After saying goodbye to Patrick, I caught the quarry foreman looking at me. He nodded and raised a hand, the rest at the table did the same. I waved back to them and, tacking between the players dancing in the smoke, walked across the room. I just about ran into a waitress as she left the kitchen with a full tray, then went up the stairs to the second floor.
In my private room, I filled a chest with money I got from Undy and completely cleared out my inventory. Ideally, I should have invested in something a bit more spacious than my basic starter bag, but even basic sixteen-slot storage started at five gold, and that was with no bonuses to reduce weight. The better ones were enchanted to make the contents have a lower drop chance if you died, too. Overall, I'd classify that stuff as "very important, but still out of reach."
My levelling strategy for the evening and upcoming night was formed before I even spoke with Patrick. Gloomwood and the land of the murlocks to the west were right out. Too much action there. Going to the mountains was no option either, nor was the Mire. I probably wouldn’t be able to effectively fight the mobs there, because their level would be too high. Even Hammerfist couldn't help me against them and it gave me a 155% accuracy bonus on same-level enemies and dealt an additional 1600% damage.
If I understood the accuracy and damage calculations correctly, they were both reduced by about 10% per level higher than my own. So let's say I simply could not hit a mob sixteen levels above me. And if I missed, the attack wouldn't level.
So for those reasons, I decided to spend the night in a dungeon. No one would see me transform when Mark of the Destroying Plague kicked in, the loot was better there and, at the end of the day, it was close at hand.
First I thought of the Evil from the Depths instance no one could finish in the Olton Quarries. But I weighed the plusses and minuses and decided against it. Sure, it could potentially give me a heap of achievements. And the years’ worth of loot there were more enticing than Overweight's velvety hemispheres, but...
But the mobs were high level. That's one. It might take me a whole month to pass that ins, considering what I said before about damage and accuracy. And two, I had decided to go there with the Dementors even if they didn't know that yet. Well and three, it seemed like a big shame! With an eight-slot bag I'd have to leave most of the loot inside! The hamster on my chest would tear through my shirt! Well, to hell with that...
So I picked a different dungeon. The Tristad City Jail was just six blocks away. After the Crypt of the Temple of Nergal the Radiant disappeared, this was the only instance in the city.
As far as I could tell from the in-game encyclopedias, there were three bosses: a mad gnome scientist, a cunning goblin from the League and a draconid – a scaly four-legged creature with two arms.
The outbreak of the nether from a few years back had started in the right wing of the jail. And that was where they held prisoners convicted of the very worst crimes. The former prisoners were no goody two-shoes before, but after their minds got clouded and bodies mutated, they became a major threat to the city. The town was only saved by a Senior Mage from the capital who was passing through Tristad on business.
Still, the mage was in too great a hurry to properly clear out the jail and seal the portal, so he just cast a spell on the whole right wing, placing it in a separate pocket of space. That left the city's top minds scratching their heads, but they decided to just leave well enough alone and not build a new jail.
Whether that was the truth or a simple legend explaining why such an ins existed in the sandbox was immaterial. It wasn't the hardest dungeon. It was for players of level nine or ten. It had been passed successfully by many generations of players. And a new crop of players came through every two years, considering that the "graduates" of the sandbox passed into the greater world just as they reached sixteen.
There was practically no risk, and the only thing that might stop me was if someone was already in the dungeon.
But I jinxed myself. As soon as I walked up to the jail, I got what I was afraid of. There was a group of players waiting for their group outside the instance portal, a fine layer of ether that glimmered shades of green. It was three characters in cheap mismatched gear, two boys and a girl, all level eight. They were sitting on the grass and talking about something. The text over their heads told me they were from the clan Schrodinger’s Cats.
"Hi!" I said. "Are you guys gonna run this ins?"
"We’re actually on our way out. We're just waiting for our tank and healer," a tall gaunt boy named Teller told me. "They were just about to finish off Pherax, he had less than ten percent HP!"
"Maybe we should give it another try?" the girl forwarded.
"No, Plancka. It’s late, I've gotta go. Let's wait for our team and log off. What about you, Yukawa?"
"I gotta go too before father hits the emergency exit," said the third, a heavyset East Asian boy wearing chainmail and holding a bow. "I've got an algebra test tomorrow."
"Oh god! Who needs algebra? What good will it do us?" Plancka sniveled.
"Everyone needs it, quit your belly-aching," Teller grumbled. Based on their shared last name, he and Plancka were brother and sister. He looked at me and squinted. "And what's it to you, Scyth? There are no quests for your level here. And there’s nothing else for you to do in this ins."
"Quests? They give out quests for instances?"
"It's like you just fell here from the moon! Cooper is the warden and he still hopes they can get the right wing of the jail back under control." He pointed me to the far door, leading to the administrative wing. "Cooper will give a mission to anyone: for boss's heads, clearing out the wing, closing the portal to the nether... But it's too early for you to think about that. See, the five of us are at level eight and we couldn't do it."
"I'm just asking," I said, spreading my arms. "I haven't been playing for long and, basically, I'm getting to know the city. I just wanna know what’s what."
"I see. Well, best of luck.. Ope!" he looked up. "Our tank Mosely is down. That's gotta be it! And there goes Born! Wuss... Alright, let's go to the graveyard. We can meet up with them and do a quick post-game..."
Clamoring in disappointment, they stood up and went to the respawn point. I led my gaze over them, then walked past the instance portal.
The bulletin board at the main entrance looked like a scene from a Western. There were poorly drawn portraits of criminals with labels like "Especially dangerous," "Wanted!" "Dead or alive!" And they overlapped, covering the whole thing. Among them was every kind of beast from the ocean to the Mire. They would give one hundred gold for the chief of the nagas, snake-people from around the coast. But the poster of Crusher was crossed out in red and stamped the same color with the word "Dead." Strange that this was the warden’s job and not, for example, the leader of the city guard’s.
These quests were given out automatically, and I took them all just in case, filling my list of missions. But first of all, I wanted to find out about the ones Teller was talking about.
I opened the door confidently and walked inside. I immediately found a guard. He was completely encased in plate armor with his helmet visor down. He put a hand on his sword handle and asked:
"Where to?"
"The warden."
"Against the rules," he answered, sizing me up with a gaze.
"I'm here about the right wing. I wanted to ask if the warden has any assignments."
"Assignments? For you?" the guard asked in amazement, guffawing. "Geezer, Miser! Boys, just come look at this little ragamuffin! He thinks he’s going into the right wing! Hahaha!"
"Wait, Mario!" a hoar-headed guardsman with no helmet said quietly but significantly. The laughter immediately came to an end. "Who knows what kind of power might be lurking in this unprepossessing boy? What is your name soldier?" he asked, turning to me.
It was a strange question, because nonplayer characters always knew everyone’s name. It was a mechanic of the world. They perceived all these levels, experience
points, reputation, skills, attributes, interface hints and damage numbers as a given, just the fabric of their world. That was one of the most crucial issues of the first virtual worlds. In fact, when basic NPC scripts were first replaced with artificial intelligence, the Movement for Nonplayer Character Rights achieved their goal. Mobs were made equal with people in terms of access to information. They didn't get to respawn, though. That might break the reality of it. Aggressive mobs respawned, but key bots did not.
"My name is Scyth. I already know I'm not yet ready for an encounter with the beasts that inhabit the right wing, but I’d only be risking my own neck."
"You're right, son," said Geezer. He slapped me on the shoulder and turned his gaze to Mario: "Let him through."
He didn't argue with his superior and pointed me to the hall:
"Last door on the right. When speaking with Mr. Cooper, always be clear and to the point."
"Thanks."
I had passed them when I was called out to from behind. The gray-haired guardsman came up, winked and barely audibly whispered:
"Thanks for Manny."
At first it didn’t really register, then I put two and two together. Geezer was played by a noncitizen? Just like Dargo/Clayton? Well, well! I guess the corporation didn't stop at hostile mobs and was now injecting real people into NPC's like the Tristad guards.
I remembered Gale the guardsman who wanted to let me go for a copper, i.e. a bribe. His behavior was just too humanlike when he was supposed to be bringing me to court for ripping Vista's dress!
The thought buried itself in my subconscious while I walked toward the jail warden's office. Not seeing any identifying markings on the door, I simply knocked.
"Come in," came a peevish voice inside.
Digging through mountains of paper in the cramped office was a severe bald man, Warden Cooper. He raised his head, instantly saw my level and equipment and winced.
"Speak!" he barked.
"Good day, Mr. Cooper! You wouldn't happen to have any assignments for me, would you? I'm thinking of going to the right wing…"
"No," he replied and immediately forgot about me, immersed in the papers on the table.
"But maybe..."
"Geezer!" the boss shouted, not raising his head. "Why are there strangers in my office?"
I was baffled! Teller told me he’d give quests to anyone, but look at this. He wouldn't even talk to me!
Geezer came in, showered his boss with apologies and, grabbing me by the hand, led me out of the office.
"Low reputation with the city," he explained. "And I, idiot that I am, didn't think to check. Have you done any social quests at all, Scyth?"
"Social quests?" I stopped. "No. And you, apologies... are you human?"
"Human as they come!" Geezer replied, winking and shaking his head. "What do I look like a gnome?"
"I thought..." I nodded, realizing he may not want or be able to speak about his true nature. This may have been more or less exactly like my threat status. I remembered how that admission had turned out for Clayton. "In any case, thank you for trying to help, Mr. Geezer!"
I left the administrative wing, sensing a stubborn gaze from the gray-haired guardsman. I wondered how it was to play that. If he wanted to quit and go do something else, would they let him? To what degree could he exercise control over this seemingly nonplayer character? I had lots of questions but practically no answers. And the only person who could help me with this was that midget from Cali Bottom.
However, that was just basic curiosity. I forgot all about the odd guardsman called Geezer as soon as I entered the dungeon.
* * *
The gloomy and practically unlit dungeon was once the right wing of the city jail, but now it looked more like the insides of some huge insect. All surfaces were covered in acrid slime and constantly buzzing like a living organism. This once spacious corridor was now an uneven tunnel with pulsating outgrowths all over the walls.
Ghastly Howl, which I used right after respawn, made passing the dungeon easier, especially after Curse of the Undead triggered. The ability's cool-down zeroed out after dying, and some of the pushy former prisoners scattered in fear every time. That let me land a blow or two more before I got torn to shreds again.
Kobolds, ogres, dark dwarves and gnolls – all the prisoners had been altered by the entity that flooded out of the nether. These altered creatures grew mandibles, powerful fangs and chitin plates all over their bodies. They craved only one thing – flesh and blood. Unfortunately for them though, they did not eat one another, and they had no way out of the sealed wing. So their only food was people like me.
Almost all my attacks were hitting something, adding points to my progress in the Unarmed Combat skill and the only special I used, Hammerfist. I hadn't yet made it to a trainer for this school of combat. I didn't even know where to look. Nevertheless, that had one huge plus: sure I was leveling only one attack, but my patently unfair invincibility allowed me to level it on stronger mobs for a practically unlimited amount of time.
Mark of the Destroying Plague only kicked in on the second pack. The first one, made of six spiteful and ugly altered criminals, took me more than one hour. I lasted almost twenty seconds before my first death, then I managed to raise Unarmed Combat high enough and lay low my first mob. Each subsequent one took me two to three dozen deaths. I respawned with just the one life and each subsequent death spurned on my desire to speak with Behemoth, hoping it could do something about this curse.
By the time I'd reached the first boss, I had done everything I could. Ghastly Howl was up to level. Curse of the Undead had activated, which raised the Mark of the Destroying Plague. I had increased Night Vision and Resilience to level five. The last one made me especially glad, because it increased my resistance to damage by 5%, and brought up Stoneskin the same amount, which I could now have on for an impressive five seconds. Reducing the pain was also quite significant, considering how much I had to bear.
But that wasn't why I came into the ins. That was mostly for my main special attack. And it had grown as well. Quite a lot in fact:
Unarmed Combat skill improved: +1.
Damage dealt without a weapon increased by 185%
Attack accuracy increased by 185%.
Current level: 36.
Improve this skill by fighting enemies of your level or higher for additional bonuses and new special attacks.
Hammerfist improved: +1.
Cost to use: 2 mana points.
Deals 1900% of normal damage.
Ignores 35% of armor.
Pay a visit to a master of Unarmed Combat to learn more special attacks!
A bit more and I'd hit level five. Feeling inspired, I picked up the loot from the last pack. I got a few silver and copper coins, as well as an unusual green knife, which looked more like a sharpener but gave interesting bonuses: plusses to Thief and Break-in. The little knife took a place in my bag together with a rare blue grubby armband, which increased agility and Stealth. That brightened my mood and gave me cause to hope it would get better from there.
I got up off the slimy floor and took a step toward the boss section when suddenly I saw a silhouette split off a black unlit section of wall. If this hadn't happened in the virtual world, I'd have shit a couple dozen bricks. All hostile mobs were dead, everything behind me was clear, and before me was the boss room!
"Nether!" I shouted. "And who the hell might you be?"
In the light of some water-sac torches jutting out of the wall, I saw a fearsome figure three feet taller than me. It had a massive body, tail, hooves, a bull's head and a huge ring in its nose. I breathed a sigh of relief. Level eleven, elite. But I had already lain low three packs of that, even if none of them were human-bull hybrids. Seemingly this was a patrol mob. It came just as I finished taking down the previous pack. And just in the nick of time. Let it bash at me to keep the curse active. My health took a while to regenerate, but it was always better to have insurance.
&nbs
p; "Here little bull," I lured it with my left hand while the other squeezed into a fist. "I'm gonna break off your horns!"
"No, I’m gonna break you...!" the tauren bellowed out in the deep bass of a five-story building.
Hammer launched at him like a cannonball, but didn't hit. The mob deftly stepped back, then poked his good hand into his chest and said:
"Don't fight, Alex. Trixie is here to help. Clayton said: Scyth is good. Trixie will help Scyth!"
Trixie from Cali Bottom? The same one who used to be a nameless zombie under the temple? I started suspecting there were no nonplayer characters in this game whatsoever.
Class-A Threat (Disgardium Book #1) LitRPG Series Page 21