by G. Akella
The duke examined the object in my hand and flinched. He raised his eyebrows, his voice excited.
"Where did you find that? You intend to give it to Gronh? But how? And how do you know that I—"
"Do you remember how on that day Vill was accompanied by four companions? Nerghall is dead, and now I have the chieftain's insignia. I saw the battle. Karrosh was the last to die, standing guard over the body of Blackrock. And I remember a certain young Count Richard Daar."
"The messengers stopped coming, and my father sent me to the orcs." The duke smiled for the first time in the conversation. “That day, I was so scared that father would be ashamed of me. But... all right, prince. I will send you to Kargalar at midday, the earliest I can open a portal. After that, you will be on your own.”
"What about my people?"
Richard chuckled bitterly and squinted at the port barracks.
"Rayan will not come. I lost more than a thousand soldiers tonight, but that changes nothing. I will move to the southern border, and will bring your people with me. Meet me here at noon." The duke clapped me on the shoulder, waved to the guards, and headed for the barracks.
Chapter 10
Everyone down to elementary school knows that Tolkien invented orcs. But these orcs were not his orcs. Far from it. The game's creators had spent a lot of effort on the orcs. I never really play games myself—until my lifelong game began—but I did watch movies, and Donut had taught me all about the subject. The father of fantasy had made the orcs full-fledged monsters and brutes, and the director of The Lord of the Rings trilogy had seized upon that conception of them. But the world changed after that. Only the youngest kids in school, besides some older imbeciles, believed in a ruler of pure darkness. Now I doubted anyone did. So, at the end of the twentieth century, the orcs had undergone a transformation into a race of warriors. In World of Warcraft, Medivh had done a good deal to help that transformation along. Of course, orcs were more widespread than Warcraft, according to Donut, but for the sake of brevity, that was the popular depiction of them we would consider. No one would ever have wanted to be a Tolkienesque orc. They were filthy zombies. People wanted to wave swords around, chase pretty elven girls through the woods, or just relax, not become monsters. So the game's developers left Professor Tolkien a note. "Thank you for the name, but we'll take it from here."
And all of that would have been fine, but with the advent of true virtual reality, a number of other difficulties arose. In WoW, which Donut told me all about, an average orc was a solid four inches taller than the average human. Their shoulders were much wider, though not as wide as in LOTR, where the orcs were often giants. I remember Max and I crunching the numbers to figure out how much heavier orcs were than humans. Three times as heavy, it turned out. As kids, we always thought the humans didn't stand a chance. But the filmmakers probably made the orcs so massive just to show how heroic the humans were. And what would be the point of those massive jaws and tusks planted on the face of a basically normal-sized body? Tusks played an important role in battle for walruses, elephants, wild boars, and even saber-toothed tigers, piercing the flesh of their victims. But these tusks, what were they good for? Tossing enemies into the air? Digging up roots? Nature usually didn't often make a fool of itself with useless biological features, but developers were known for adding trunks and beaks and all sorts of appendages for the sake of fearsomeness or beauty. So players would join the game and end up with tusks and a lower jaw pushed preposterously forward. Making it nearly impossible to eat. And to live, in general. The developers spent a lot of time refining the orcs into a playable race, and in the end, they weren’t that much different from humans. In their current form, the race looked pretty similar to the comely half-orc female that had smoked the human king back in the first film.
Size wise, the orcs of Arkon were only a little larger than humans. Their skin ranged across various shades of green, and their jaws were more or less normal, despite the fangs, which were not at all used for eating. Their ears were pointed, but shorter than elven ears, and their hair colors ranged from black to red. In short, they were still fearsome to some degree, but humanoid enough. The orcs that guarded the southern gate of Kargalar commanded respect with their mere appearance. Plus, they were armored in mithril from head to toe, with small triangular shields and maliciously twisted hammers. One look at their three hundred levels was enough to dissuade anyone from breaking into the city without waiting in line for legal entry. Presently, five burlap-covered wagons were waiting at the entrance. I didn't know what the farm laborers were carrying inside, but I could smell them from a good distance. With a sigh, I steered Gloom to the end of the short line. It was ten minutes to one, and the meeting with the chieftain's son was scheduled for noon, but trying to skip the line into the city would likely end up losing me much more time. I hoped fervently they wouldn’t just start killing each other right away. To get my mind off of the possibility, I started examining the city walls.
Kargalar was an interesting mix of Russian and Chinese architecture, at least going by the outside. The whole length of the thirty-foot wall as far as I could see was interspersed with alternating rectangular projections and massive round towers. The orcish capital was surrounded by a hundred-foot moat fed by the Great River, which ran along the north of the city. In the steppes, the Aqasana wasn't as wide as it was in Erantia, but if Donut was right, even ocean ships had no trouble navigating its waters up this far. The stationary portion of the southern bridge was made of the same red brick as the city walls and stretched out just beyond the middle of the moat. Archers stood atop the forty-foot gate guard tower crowned with a pyramid-shaped spire, and several catapult-like structures stuck parts of themselves out over the wall. I was an amateur at these things, but in my estimation a city like this could only be captured with the aid of the gods. The orcs were a people of war, and their capital was correctly considered the most fortified city on the continent.
The whole of the southern land outside the walls was covered in vineyards. Long, even rows of bushes lit by the bright midday sun extended into the distance, dotted by short farm buildings and vanishing into the hills at the horizon. I didn't see a single player among all the travelers, which was strange given the sheer number of people who came to this city. Of course, only guys and girls of a certain character type decided to play as orcs, and the latest patch must have been brutal for them. Donut told me that the farmers had decent lives here, but in the orcish caste system farming was the lowest level, and most of them would never rise any higher. They were rarely killed in raids, but agricultural labor did not earn any respect on the steppe. But enough about their bloody customs and traditions. I needed a plan. I had to do whatever I could to warn Trang and to use his help to kill Gurkass and the two disavowed he had spoken of. Neither Vaessa nor Raena had heard of Sheikata's Shackles the shaman planned to use to defeat the chieftain's son. The name suggested it was a control spell or maybe some kind of curse. To remove a control effect, you needed to know how it worked—and know the necessary spell to counteract it. Curses were more complicated. Their removal depended on spell level. Setara's Shield could remove any curse, no matter what it was, but it was still in cooldown, unfortunately. I had collected a Cleansing of Mind scroll from Raena, but I doubted it would be useful here. Damn it, what's taking them so long? I sighed heavily and calmed my rage. Less than five minutes had passed, and only one wagon was left. I would get inside in time.
What would happen if I showed up before the kha'an’s son was attacked? Nothing different. Gurkass would try to kill him no matter what. As usual, I'd get myself into a fight, and play the situation by ear. Of course, I wouldn’t say any of this to the gate guards—that would just lose time and trigger unnecessary suspicions.
"Look at the size of that boar!" one of the guards exclaimed.
"And the strange elf on top of it!" the other joined.
A tall, beautiful female orc with a ponytail stepped forward and gestured for me to
stop.
"Kargalar bids you welcome, demon. I don't know why you are here, but without personal permission from the commander of the guard, I cannot grant you entry. The orcs and demons are not at peace."
Alida, centurion of the city guard, was gorgeous. A real candidate for Miss Kargalar. Even in the old world, she would have done nicely in a beauty contest. The small fangs protruding from under her lower lip didn't spoil the effect—to the contrary, they added a sort of primitive, feral beauty to it. She was beautiful, confident, and dangerous. But I couldn’t care less right now. I was hopelessly late, and waiting for the stupid commander of the guard to sign a stupid paper would let Vill beat me yet again. The orcs would start fighting each other, and Gurkass would disappear. The game would be lost, right here at this gate.
I restrained my rage, glanced at the wagons entering the city, and leaned towards the centurion.
"Listen, woman, Trang an Kharg will be attacked any moment. Gurkass an Gunlaag and the delegates from the Bloody Spear are the disavowed. And whatever you say, I'm getting into this city, on my own if you won’t grant me entry!"
"Are you mad, demon?" Alida stepped back and drew her axe. “Seize him!”
Six guards rushed my way. I nodded, smiled, and activated Gloom's Charge.
Your reputation has decreased. Orcs are hostile to you.
In a single second, two guards were knocked to the ground. A short arrow struck into my boar's withers, and another ricocheted off the side, taking less than one percent HP. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as my back slammed into the back of the saddle, and I began to laugh.
"Kill him!"
Hearing the boar's roar behind him, the driver of the final wagon bailed, and a moment later Gloom’s muzzle crashed into it. The wood gave way with a dry crack, and the smell of sour and flour filled my nostrils. My boar was covered in white spots.
"In the name of the kha'an!"
A small orc female threw some shiny things at me with both hands, then jumped aside with a cartwheel. Her spotted cloak flickered before my eyes as Gloom and I broke through into the city.
The square just inside the gate was half as big as a football field, but we cleared it in a matter of seconds. Despite their red nicknames, none of the orcs in the square made any move to interfere, as if they could have. Some had no idea what was happening yet, but others started calling out encouragement. Encouragement? Is this city really that boring? Or are there just a lot of players here in the square?
By some miracle we avoided hitting anyone. Gloom and I burst out onto the main street, and fifty yards later we were in full gallop.
"Make way!" I shouted through the laughter, amplifying my voice, then popped Aura of Horror to boost the effect.
Civilians scattered, and the guards, who were hopelessly far behind me, were still shouting something. One level 280 orc on a warg stepped out to intercept, but a sweep of Gloom's tusks knocked him and his dog both into the window of a store. I did not have my weapons drawn, as I intended to kill absolutely no one here. At least not yet. Signs flashed before my eyes, pedestrians ran every which way, and vegetables and fruits shotgunned out of the smashed boxes of the street vendors. On all sides, I heard screams and curses. The chaos continued for three minutes. The Aura and the fun ended then, but still no one else blocked my way. I saw the first organized party of guards moving towards me when I was about a hundred yards out. But I did not fight them, instead turning my boar down another street running along the high stone fence surrounding the mansion I was aiming for. We knocked down yet another booth, and then Gloom and I flew towards the wall. One Step through Darkness, and we were through it.
Why the hell didn't this Trang just live with his dad in the palace? That would have saved us so much trouble. Then again, if he lived some place else, Gurkass would have thought up some other kind of plan, and I may not have been able to stop him.
No sound from the street could be heard on this side of the fence. But judging by the sounds I was hearing, I had been lucky and unlucky at the same time. I was in the right garden, but the commotion coming from deep within the garden sounded all too familiar. Someone was getting killed. I kicked Gloom into a gallop.
Thankfully, he was still a boar, not some delicate horse. We broke through thorn bushes, kicked up spray in all directions, trampled a shallow decorative pond lined with bright orange plants, and finally emerged into open space. I pulled on the reins and quickly took in the scene.
I was too late. Twenty yards to the left, I saw two orcs in long chainmail and pointed helmets, using their curved scimitars to chop five of their kin to pieces. Ahead of me, near a square woven gazebo, a young orc female lay murdered, arms splayed wide. Nearby, a tray, glasses, and an overturned pitcher. She had been a maid, a witness in the wrong place at the wrong time. A tall orc in tight trousers and a bloodied white shirt stood nearby, armed with a pair of straight blades, trying to reach a retreating Gurkass. They were both level 500, but Trang had only fifteen percent remaining of his one-and-a-half billion HP, and his life was dwindling with each passing second. The shaman was making no move to attack—each lunge of the chieftain's son was absorbed by a light green film that appeared between them. Trang was moving slowly, and whether the blame lay with some debuff or with all the blood and HP he had lost, I didn’t know. The shaman was easily blocking each attack, waiting until the curse took care of his opponent.
Gurkass wasn't doing too well, either, with no more than half of his billion HP left. But Trang was little more than a walking corpse by now, and if...
You've accessed the quest: Saving the Chieftain's Son.
Quest type: unique.
Prevent the disavowed from killing Trang an Kharg, by any means necessary.
Reward: experience, unknown, significantly increased reputation with the Dragon Skull clan. Increased reputation with Rehan an Kharg, Xena an Arhrot, and Trang an Kharg.
Warning: if Trang an Kharg dies, you will have failed the quest.
Son of a bitch! Was this really all a planned quest? Waiting for the valiant knight on his proverbial white horse to turn up at just the right moment and save the day? I suppose I should know better by now...
I looked at the dead servant for a moment, letting the pent-up rage within me to finally release. Women here were just as strong as men, but I still had some remnants of chivalry. No one had the right to hurt a woman like that.
Five heartbeats later, I had fully assessed the situation. One of the disavowed turned towards me, nudged his comrade, and pointed at me with his blade, yelling something. You're next, animals.
I used the Cleansing of Mind scroll on Trang, and threw a Greater Healing potion from my belt at him. Gloom, Charge! Infernal Rage! Frenzy! Fortification! My backside pressed into the saddle as Gloom accelerated.
Trang stumbled and fell to his knees, then began to slip into a prone position, all in slow motion. The potion had only restored his HP to barely a quarter. The curse was still active, meaning the scroll scroll had proved useless. Gurkass swung his hooked staff wide, but then noticed the rider and his steed flying straight at him, and quickly threw up an open palm to respond. Too late! My body twisted in immense pain, plunging my HP bar into the red, but there was no stopping the hurtling boar.
Your Toughness skill has increased to 66%.
The lance's tip smashed into Gurkass' exposed hand. Crit! At that moment, a powerful force seized me and pulled me out of the saddle. Gloom kept going, crashing into a bush lining the garden. The sun shone crimson, and I heard my bones crunch as I fell to the ground, but I found the strength to roll and to use both Greater Healing and Greater Fire Resistance in quick succession. I doubted that Gurkass would attack me with fire, but using the potion would cool my whole body down for about ten seconds, which greatly helped to mitigate the pain. Thanks for the potions, Father Sebastian. The crimson haze blocking my view gave way. My suffering extinguished by rage and cold, I saw the staff bite into the ground where I had just been. The scraggly
bird's foot atop it ripped into the dirt, and the shaman stepped towards me. I met his next blow with my shield.
Tongue of Flame! Crit! Ruination cut into Gurkass' side, taking two hundred thousand HP from the forty six million he had left. I threw Shackles at the disavowed running towards me. My boar roared wildly, charging out of the bushes. The staff struck my shield again, bone hitting mithril, but then the pommel suddenly extended, twisting, and covered my face. The next second, the staff hit me in the right side, and a kick of the boot to the stomach sent me hurtling back.
"Bastard!"
A sharp pain cut through my cheek as the System informed me that I'd been poisoned. My neck grew sticky, and my vision hazy with bloody fog.
"You're not as dangerous as master said, demon," pronounced Gurkass, his eyes glittering with a poisonous green flame. He took a step in my direction and tossed his staff into his right hand. “Today, I will gladden him with news of your death.”
I took the blow with my shield. One half-step forward, and Ruination cut into the shaman's shoulder. A mocking smile appeared on his face.
"Is that the best you can do, pup?" Gurkass taunted me, his hushed tone full of scorn. But then his body twitched as two blades tore through his chest, converting the whisper to a hoarse gurgle. Blood spurted from his open mouth, and the shaman dropped the staff as he began to topple backwards.
All orcs were born warriors. With the potion having restored only a small portion of Trang's HP, and the curse still devouring his life and slowing his movements to a crawl, somehow he had found the strength to stand and deliver a final blow. With a glance at Gurkass’ corpse, Trang turned slowly towards me, nodded almost imperceptibly, and collapsed on top of his enemy, seemingly lifeless.
Fifty yards away, a group of orcs burst into the clearing. As Earth Shackles wore off, one of the disavowed darted toward me and tried to get me with his scimitar. But I wasn't a motionless corpse, and he was nothing close to a raid boss. Shield block, Ice Blade—crit! Smashing through the enemy's shield, Ruination cut into the base of his neck, and the victim fell at my feet. Gloom rushed past, driving his tusks fatally into the other one. Game over.
