The Clan

by D. Rus

  "Guys, please," I said. "Have you boozed your brain cells away, starting a punchup in town?"

  The hoods didn't like it. They stepped in my way. How stupid could they be?

  "No violence within the city limits!" Attracted by the brawl, a patrol was already scurrying toward us. The chief guard's practiced stare brushed over me. He lowered his head in respect. The Princess' Mark seemed to be working. He peered at my opponents. His face twitched. "Gont the Barbarian! This is the second verbal warning for disturbing public order. Another one, and you'll have to appear in court. The decision is final. Dismissed!"

  The Barbarian glared at me.

  Warning! Gont the Barbarian has added you to his personal enemies list. +5 to Fame!

  Would you like to add Gont to your list? Killing a personal enemy will add +20 to Fame. However, being killed by your personal enemy will result in your losing 40 Fame points. Adding limit: 1 person every 24 hours. Potential trophy: the loser's ear as part of the Avenger achievement.

  So! I didn't even know we had this sort of option. In any case, I didn't need it at the moment. If his kick was picking enemies fifty levels weaker than himself, he was welcome to it. Decline.

  He screwed up his face. "Chicken!"

  "If you say so, hero. Dismissed!" I turned to the chief guard. "Sergeant? I need to see Princess Ruata of the House of Night. It's pretty urgent."

  Hearing the name, the guard jumped to attention and all but saluted me, "One moment!"

  He produced a crystal artifact and spoke into it, swallowing the words. It looked as if NPCs didn't have built-in communication channels the way players did.

  After a brief wait, a teleport popped open nearby, letting out a Drow mage. He nodded to the guards, then turned to me. "Our Lady will see you. Are you ready?"

  Not bothering to wait for a reply, he laid his hand on my shoulder and opened a new portal.

  Teleport spell alert! Destination: the House of Night, Small Castle. Accept: Yes/No.

  I accepted.

  A sonic boom hit my eardrums. I found myself in the portal hall of the Small Palace. Nice digs. Frescoed ceilings, stucco moldings, carved wood and gold everywhere—and lots of it. I dreaded the thought of what the Big Palace might be like.

  We hurried along mosaic corridors, the palace guards saluting as we approached. Finally, we stopped by the highest carved doors I'd seen in my life. The mage froze, expectant, then stepped aside, having received a silent command that only he could hear. He motioned me to enter. I stared at the enormous doors, not really knowing how to push or pull them.

  I didn't have time to lose face. Noiselessly, the doors swung open, revealing a huge throne room. Massive columns lined the central passage which was tiled with opaque stone speckled with gems and gold dust. It led to a pedestal with two thrones upon it. The bigger and heavier one stood empty. Princess Ruata sat on the smaller one.

  I approached, lowering my head. My heart was jumping out of my chest just like it had been when we'd first kissed. I'd already forgotten the effect she produced in me: a mind-blowing cocktail of pheromones and non-verbal messages. The aroma of wild strawberries enveloped me; I swallowed and, unconsciously, made an extra step forward wishing to bury my face in her hair. This wasn't right, surely! I pulled myself together, put on my best friendly face and looked up at her.

  Bang. My heart sank to my stomach. Bang. Ecstatic, my inner greedy pig fell flat on his back. She was something, really.

  The Princess' eyes were upon me, moist and glowing. An understanding smile fluttered across her lips. She spoke first.

  "Be welcome, my savior. It has taken you a while to visit the poor prisoner."

  How's that for pure sarcasm!

  She rose and descended a couple of steps to my own level, showing the ultimate respect reserved for the most welcome guests. I heaved a sigh and surrendered to her charms. Resisting them was beyond me.

  She gave me a studying look. "You haven't wasted your time. You're stronger now. Even here, we have heard about your exploits..."

  Fame level 3, I thought.

  Her eyes widened. "You bear the Mark of the Fallen One! Have you met him? Did he grace you with his touch?"

  At that point, I finally awoke from my stupor. I flexed my neck which still ached, for some unknown reason, where it had met with the sword of Darkness. "If you count a sword stroke as a touch—well, you could say he did indeed."

  She shook her head in disbelief, then clapped her hands. In a blink of an eye, a dozen servants had laid a table for two. She motioned me to a high-backed chair.

  "Be my guest. Do partake from these fine viands and tell me where you met the Fallen One. I have the right to be curious: I am the priestess of the Dark Temple, the only one in our town. Any manifestation of the Fallen One is sacred to me."

  I filled our wine glasses and took a swig, both to show my respect and to wet my throat. "Actually, it was one of the reasons why I'm here."

  I didn't want to dwell too much on it. Still, she used all her vast arsenal of persuasion to drag the story out of me. She'd utter little shrieks of horror in all the right places, covering her mouth with her perfectly manicured little hand; then she'd lean against me, as if unwilling to miss some detail, accidentally revealing her already-bulging cleavage. Her mind, though, seemed to work like clockwork as she directed the conversation with well-pointed questions.

  "Ruata, please!" I finally begged. "No need to massage my libido. I'm going to tell you everything, anyway. Besides, I have a Paladin girlfriend. You saw us together, didn't you?"

  With a chuckle, she shrugged my question off. "A man can have as many women as he wants as long as he can protect them, provide for them and make them happy."

  I zoned out, contemplating her words. I wasn't really ready for any kind of relationship. I wasn't even capable of protecting myself, considering I'd only been extricated from the torturer's hook less than three hours ago.

  Having said that, where was the Prince of the House, their true protector and provider?

  She caught me glancing at the empty throne. Grief clouded her face. "The Prince is dead. He died defending the Second Temple against the Undead of the clans of Light. They'd cut deep into our lands then. But we failed to keep the Temple..."

  I couldn't believe my ears. "Pardon me? What do you mean, he's dead? Don't your warriors respawn after battle?"

  She gave me an unhurried nod. "The Fallen One is kind to his children. He nearly always grants us the chance to resurrect. But he gets weaker with every perished temple or priest. Recently, he's often left the dead warriors in his palace halls. Four of them didn't come back from the Second Temple battle. For us, it's a lot. The House of Night has no ruler now. That, too, has weakened our position..."

  I had no idea that NPCs could die for good. Wonder if it was the developers' smart idea or some software glitch? Otherwise, in another ten years there'd be none of them left. "Why won't you elect a new Prince?"

  She tensed up like a puma about to strike. Locking my eyes with her mesmerizing stare, she barely leaned toward me, "Would you like to take his place?"

  New Quest alert! The Prince of the House of Night.

  The great Prince had been slain in battle defending the Temple. Are you ready to accept the burden of power and the responsibility for the lives of thousands? Prove you're worthy of taking the Prince's throne!

  Execution conditions:

  Clan leader (met)

  Castle owner (not met)

  Priest of the Fallen One (not met)

  Fame Level 5 (not met)

  Level above that of Princess Ruata (current level: 171) (not met)

  Be in favor with the Princess (met)

  Wow. That was serious. I looked up at the girl. She was greedily waiting for the answer. I swallowed, trying to concentrate. "Ruata, you... I mean, all of you... do you need a proper Prince or just someone to look good on the throne? If I become your Prince—will it give me control over your clan? Will I have access to the treasury?
Will I be able to give orders to the cutthroats? Will I have the right to make my own decisions?"

  She closed her eyes, pleased with my reply. "You're asking the right things. No, we're not looking for a lapdog to sit on an embroidered cushion. Our clan is desperate for a ruler to control it. With full access to the army, the treasury and full control over the clan members' lives. Including that of one particular Princess."

  She looked up at me, defiant. Her nostrils quivered, her chest rising with excitement. Holy mama mia! So many goodies with one free offer! What was the catch?

  My inner greedy pig was already banging the Accept button with his clammy little foot. The Princess' undoubted charms were pushing me in the same direction. I lingered, trying to resist their pressure enough make my own decision. I shut my eyes, checking all the options and looking for the potential catch. I didn't see any. I accepted the quest.

  I lowered my head, "I thank thee, Princess Ruata, for deeming me worthy of the task. I shall do all I can to prove you've made the right choice."

  She gave me a gracious nod. "And I thank thee, Laith the Immortal. Your name and that of your clan are both synonymous with our House. I believe this to be a good omen. Hurry up! Our Council had insisted I make the same offer to four more heroes. Go and be the best!"

  You couldn't but live up to this woman's expectations. I nodded, wiping my inner greedy pig's drooling mug. The PM inbox flashed with a message from Dan. Max? Any developments? Assembly in two and a half hours. We march out at o-three hundred. You'd better move it.

  I jumped up. Three hundred? I thought you said five a.m.?

  Sorry bud, our mistake. We forgot you didn't know our insider speak. We never mention the real time of the raid. To calculate it, you need to deduct one to seven hours depending on the day of the week. Basically, we need you here!

  The Princess gave me a knowing look. "You've got to go, haven't you?"

  "I'm afraid I have. Listen, I'm really sorry-"

  "Don't be. Just make sure you punish your enemies well. Loot their castles, then raze them to the ground. Take their gold and their best women. This is how it has always been. This is the path of the strong, even though it's not the only one. As for your request..."

  I froze, waiting for her to decide.

  "I will give you some warriors. Fifty cutthroats. Our elite. But... They don't know you. Besides, they are too powerful a force to hand over to you lightly. Which is why I'm going with you."

  I stared at her, speechless. She gave me a knowing wink. "I'm not going to be in your way, don't worry. Also, I'd love to meet this Paladin lady of yours. Men have no idea of how to choose their concubines properly."

  Chapter Three

  From a private letter sent by Sir Archibald Murrow, AlterWorld board member, to Dave Rubac, Head of Integration and Development Department.

  Dave,

  I'm not sure if you can see the big picture from where you are, but the noose seems to keep tightening around the senior executives' necks. Did I say noose?—more like a steel cable! Everyone has jumped on the bandwagon piling their two cents of pressure on us: from competition to the independent media and from perma players' families to administration, from law enforcement to human rights activists. Everyone from Austria to Zimbabwe seems to have a claim to file with us.

  In short, the Council is currently considering all potential scenarios. One of which envisages the wholesale evacuation of the entire senior management staff to AlterWorld, including family members, security staff and a number of our friends. The possibility of this turn of events has reached 25% and keeps growing by 3 to 4% a month.

  Expect someone to approach you in order to discuss it. These people will show you all the figures, including some very frightening stats that speak for themselves. You have to trust me though: the situation is not good. We just might be made the scapegoats in which case no amount of Forbes ranking can get us out of the shit. They'll be only too happy to clear out some space.

  Your job now is to provide us with a digital shelter. Not literally, of course. No one expects you to build a new Vault 13. On the contrary. We need a stronghold and a bunch of trustworthy NPCs in the middle of some friendly territory, plus a few sources of gold, preferably infinite. Don't forget that a digitized individual is technically immortal and you know better than I what 5% interest per annum can do to one dollar after three hundred years. Having said that, you never know how it might go—we just might come back to Earth one day.

  Please consider the responsibility this involves. We put our trust in you, but by the same token your loyalty will be repaid in kind. You remember our slogan, don't you? By working for the Corporation, you're working for yourself and the future.

  Re:

  Dear Sir,

  Unfortunately, by now the intervention of this caliber into the game world seems to be outside our control. We have engaged a number of analysts who are looking into some alternative solutions for the task you have proposed. We're in the process of creating some unique quests that only we can complete, as well as burying some treasures and fractioning some unique artifacts, making access to certain yet undiscovered locations technically unattainable.

  By now, our list of bookmarks is quite extensive. I can assure you that in the event of an emergency, our start-up positions will be next to limitless.

  * * *

  I contacted Dan in order to get the coordinates and a temporary digital key which allowed me to create a portal exit point on the Castle premises. The Drow Mage assured me that the data was sufficient to start transporting the Cutthroats in ten minutes.

  The arrival, to the Portal Hall, of fifty unknown warriors caused a quiet panic and very nearly resulted in a blood bath. Apparently, the fact that I was to return with reinforcements had at some point fallen off the grapevine, and already the portcullis was dropping, isolating the Portal Hall from the rest of the castle, as death holes were clanking open and the reinforcements was jumping off the couches in the guards' room.

  Eric saved the day when he saw my perplexed face in the thick of the crowd.

  "All stop! Stop, you idiots!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "Dan! This is Eric from Portal Hall! Come quick before they make mincemeat out of Max and his Drow!"

  Dan reacted quickly, sending an all-clear through the common channel. Surrounded by a dozen elite bodyguards, Ruata watched the scene skeptically.

  Dan gave me a thumbs-up. Then he managed to surprise me. Approaching the Princess, he gave her a quick bow. "Greetings to Princess Ruata, the Lady of the strongest Drow house. Truly your warriors are the best from amongst the Dark Elves."

  The girl lowered her head, accepting the compliment with matter-of-fact dignity. Having said that, how much of it was a compliment? Unlike Dan, I didn't really know a lot about the House of Night or their dealings.

  Dan led us outside, crossing the square toward the donjon. The cutthroats joined the other raiders who were already in the process of concurring over buffs, ordnance and communication channels.

  The square was flooded with light from enormous burning oil vats. Several hundred magic torches filled the air with a subtle cedarwood smell. You couldn't see any of it from the outside as the castle had already been shrouded by a Dome of Darkness—a routine procedure at code orange—installed by some high-level Death Knight from the clan's Dark branch. I thought I'd seen that ability before inside one of the development chains. Having said that, it could be some funky artifact. The control room—the Castle's sancta sanctorum—must have had loads of accumulating crystals and other artifacts, especially because traditionally, the control room was the last line of defense which implied maximum protection and self-sufficiency.

  A very sleepy Taali stumbled past. She beamed at me, her grin quickly replaced by an indignant glare as she noticed the Princess. Nostrils flaring, Taali strode toward us shaking her gorgeous head of hair. I could see the symptoms of a cat fight.

  The Princess turned to her, flashing a welcoming smile. Talk about pyt
hon vs. rabbit. Taali was shrinking even as she walked. Her decisive stride wobbled, her flushed cheeks betraying her feelings. Finally, she lost her nerve and dived under my arm, mumbling something as she grabbed at me.

  She rose on tiptoe to whisper in my ear, "Did you really need to bring her over?"

  "Sorry, sweetheart. We do need more men if we want to teach the bastards a lesson. The Princess has kindly offered her troops. Plus, it considerably increases our share of the loot."

  She didn't seem to hear, though. Her gaze wandered around. "Do you remember something you said about pheromones? " she breathed out almost soundlessly. "Do you think they work for... for women, too?"

  Meeting my puzzled stare, she blushed, her hard slender elbow poking my ribs. "That's not a joke!"

  I replied in mime, locking my mouth shut and throwing away the key. I didn't mean it as a joke. I'm not that stupid.

  The Princess with her delicate Elven hearing must have heard every word of our exchange. She laughed in a soft, husky voice, startling both Taali and myself. A thousand gentle pins and needles pierced my spine. The woman was a love-beam generator on two legs.

  I squeezed Taali's hand. "Take it easy, girl," I brought my face close to hers. "I'm in turmoil, too. I'm not sure about pheromones, but I do know that the sound frequency of 250 Hz can manipulate one's sexuality. Also, don't forget she's a Dark Priestess. She has to have some tricks up her sleeve. I think I need to do a bit of research—Wiki must mention some odd spell to counter her magic with. It's no good her trying to wrap me around her little finger."

  Taali nodded, then stood up. "Sorry, I can't leave it like this."

  She shook her heavy mane and slid to my other side, wedging herself between me and the Princess. Ruata smiled back at her glare, giving me a barely perceptible wink. Oh. About time I made myself a tinfoil hat.

  So we walked to the small hall that housed our HQ. Its walls were lined with the floor plans of the Forest Castle. God knows how they'd managed to lay their hands on them. Another large map showed the surrounding area. An analyst was hurriedly adding detail to it—apparently following the reports of our stealthed rogues who were surveying the castle area under cover of night.