. And even then he would need a lot of things to go right.
Therefore, my chances against the toads were nil. Now, I could always go back and get Kort, but I would hate to lose his respect. Shaartakh's slayer chickening out of a fight with toads? No, that wouldn't do. I rejected the quest.
"Madam, I'm in a hurry. Besides, I'm for the ethical treatment of animals," I began a heartfelt speech. "Is there another way to repay you?"
"You are truly shameless," the witch clicked her tongue incredulously. "My great-grandma used to say that light ones chased after every skirt, but I didn't believe her. Oh, if not for your defenses, you'd be seeing me the way I was fifty years ago. I don't know who put them up, but clearly it was a great master."
"Wait, Mirana!" I put my hands up hastily. "I happen to have something that will take those fifty years right off!" I put the bottle with the Netherworld's beast's liver extract on the table. The liver extract was one of the main ingredients for a Potion of Rejuvenation. Even back at the inn I was thinking that no woman would possibly refuse it. And I was right."
Mirana stared at the vial for a bit, then shifted her eyes to me.
"There's more to you than meets the eye, light one, oh yes!" the witch shook her head. "You wish to trade this for the means of detecting a karriga?"
"If you throw in some healing and stamina potions, I certainly won't argue."
Your reputation has increased. Mirana relates to you with respect.
The demoness nodded and got up, opened a nearby cupboard and laid eleven bottles on the table before me. Five were pink—healing potions that restored two thousand hit points over ten seconds. Five were light-green—medium potions of vigor that instantly restored five hundred energy. And one bottle with a violet mixture—Potion of Two Moons.
"Take that," she stuck a yellow finger at the violet vial, "pour it onto a chunk of meat and throw it on the ground, preferably at night. The effective radius is two hundred yards, so if the beast is around it won't be long in coming. The potion is consumed upon use, and the effect wears off after an hour. Now go. I need to think."
When I was already outside and heading back to the road, Mirana called after me.
"Come back in a week, light one, and you won't recognize me. Who knows what might happen then. I can't say I'm not curious about your kind," she winked at me.
I smiled and waved goodbye, thinking to myself that a week from now I would be far away, and wished for her to find somebody else to satisfy her curiosity.
There were several dozen people in the dining hall, and it was noisy. I walked up to the bar, smiled at Treis and nodded at Kort.
"Did you get it?"
"Here it is," I showed him the potion. "Pour it on a chunk of meat, and toss the meat on the ground at night."
Kort nodded, pulled out a sheathed sword from behind the bar and handed it to me.
You've completed the quest: Trap for a Karriga I.
You received: Kort's Lightsword.
I didn't level this time, but hey, you can't win 'em all. I unsheathed the sword and examined it. A double-edged steel blade about two and a half feet long.
Kort's Lightsword.
Sword: one-handed weapon.
Durability: 500/500.
Rare.
Minimum level: 65.
Damage: 120-160.
+100 strength.
+3% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.
Weight: 7 lbs.
"Take good care of it," Kort said, "and it will serve you well."
"It is a fine sword. Thank you!"
So, what now?
You've accessed the quest: Trap for a Karriga II.
Quest type: normal, chain.
Help Kort catch and kill the karriga.
Reward: experience, Kort's Cloak.
"Come down to the dining hall closer to midnight. I will gather a few people to make sure the beast doesn't escape. And another thing," Kort handed me a bag, "Snorri came by with an armor and shield. Said the shield is a gift. I shudder to think how badly you must've overpaid him," he scoffed.
Upon getting up to my room, I hastily changed into plate and equipped the sword. The armor set was called Legionnaire's Light Plate, comprising eight pieces, all of unusual class: helm, shoulder pads, cuirass, vambraces, gauntlets, belt, greaves and boots. Each piece added 35 points to strength and 30 to constitution. The set bonus was an additional 50 hit points. The shield was triangular and blocked 60% damage (any attack repelled by the shield let through only 40% damage), added 10 to strength and 55 to constitution. All items had a minimum level of 65, which meant I could easily wear them through level 80-85 or so. I checked out my new stats. Not bad—590 strength and 394 constitution added almost 120% to damage and 4000 to health.
And now for the enchanting. I put the skill on the action bar and selected the sword.
Attention! By using Personal Weapon Enchanting with the Power of the Elements V on Kort's Lightsword, the item will be bound to you. Are you sure you want to proceed?
Shivers ran down my body, as a small translucent clot of power was released from my hand. For a moment, the sword radiated like the rainbow. When the spell ended, I was surprised to discover that the sword in my hand now had a completely different name:
Krian's Lightsword.
Sword: one-handed weapon.
Durability: 500/500.
Bound item.
Rare.
Minimum level: 65.
Damage: 183-244.
+100 strength.
+3% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.
Weight: 7 lbs.
Something didn't add up. The average damage should have been buffed by 50%, but it grew to 52.5%. Oh, right, I was Altus' apprentice! I examined my damage output. My strongest attack was Tongue of Flame at an average of 1200 damage per second against an armorless opponent, taking into account my racial bonus to swords and the boost for slaying Shaartakh. And my own armor, buffed by Shield of the Elements, absorbed 62% of physical damage. Awesome! My belt slots increased as well to eight. I decided to keep Shaartakh's Breath and Venom, and one more Potion of Greater Healing—just in case. I added three more healing potions and two vigor ones. Now I was ready for action.
The armor felt as comfortable as a tracksuit. I was glad at least that hadn't been changed with the new patch. Then again, thinking logically, I had enough strength to carry over a ton of weight.
I practiced a few attacks with Tongue of Flame—the room was large enough, thankfully. As the sword made its arc, it flared up and left a pre
tty red trail through the air. I walked up to the mirror and checked out my reflection, trying to look as menacing as possible.
Looking back at myself was… me. I hadn't tried to change my appearance during character creation. No Hollywood-style perfectly symmetrical mug, no brutal-looking trappings. Six feet tall, athletic build, short dark hair, gray eyes. Wearing a full plate armor with an open visor. My attempts at a warlike demeanor suddenly looked so silly that I smiled.
"Mage-knight wannabe!"
After running all the numbers, acquiring the gear and even getting level 68, it just occurred to me that I still hadn't yet played the actual game. Everything thus far had been just theory. And I probably wouldn't do much tonight either. Then again, I was in no rush—better to wait for opponents equal to me in strength.
With those thoughts, I set an alarm for half past eleven. Without bothering to remove my armor, I got into bed, which gave an offended creak, and fell asleep.
Nights in the realm of Arkon were incredibly alluring. And this one was no different—quiet and blissfully serene. Somewhere to the side clucked roused chickens, while tired cattle lowed sleepily from the barn. The street was well-illumed with moonlight. I felt absolutely no anxiety about the upcoming event, and not at all because I'd finally gotten some gear and a weapon. My confidence was rooted in the fact that besides myself and Kort, the night's hunt for the mysterious fiend would be joined by a squad of legionnaires led by Vellakh and the local mage with the unusual name Alsuil.
The Genteel Legionnaire's dining hall this close to midnight was about two-thirds full. It was smoky and stuffy—the air was pungent with the aromas of roast meat, stewed cabbage and cheap beer. Treis was working the bar, filling up the mugs of peasants and legionnaires that kept trickling in.
The weird thing was, I didn't hear any drunken arguing or brawling that one might expect in such an atmosphere. Everything was calm and peaceful, as though we were at a religious service or a funeral.
I looked around for Kort.
"Krian," Treis waved at me from behind the bar. "Kort and the guys are out back." She handed me a giant sandwich. "Do you know how to get there?"
I nodded, thanked her for the treat, and headed for the back door.
"And there's Krian," Kort announced loudly when I walked out into the backyard, chewing on the sandwich that seemed to boost all my stats by ten. There were fourteen in all, including myself. Ten level 200+ legionnaires, Krian, Vellakh and the mage that I'd seen conversing with the innkeeper earlier.
"Greetings, light one," he held out his hand for a handshake. "Thank you for Treis, and for tonight's hunt as well. I doubt that I would have been able to get that old pepper-box to pony up the Potion of Two Moons." He chuckled bitterly. "Even regular broads become unbearable as they grow old—witches all the more so. How did you manage it?"
"You can expect her disposition to improve," I grunted. "I gave her an ingredient for rejuvenation."
"The liver extract?" the mage gave me a look of shock. "But where did you… Oh, right, Kort told me. So you went and…" And Alsuil burst into raucous laughter.
Everybody looked in our direction. I simply shrugged, none the wiser. When the mage was finally done laughing, he pointed at me and explained.
"This character slipped Mirana a rejuvenation potion, or rather the main ingredient for one. With her skill in alchemy, she'll get plenty of use from it," he winked at me. "It's a good thing you're leaving for Nittal in the morning, 'cause all the local women will soon hate your guts."
I looked in stupor at the grinning Kort, then at the legionnaires and their dreamy smiles, then turned back to the mage.
"Mirana's great-granddad was an incubus. One-eighth of the blood coursing through her veins is that of a demon of seduction. Few can resist the charms of a pure-blooded succubus, but even one-eighth will be sufficient for all the local peasants and these grunts," he nodded at the legionnaires, "to start salivating at the sight of her. And what woman likes it when her man is gawking at another broad? So, when it comes out who's behind her transformation, don't expect them to treat you kindly for your other merits."
"All right, men, let's move out. Everybody knows their role," Kort's voice wiped the smiles off everybody's faces.
Truly, there was more to the local innkeeper than met the eye if even an army squad leader recognized his authority without question.
"You will follow right behind me. Here's the meat; place it where I tell you, when I tell you."
I accepted the chunk of meat, which must have weighed at least ten pounds.
"Here's the thing," Kort clarified. "Because the effective radius is two hundred yards, we need to make sure to cover the inn and the barracks with the new arrivals."
I nodded with understanding and followed after him.
We stopped near the inn at an intersection of two streets. The legionnaires dispersed in the surrounding darkness, their armor clinking softly, leaving me alone at the center of the intersection. The vial cracked in my hand, the targeted chunk of meat darkened, and the air filled with the scent of anise drops. I tossed the bait to the ground and ran over to Kort, who was waiting for me in the shade of trees by the wayside.
For the next fifteen minutes, nothing was happening. The moon kept shining as before, painting enigmatic shadows on the ground; the wind rustled the leaves that provided cover for Kort and myself. Suddenly I felt inexplicable alarm, as a shiver ran down my spine. Seemingly echoing my sensations, a dog howled nearby. I looked at the innkeeper; seeing my quizzical look, he put a finger to his lips and motioned in the direction of the road leading to the inn.
And then I saw the karriga. A humanoid, hairless body with a noseless, simian face—a dark hole in place of the mouth cavity, populated with sharp needle-like teeth. The beast was stalking warily toward the bait, its movements looking completely inhuman, almost like a giant arachnid. The karriga stopped near the bait, then turned its uneven, knobby head this way and that, as if checking the surroundings. For a moment its yellow, deep-set eyes stopped on the trees that hid Kort and myself, and I tensed up, clenching my jaw and squeezing the hilt of my sword.
The monster sucked in a lungful of air nosily and sunk its teeth into the chunk of meat on the ground.
This jumpstarted a whirlwind of events. An Ice Spear struck the karriga in the side, shattering its ribs and slowing it, like any cold spell worth its salt. The night instantly erupted with the clanging of iron and the blood-chilling wail of the wounded beast. Kort wasted no time charging the monster, with me right behind him.
Everything happened in a matter of seconds. Surrounded by soldiers rushing it from all sides, the beast instantly recognized the weak link in the chain of attackers and leaped in my direction. Kort was too far from me to help. I glimpsed those yellow inhuman eyes and razor-like teeth, the stench of its breath assaulting my nostrils, but managed to put up a shield just as the monster's hooked paws went in for the kill.
An unbearable pain shot through my entire body; the world in my eyes turned bloody red, as I was knocked ten feet back. My body spun in midair, and the landing knocked the wind out of me as I slid five-six feet through the road dust. Glancing at my HP bar, I automatically used a healing potion and rose back to my feet through the pain. It was all over. Bound with invisible rope, the karriga filled the vicinity with an odious howl, echoed by all the local fauna.
"You all right?" Kort asked me as I walked up to the demons, having removed my helm and spitting out the dust that had filled my mouth entirely. The damned beast still wouldn't stop wailing. "Shut it up, will you?" he yelled to Alsuil, then swung and rammed his steel boot into the revolting mouth cavity. There was a crack in its teeth, and the creature choked on bloody froth, with its health bar dropping by about 10%.
"I'm fine," I said, thinking that it if weren't for his wife's sandwich, I would have been knocked unconscious for sure. A single blow—and one blocked by the shield besides—had still brought me down past 30% HP.
At las
t, the mage cast some spell over the karriga that shut it up—Silence, evidently. Its mouth with broken teeth still gaping, the beast looked like a beached fish.
"Thank you, friend," the demon patted me on the shoulder. "Here's something to remember us by, Treis sewed it herself." He handed me a bundle.
You've completed the quest: Trap for a Karriga II.
You have gained a level! Current level: 69.
You have 1 talent point to allocate.
Racial bonus: +1% to resistance to dark magic, +1% resistance to light magic.
Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 3 stat points to allocate.
You have gained a level! Current level: 70.
You have 2 stat points to allocate.
Racial bonus: +1% to resistance to dark magic, +1% resistance to light magic.
Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 6 stat points to allocate.
You received: Kort's Cloak.
I unfolded the cloak—brown with a beige pattern embroidered along the edges—ran my palm along the soft fabric and equipped it immediately.
Kort's Cloak.
Cloth. Durability: 450/450.
Rare item.
Minimum level to equip: 70.
Armor: 80.
+70 to agility.
+30 to constitution.
Weight: 5 lbs.
"Thank you, Kort. You've been spoiling me with presents," I grinned in return. "And what about this one? I thought it was supposed to die," I nodded at the karriga that the legionnaires were simply wrapping up in runecloth.
"Oh, it will definitely die," the innkeeper frowned. "But its death will be as long and agonizing as can be. Let the people that had perished by the fiend's hand delight in the Ashen Lands. You come come and watch, if you like."
"No, thanks," I shook my head. "I'm sure you will do what needs to be done. I've got to hit the road tomorrow, so I should get some rest."
"Agreed," Kort nodded. "See you in the morning, then. And thanks again."
I shook the demon's hand, bid farewell to everyone and started toward the inn. I was thinking that a hero of good alignment might have said something about torture being inherently bad, and that even a despicable monster's death ought to be humane. Evidently, I wasn't your typical hero, 'cause if need be I would grab a pair of tongs myself and readily go to town on a beast that was feasting on the lives of women and children, and squeal with delight as I ripped the bastard to shreds. Perhaps it was the effect of recent developments, or maybe I was gradually becoming more and more like a proper demon.
"When you get to Nittal, go see Gerid first. After that, feel free to decide your next move," Kort reminded me for the umpteenth time.
"Don't worry, I remember. I'll visit your former colleague, if only 'cause I don't know anyone else. At least he can offer a place to stay the night, and perhaps some advice."
"And don't forget to eat. Kort told me about your flying down the road," Treis butted in. "You mages ought to eat more."
"For sure. Next time you see me, you won't recognize me—I'll be like that merchant over there," I gestured over at the corpulent trader who was presently overseeing his people—whether guards or workers—loading crates into one of the wagons.
The total weight of provisions that Treis had loaded me with despite my pitiable protests exceeded seventy pounds. It was a good thing food didn't spoil, because the supplies would last at least a month.
"We move out in one minute!" shouted Lirrak, the caravan's leader, drowning out all other noise.
"Well, you take care now," Kort gave me a tight squeeze goodbye. "And don't forget your promise."
"As soon as I learn how to make portals, I'll be right back here," I smiled.
Treis pecked me on the cheek, then wrapped her arms around her husband and looked up at him.
"Oh, and we've got a name for our firstborn," she smiled at me. "So you had better come visit your namesake."
They say that one ought to leave without turning around, but as I sat there in the wagon of the moving caravan, I found myself unable to tear a wistful gaze away from the diminishing Lamorna.
