A few seconds later, it was all over. The trader’s turban was smeared in dirt, his body jackknifed and breathless on the wayside, the little donkey bleeding out at his side.
The players, pushing one another out of the way, went out claim their loot. Digging in the bags and hooting in joy at what they found, they didn’t even notice as a pitch-black spirit raised up from the body of the wandering trader. The darkness spread into wisps and, tapering, extended into fibers. A moment later, the spirit was dispersed, having entered the bodies of the highwaymen.
“What idiots...” Hung shook his head in amazement.
“For your consideration: a group of everyday noobs with alternative gifts,” Infect declared. “instead of brains they have straw. Instead of hands, greedy pincers. And instead of loot...”
“Cursed shit,” Ed chuckled sagaciously.
As they filled their bags, one of the robbers started complaining he had run out of space. Another had grabbed an epic, a fact he announced publicly, then started dancing. But he didn’t stop digging. Then something went awry: the nicks over the noobs’ heads turned red and they stumbled and collapsed.
“Alright, show’s over, we can go,” said Crawler.
“So what was that?”
“The curse of the wandering trader entered them,” he explained. “And everything they looted became a mirrored version of itself, a cursed item. All the plusses turned to minuses, which are active even in their inventory. And they stole a lot. So all their attributes are deep in the... well negative, basically.”
“So just chuck ‘em?”
“They can’t be gotten rid of. They can’t lose them, throw them away, or sell them. The only way is to haul your butt to Darant and beg forgiveness, paying tenfold compensation and returning everything that was stolen. But for the next...” Crawler glanced at the robbers’ profiles, “year and a half, they won’t be getting to no Darant.”
“Write tech support?”
“They’ll be told it was all within the game process. What was more, the trader warned them they’d regret it, but they didn’t listen. Alright, let’s get out of here.”
“I feel bad for the old man,” Tissa sobbed.
“Maybe we should take the poor idiots out?” Infect suggested. “With their minuses now, they won’t even be able to crawl back to town.”
“Serves them right,” I said harshly.
Measuring them up with a contemptuous gaze, Hung dove into one of the bushes that grew all over this section of the Tremitelle riverbank.
We crossed the river with a Waterwalking Potion, but there was a knack to it. The surface seemingly hardened with every step and due, to the burbling rapids, finding solid footing was a challenge.
Beyond that, as soon as we started, the water frothed with Stone Grabbers flying every which way. They jumped out, latching their teeth into our boots and shaking their heads like bulldogs but, unlike my memorable first encounter, I was now covered head to toe in chainmail and leather. Seemingly, after the aggressive little fish clamped down, they couldn’t unclench their jaws, so when we reached the opposite bank, we were draped in so many flailing little glimmering bodies that we looked like Christmas trees.
And then the Hypnotic Toads came out to meet us, attracted by the noise. They were just level eight though. They sat down right next to us like old ladies on the benches on the roof of my apartment building and stared to no avail, trying to stun us with their gaze.
Bomb, who’d put all the grabbers in his bag, tossed them a few little fish and, embarrassed, explained:
“I used to have a pet frog when I was a kid. I caught him in a stream when he was only a tadpole and kept him in a jar. And when he turned into a little frog, I remember how happy I was...” The big stern dude swallowed a lump in his throat. “But the next day, when I got home from school, our stupid cat ate him.”
After that surprising admission came an aggravated tale about a stupid Scottish fold cat and we took a breather to empty our bags. All the loot we didn’t need, including the stuff from Ambush and the stacks of Rock Millipede Bristles I sent to Overweight, the toads staring demandingly all the while. Eventually, unable to resist their charms, we fed them all the grabbers.
After that, Tissa reupped our buffs, we ate some food with attribute bonuses and got on our way. We had about six miles to go, deeper into Gloomwood along an overgrown and fading path.
In the twilight, the long spooky shadows of trees extended over the rapacious grass. It was not easy to get through and not only because of the nasty mobs: our feet got stuck in unstable ground, we tripped on mounds of uneven soil, and trees blocked the way, their entwined branches and trunks forming into monstrous shapes.
We were walking cautiously even though any of us could have taken down the mobs in this part of the forest all on our own. We just didn’t want to get distracted and waste time.
But still, of course mobs aggro’d pretty often. Otherwise this place would have been packed with players. The difficulty of Gloomwood was akin to that of the Mire, something of a light version. We frequently encountered groups of unpleasant mobs like giant spiders, ghastly wraiths or rabid wolves. And because they also wandered, the chance of aggro’ing more than one pack at a time was pretty high. For normal players or poorly trained groups, as a rule, such things ended in a wipe.
Because of all that, we reached the abandoned village late at night, having decided not to let the mysterious quest another day. The homes hadn’t yet totally collapsed, but they were close to it. Their blackened frames stood out against their suspiciously bright surroundings. I bent over and picked up some dirt in my hand. It was damp and glimmered gray in the light of Geala.
“Looks like ash,” I said.
“It is ash,” Crawler confirmed. “After clearing this place, they burned it to the ground.”
“Strange that, after all these years, it hasn’t been demolished in the outsk...”
“Alex, over there!” Tissa shouted.
I scrambled to make out the threat in the twilight and, when I did, I ran. There was danger on all sides. From all around the village, there flocked slate-colored shadows of wraiths, absorbing the moonlight. Ed was giving commands, getting us into defensive formation. I took a look at their levels:
Muted Wraith, level 19
My first goal was to get all the aggros on me, and I got straight to pulling mobs. Then, once my health was down to half, I activated curse of the undead.
The number of wraiths around me was, of course, less than the millipedes in Little Gully, but it was still respectable. They had bigtime resistance to physical damage, so I had to make active use of my plague energy. The guys did the same as when I was in the gully: they pulled mobs one by one and took them on as best they could. They were less concerned with taking them down, and more with levelling skills.
I saw flames in front of me: Crawler had put up a Fire Wall. I mentally approved, after all, the more damage it did, the faster the spell would level. When I considered it, I smiled. Fighting thirty elite high-level mobs was now business as usual.
I chained a Combo with a Hammer, understanding that I’d have to be more careful in the future. Lifesteal was now healing me and, with my damage numbers, I would have to make sure I didn’t lose my invulnerability when I needed it most. And the more I leveled Combo, the bigger a problem it would become.
The dead wraiths turned into inky blots and fell to the ground with a rustle. Soon, there weren’t any left: I wanted to sleep and I was not sparing any plague energy. The battle lasted three minutes.
I didn’t want to get in the way of the former Dementors, though. They were managing just fine, but then Bomber implored me:
“Scyth, get him off me! I want to level my attack stance...”
With a couple of normal punches, I turned the mob’s attention to me and, with a bit of elbow grease, they finished off the last wraith. Bomb picked up the loot and we went to examine the village.
The mysterious questgiver w
as sitting in a distant home or, to be more accurate, what remained of it. The wraith, whose silhouette was reminiscent of a knight in full plate armor, groaned out a greeting and flew toward us. There was a symbol over his head to indicate the NPC had a mission for us.
The Ghost of William Stafford, level 20
“Greetings to you, intrepid travelers!” the ghost wailed. “How pleased I am to see you! Finally someone has come to this gods-forsaken village!”
He gave a long and ample speech, which we blatantly yawned our way through, just about dislodging our jaws. We were able to discern from it that he was the leader of the very death squad that destroyed the village. The gods, in his words, were angered by that and he became possessed by the same curse that affected the lumberjacks. It happened outside of Tristad, in Darant, and he was quickly taken down by a squadron of city guards.
And after he died, he found himself here, at the site of his villainous deed, without any way to leave. People rarely came to the burnt village, and those who did were quickly torn to pieces by the local wraiths, so the ghost had nobody to talk to. And it was very important for him to bare his soul because he had left a son in Tristad who didn’t know where his father had hidden the family savings. William was worried that his boy was penniless and was prepared to share part of what he’d saved with whoever told his son where old Stafford had buried the money.
The Ghost of William Stafford would like you to release his soul, destroy his ghostly form and tell his son Albert where the family savings are buried.
Time limit: 7 days.
Reward:
— 100 experience points;
— your reputation with Albert Stafford will be increased by 50 points;
— your reputation with the city of Tristad will be increased by 5 points;
— 5 gold coins.
Penalty for not completing mission:
— you will receive the curse of William Stafford;
— your reputation with Albert Stafford will be decreased by 150 points;
— your reputation with the city of Tristad will be decreased by 15 points.
“Okay then...” Infect stroked the back of his head. “Was this worth it?”
“Well... Five gold is five gold,” Bomber gave his verdict and also scratched the back of his head. “One gold a piece.”
“Do we also split the rep?” I asked.
“No, everyone gets it,” Tissa answered. “Then let’s take it? It’s very easy, kill the spirit and run to Tristad to his son. Easy as pie!”
“Alright,” I nodded. “We don’t want to let Albert die in poverty!”
We accepted the quest, then William said again:
“Thank you, intrepid travelers! Now that you have sealed your promise to help me before the gods, I will tell you how to release my soul, and where to find my savings.”
“We’re all ears,” Bomber said. “Please, go on, Sir Stafford!”
“The money is buried under a tree in the backyard of our house. Take five steps from it to the north: there, at a depth of two feet, you will find a chest full of gold.”
The ghost suddenly started to worry and made a pause.
“We’ll tell Albert,” Tissa promised.
“Thank you,” the spirit placed his hand on his heart “As for releasing my soul, it isn’t all that easy. When the gods willed me into this form of existence, it was as if they were mocking me. I am immune to both magical and physical damage. There is only one way – you must go to the shamans in the Osceola Prairies for help...”
William continued his story about the astral plane with zeal, then told us about spirits and a special ceremony, but we were already clutching our heads, not listening.
“Aw nether!” Crawler cursed. “The Osceola Prairies are on a totally different continent! This is a fail, guys! A damn fail!”
Tissa didn’t look like herself.
“Then why did I suggest we come here?!” she shouted, wringing her hands. It was so sincere that it made me want to cry.
As for the curse of William Stafford, we were going to find out, but we didn’t expect it to be anything good. Our memory of the robbers being possessed by the wandering trader was too fresh.
The ghost stopped talking and lost interest in us. He hovered around giving satisfied boos while the guys tried to get a single word out of him about what kind of curse he would give us.
“Freaking AI!” Tissa cursed. “Who put such a lamebrained quest into the sandbox?”
Infect went into stealth and bobbed behind the ghost’s back so he could land a blow with both daggers at once. But the weapons passed straight through without doing even one unit of damage to his fleshless body. Bomber charged and flew into a collapsed wall. The same thing happened with Ed’s fireballs and Tissa’s light magic. All our attacks were in vain. Magic and physical damage just went straight through him.
Then I unhurriedly walked up and slammed him with a plague Hammer.
The ghost of William Stafford fell to dust. Something clinked and a shiny golden bow raised up ten feet into the air.
“That’s a legen...” Crawler whispered.
“Wait For It!” Infect interrupted, bearing his teeth.
“...dary!” Tissa shouted, finishing.
To her shrieks of joy and our roar, Bomber picked up the loot.
Chapter 23. Hunters’ Camp
IT’S HARD TO even describe the happiness that came over them. I’d seen similar elation when my dad talked about his raids, comparing it to hooking a big fish when he would go fishing with my grandpa in his childhood. Killing a boss, seeing the loot and...
If even my father’s heart skipped a beat every time, what could I say about the former Dementors, who were seeing a legendary in their own loot for the first time.
“A ring!” Infect shouted in a voice not his own.
Bomber tossed up the information in the group chat.
Svetovid’s Valor
Legendary
Unique item.
Ring.
+12% to all main attributes.
Absorbs all damage from one lethal attack. Triggers no more than once every two minutes.
Number of gem slots: 1.
Warrior class only!
Chance of losing after death reduced by 100%.
The six-foot-six giant was now just jumping on one leg and pumping his fist, dancing some primordial jig for all to see.
“Lucky you, Hung!” Malik exclaimed in envy.
“Yeah, really lucky!” I agreed.
Raising a hand, I gave Bomber five as he jumped past and gave a broad smile. I wasn’t thinking what it could be worth to me, or about money at all. I was simply happy for my friend.
“Wait up,” Crawler hurried to slow our roll. “Scyth is our tank. Are we sure we need that ring? It won’t give Bomb such a big boost even at level twenty. But to high-levels... I’m afraid to even guess how much it might be worth! So let’s see what the clan lead has to say first.”
“Woah, woah, easy!” Hung crouched down next to us. “What are you talking about?! This is a legendary! How could I sell it? Are you out of your mind?”
“Hung Lee!” Tissa hit him strictly, copying the intonations of our teacher Greg Kovacs. “You’re letting your ego get in the way! Alex wasn’t afraid to risk his legendary mount, he bet it against Big Po for our sake! And now, if not for him, you wouldn’t even have that legendary...”
“Guys... you know that’s...” Bomber was embarrassed, his lips were quavering. “I mean, how can...”
“I don’t see a reason to sell it now,” I said. Hung brightened up and looked at me with hope. “Any equip bought with the money it could bring would be a senseless waste. With our abilities, we can gear up without wasting cash and, for now, we have no other use for gold. We can’t even withdraw it. Did you forget? We can put stuff up on auc if we really need the money and there’s no other way. Bomb, put on the ring. I say we keep it as a rainy-day fund. Agreed?”
“Scy-y-yth-th-t
h-th!” Hung shouted.
I barely dodged his flying mass:
“I’m not a hugger! Since when did you get so sentimental, Big Bomber!?”
Apostle of the Sleeping Gods Page 32