Shadows of the Great Forest (Realm of Arkon, Book 4)

by G. Akella

  "And what if the dungeon is level 100?"

  "It will stay level 100, only the drop rate will still decrease to one tenth on all repeat clears."

  "That's brilliant!" the assassin exclaimed ostentatiously. "For years the devs have been racking their brains trying to make life harder for farmers, and here's the perfect solution! You don't even need a monthly respawn anymore..."

  "Oh, but the respawn time didn't change. It's just that you can only power-level there during the first clear," the ranger echoed in support.

  "And what is this great expulsion?"

  "Oh, that," Elric smirked. "You can't imagine the bedlam we've had here three or so weeks ago. You couldn't take a step outside Ellorian without tripping over somebody's tent. It was like a music festival, or a siege. Tons of people were flooding into Arkon from that other life. And if those who had played before immediately took off to other cities and locations, the rest of the arrivals turned this place into a non-stop party. Good thing the local trees are virtually impossible to cut down—the elves can only train woodcutting in Canlee, which is an 80+ zone—or we'd be looking at a desolate landscape right now. Mind you, Ellorian is no small town—it can probably fit half a million if you conserve space and let people sleep out in the streets, but this... Oh, and oftentimes the new arrivals didn't know even the basic rules. For many of them, this world was an exotic getaway of sorts. Except there they still had their maids and bellboys, but here... I'd already been working for the old man at the time. My father had given me a capsule on my twentieth birthday, which happened to be just three days before the patch..."

  "The old man—you mean the innkeeper?" Max clarified.

  "Right," Erlic said. "He only looks forty, whereas in truth he's Columbus' age by our standards. And he's no slouch, let me tell you. Used to serve in the Wind Talkers, and those guys are this world's equivalent to the Navy Seals or the Green Berets... Where was I? Oh yeah, you had to see his face when all these 'tourists' started complaining about not having a visor in their private room, or that they couldn't install Facebook and Twitter on their computers."

  "Basically, a few things happened at once three weeks ago. The notion of private room ceased to exist, and His Majesty Larentyl the Tranquil lost his patience. Well, to clarify, the room remained exactly the same, only a million people can no longer enter the same room."

  "What about going in, then coming out and handing over the key to a friend?"

  "You think no one's tried that already?" Erlic snorted. "Every imaginable scenario has been tried and tested, but no dice. Even asking the innkeeper to pass the keys doesn't work. Basically, if you rent a room for a day, it's your private room, or a typical hotel room if anyone else enters it."

  "What's the news with the inn, commander? And how long will you standing there chitchatting?" Rexar asked in the party channel.

  "The inn is a no-go, but we did pick up food and beer. Five more minutes—Donut and I are clarifying some things," Max replied, then glanced at his watch and realized it was indeed time to go. "So what happened to all the masses in the end?" he asked lastly of the gabby ranger.

  "Nothing terrible," he shrugged. "Well, I suppose that too depends on the person. If you were unable to pay your taxes, you were forced out of the city, and then the royal wardens and mages drove all the crowds into portals leading to the Caëntine Mines or the Vaalen Woods. Certain NPCs can build portals for more than just party members, you know, and the king apparently has plenty of those. Technically, nobody was forced to work against their will, but the alternative isn't exactly pleasant, so... The working conditions are relatively decent, both at the mines and at the tree farms. There's food and shelter, and you get to keep a portion of what you make."

  "Hold up! What tax? Do you need to pay taxes to stay in the city?" Max was clearly struggling to keep up with the story.

  "Didn't you see a squad of wardens when entering the zone? They were supposed to..." Erlic trailed off, and his face spread into a wide grin. "I know! It's your 'respected' status with our pointy-eared friends! Which is pretty incredible, now that I think about it—when did you have the time to earn it?! I must have come across less than twenty of our kind who were respected, and they were all well over level 100. But you guys are only in your 80s!"

  "Don't get sidetracked, please—we've got hungry females waiting," Donut pleaded.

  "Hungry females are a problem," the ranged winked conspiratorially, apparently interpreting it in his own way. "Anyway, unless you have paperwork signed off by the king or at least a prince, you're going to have to fork up two gold a week for the privilege of staying in the city. With your reputation, it'll probably be half that, but that's in addition to accommodation costs, naturally. And Ellorianeans don't take kindly to beggars—believe me, I've seen it. Get your tags at the inn, and the patrols won't give you any trouble."

  "But we don't need to be here a week," Donut protested indignantly. "All our business here should take two-three days tops!"

  "Tell that to the Green Guard at the gates," Erlic chuckled. "I'm sure they'll be sympathetic to your situation."

  "I see," Max sighed. "There's no escaping greed and bureaucracy, whether in a real world or a virtual one. All right, we really do need to get going. But I want you to have that tankard of beer, after all," he said, handing Erlic two more silver coins.

  "Thanks, bro," the ranger smiled warmly. "While in Ellorian, make sure to stay at The White Crane. That'll save you a few gold per person. The owner is a bit of an oddball, but a decent bloke just the same, and they feed you well. The location isn't exactly central, but I assume you'd sooner walk an extra kilometer than pay an extra gold coin. I can see you're not exactly swimming in riches, either," he nodded at the dents in Max's breastplate. "Strange times are coming, I must say. I hear travelers at the market talking of a demon invasion, or of a war with Darkaan. But then, we don't give a damn, do we? We're immortal now, right?"

  "I suppose so," Donut shook the offered hand, then clapped the ranger on the shoulder. "Now, if only immortality offered infinite comfort, eh?"

  "You boys do whatever, but I'm off to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open." Ellanca spread a blanket at the root of a tree, lay down, and gave a pleasant stretch. "Feel free to plan world domination all you want, and I'll gladly hear all about it tomorrow. Wake me up when it's my turn to stand watch."

  "That sounds good to me, too," Masyanya echoed her friend. "I don't care what we do tomorrow—slay dragons or rescue princes. I'll do whatever I am told. Except what you have in mind," she corrected herself at once, addressing the rogue who was looking suspiciously thoughtful. "All right, then, good night!" Blowing a kiss to Donut, the huntress proceeded with her own bedtime routine.

  "If everyone is done eating, let's make a plan for tomorrow. It's one in the morning, and it's been a long, arduous day."

  "If we wait till everyone is done eating, we'll wait till morning," Rexar motioned at Bonbon, who was still munching merrily.

  "Keep talking, friend, you might actually say something smart one day," the bald man took a swig of beer and screwed his eyes shut with pleasure.

  "Cut it out already," Max frowned. "We need to turn in Gaerryon's and Agralon's heads to the quartermaster of a High House. So let's decide on the House."

  "Don't forget about the Ravens' heads, and the goddess' quest. Unless you think our crew of nine is enough to snuff out that orthodontist?" Bonbon reminded him.

  "An orthodontist is a kind of doctor," Luffy chimed in, gazing at the midges swarming the magic lantern. "A dentist. Now, I'm no fan of dentists, but not to this extent."

  "Can you set up a meeting with the Night Blades, Donut?" Max asked the rogue, opting to ignore the side comments. "But don't mention Cenatodone—just say we have important business with them. I want to see if they'll reward us for the heads before deciding whether or not to involve them. As I understand it, their clan is going to get a nice boost for killing that lizard, so I'd rather make sure they're honest f
irst."

  "No problem. I'll set up a meet with Vagabond or one of his officers. It'll probably take a few days, as I can only reach my buddy by mail. Every High House has a consulate representing them in Ellorian, but of them all I'll only recommend the House of Marten. Rumor is, that's the house with the highest number of players as members. Which means we can expect decent treatment. But you're going to have to go there alone—the guards at the consulate won't allow more than one human to enter. Which doesn't make any sense, since they'll give you the money for everyone anyway. But I'm actually interested in something else."

  "What?"

  "What made you think that Cenatodone is a lizard?"

  "What else can crawl out of a swamp?" the warrior's face showed incredulity. "Unless you're expecting a fish..."

  "And what was that scroll you gave to Kirana?" asked Alyona, who had been quiet all evening.

  In fact, the young woman hadn't been herself ever since their encounter with the goddess of vengeance. Max realized that her thoughts were far away from here, probably with her brother, but he hoped that this state of hers would soon pass.

  "An NPC gave us that scroll as a token of gratitude for our service before leaving the Sunlit Forest."

  "And what is the House of Nightcralwers?" Donut inquired at once. "I don't remember hearing about them, ever."

  "Both dark and light elves have seven High Houses each," Max began to explain, cursing the rogue's incessant curiosity. "Before the War of the Great Rift, that number was fifteen. There was some kind of conflict between the House of Nightcrawlers and Nakilon, the reigning king, and so they were banished to the outskirts of the Great Forest. The details get pretty blurry from here, but, supposedly, the forest itself stood up for the exiles and prevented their extermination. I don't know," With a sigh, Max took a sip from his tankard. "At the present, this House is at war with all the elves, regardless of skin tone."

  "I think I either read or heard something about that. Are they the ones that inhabit the Wild Wood? The local zones are all level 130 and above, and it's not exactly a popular place, let me tell you. You'd better have a raid of at least a hundred before venturing out there. The Wild Wood is located at the ass crack of this world, and the journey there is both long and perilous. I don't think anyone ever even explored it in groups, but only a few solo rangers."

  "See," the warrior grunted. "You know more about it than I do."

  "All I know is that this place borders the Dark Empire, and that few people have ever gone near it. There's plenty of virgin territory around here, you know. The Great Forest itself isn't nearly as thoroughly explored as the lands of humans and orcs!"

  "Why would that be?" Helliona asked, surprised. "You've got about as many people playing for elves as for humans."

  "Isn't it obvious?" the rogue gave a sly smile. "Let's take you, Alyona. Why did you decide to play as an elf? Because everybody knows that elves are beautiful," he continued without waiting for an answer. "Dark elves especially with their year-round bronze tan. Also, druid class is exclusive to their race."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "It's simple. Having a certain appearance and bonuses is one thing. But actually living in the woods, or underground like dwarves or drow, is quite another. Psychologists have penned plenty of essays on the subject. The statistics don't lie: nearly eighty percent of players who started out playing for the elf race would bolt for Erantia or the Orcish Steppe before hitting level 50. After all, even the orcs' lifestyle is more familiar for humans. The stats were even worse for dwarves and drow—something like ninety five percent eventually broke. In what should be a shock to no one, there are precious few who can handle living in rocky dens and burrows."

  "What about now?"

  "Now, everyone has been returned to their habitat. Their ancestral lands, so to speak," he chuckled.

  "Tell me this, then—why is it that I felt absolutely no discomfort in the month we've spent living in the forest?"

  "Ah, now this is where it gets interesting. My theory is that we have ceased being humans pretending to be elves. I think that we are elves... Though, admittedly, with certain quirks and limitations."

  "OK, then! No more booze for you," Bonbon declared with a sigh.

  "I'm nowhere near drunk," the rogue parried. "Unlike certain someone who's already downed half a keg. If you're worried about your wife, don't. Humans and elves have always been sexually compatible, so there won't be any major changes to your relationship..."

  "Are you saying players in this world can mate and give birth?!" the tank inquired in a very different, serious tone.

  "I'm sure of it. If the NPCs can, why not us?"

  "Poppycock!" the bald man waved him away. "I've just drunk a few liters' worth of beer, as you so shrewdly noticed, but do you see me running for the bushes? It's the same deal with children!"

  "Oh, Bonbon, Bonbon," the assassin shook his head. "How do you think the devs explained the absence of those physical necessities of yours? No idea? Then listen up, smart guy. They said that food and water is metabolized fully by the body—some of the energy goes to sustain the organism's vital functions, while the rest dissipates in the surroundings as magical energy. You'd need to ask somebody else how it's done—I never was strong in biology or physics—but in a world governed by magic and unconstrained by a host of physical laws, I don't find it particularly implausible. Essentially, every sentient being is a kind of generator of magical energy. If you think that sounds like gibberish, I'm not going to argue, but that gibberish comes straight from the game's creators. And the truth of it is on full display. Just think, as much as you like stuffing your face, you shouldn't be able to fit into any door. And what does RP-17 do after becoming self-aware? Not a damn thing! He simply leaves everything as is, but also grants self-awareness to the NPCs, equalizing them with us in that respect. And after all that, do you really think that he wouldn't grant his wards the ability to procreate?"

  "If that's true, then this world is going to have a serious overpopulation problem," said Alyona, who had been listening to their exchange with full attention.

  "Wrong again!" Donut chuckled. "Do you really not know that the Realm of Arkon is always expanding? Right now, Karn is the size of Australia. Eventually it will grow to be that of Africa, and then Eurasia. Remember the mention of new plans in the patch notes? Any idea of the magnitude? No, guys, this world will never lack for lands to explore and dungeons to unlock... It is a toy to last millions of years, and things like the twenty-percent penalty Kirana had spared us, and Toughness having a maximum value of 85%—those are the factors controlling for this growth!"

  "Well, aren't you the philosopher," Rexar whistled with admiration. "But I suggest we get back to the matters at hand. I'm still struggling to understand something," he turned his eyes to Max, and continued. "How did you survive the encounter with the House of Nightcrawlers if they're hostile with both dark and light elves?"

  "Um, that just kind of... happened," the warrior shrugged. "And then they accepted me as their own. Luffy even ended up with a bride..." Looking around at his slack-jawed companions, he sighed and began the story from the beginning...

  "And then we—or rather I—decided it was best not to say anything for now," the warrior explained, eyes cast down to the ground. "We had enough on our minds as it was. We were going to tell you everything when the time was right..."

  There was a silence, heavy and stifling, broken only by the slumberous crackling of branches of the mighty trees, and the forest owlets calling to one another in the distance.

  "I'm begging you, Max, never do that again," Alyona spoke quietly. "There's never a reason to hide anything from friends. You do realize how much you've hurt us just now?"

  "Well, uh..." the warrior stumbled, looking grim. "You know I only wanted what's best."

  "Don't we always?" Donut said, then burst out laughing. He didn't seem at all perturbed by what he'd heard. "You guys, I swear..." he shook his head with awed disbelief.
"At least now I understand why our mage has been so sullen lately. I'd thought he was contemplating the finer points of magical theory, but apparently his thoughts were squarely in the gutter!"

  "Oh, bite me!" the mage snapped back at him, but his voice was drowned out by the uproarious laughter.

  "I suppose congratulations are in order?" Bonbon flashed a drunken smile. "Is she pretty, at least?"

  "Yes, she's pretty! And go to hell, all of you!" the mage downed the remains of his drink, put his tankard down on the ground, and folded his arms with a grave and serious frown. But he couldn't keep up the facade for long, and was laughing along not a minute later.

  "What does the scroll say, Max?" Alyona asked as the mirth began to subside.

  "No idea, I didn't have a chance to read it yet."

  "Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Helliona urged him, clearly expressing everyone's opinion.

  "And with feeling," Bonbon echoed, raising an index finger didactically.

  With a grunt, Max unfolded the yellowed leather scroll. The text hadn't been fully preserved, with illegible letters here and there. Still, the surviving portions of the text came together into a coherent message:

  ...sixth night of the month of tepid water, our mission was attacked while crossing the Heather Vale by superior Darkaan forces. Lord Aeric's orders were to fight our way toward Misty Thicket, and so, after repulsing the dogheads' attack and losing more than half of our fighters, we marched double-quick to our final destination with the pursuers hot on our trail...