The Way of the Clan 7

by Dem Mikhaylov

  I just imagined asking for a meeting with the head of the clan of the Sleepless. I would come to visit her, sit down in an armchair upholstered in silk, and ask:

  “Well, how's it going, eater of waste, hm?”

  I wonder what would happen next? Would I immediately be thrown out of the window or would the Baroness want to find out more? Better not to risk it — though it is not for nothing that they say, in everyone's heart lives a mischievous little boy. But in my case that kind of mischief would be a sad suicide, a boy prone to masochism....

  Having been brought the beer and sausages, I I poured myself a glass of beer, drank half, and blissfully rolled his eyes. I again remembered the words of Alishana — a mysterious

  name. And then I remembered something else and jumped up from the table, gesturing that I would be right back, and shot out of the restaurant.

  To prevent rumors, I returned quickly, flopping back down onto the chair. I laid a pile of sheets of paper on the table. I was clutching a piece of old skin in my hand, and rewrote all that was on it onto a regular piece of paper. Then I put the piece of human skin back into my bag. Fuck that— peaceful races do not look kindly on people walking through the streets holding a piece of human skin in their hands.

  I immediately began to take notes on the piece of paper.

  Tantariall!

  Seething and boiling with spirited fun!

  Here we celebrate life!

  Here we glorify heroes!

  Here passion flows like a river of foamy beer!

  The dance thunders overhead!

  The first six lines - about Algora, the celebration of life.

  But if you look a little deeper, a little harder...

  You can go where no one has been for centuries...

  Here you will learn the ancient secrets

  You will gain wealth and knowledge!

  But remember! Here reigns death

  And it is no place for the living!

  These seven lines point down under Algora. The words "ancient secret" may refer to the Greats. Death reigns there— again Angora, the City of the Dead.

  The last two lines - a simple chorus.

  Hidden are the mad

  Under a layer of earth, deep in the dungeon.

  Madness - again, pointing to the gods who have gone mad. And again, leading to the dungeon.

  Having made a step under the dark vaults,

  You find yourself in the realm of the grave.

  Those who once ruled the world

  Recline here in luxurious tombs.

  Here is more of a description of the cemetery for the aristocracy - kings, for instance. Is it not?!

  Here reigns death

  And there is no place for the living!

  Just the ominous chorus. Bastards ....

  Narrow tunnels

  Dangerously lure you, they lead

  Further down into the dark.

  After the cemetery, you have to go even deeper...

  Here reigns death

  And there is no place for the living!

  Yeah, yeah..

  Torch flame trembles and flickers

  In a vain attempt to darkness, disperse

  Brittle bones crunching under your feet

  The air is filled with perishable and ashes.

  Fragments of swords, armor, shields,

  Thick carpet littered cave.

  A description of the road there - an ancient battlefield?

  The mention about the torch— something witty or really a detail about the lighting?

  Here reigns death

  And there is no place for the living!

  Not funny anymore…

  In the darkness are heard noises, sounds

  Cries, blows, the wheeze of death!

  Here someone runs in screaming, mad,

  Asking only for mercy from the tomb.

  This is more serious— a powerful shield to protect against intruders? And again about the darkness— There is something definitely off with the light in that place.

  Here reigns death

  And there is no place for the living!

  I hope that is whispered to you every night at bedtime, bastard!

  Here, the gold is piled upon the graves

  Rubies, diamonds, sapphires, garnets

  Dimly shining on old gravestones

  Covered with thick dust.

  Wealth reclines upon the tombs.

  Take as much as you wish!

  Fill your bags!

  All will be yours! If you manage to leave...

  Hmm .... no way getting around that. The description of the treasury... Where I read something like this? Exactly like this! In The Hobbit! There, too, there was a lot of gold, but the dragon was awake, and everything fell apart.... I am becoming a damn poet...

  Death reigns here

  And there is no place for the living!

  ......

  He who dares to disturb the dead

  Is subject to punishment of immortal creatures.

  They guard the riches of the deceased gods

  They are judges, executioners and gravediggers!

  So…. Immortals? Creatures? Guardians of the deceased gods? Judges, executioners and gravediggers in one person? This was pretty much a complete description of the star-shaped Guardians of the Ancients. That is not good….

  “A handful of heroes did not return

  And slept in the darkness of oblivion forever.

  But there is no rest for their bodies and souls.

  They are now soldiers who walk

  Slowly in the dark corridors

  Immortal zombies in the service of the Titans.”

  This was very bad, to say it bluntly. They are saying that if you die, your body will become a zombie, and will forever join the ranks of the guards. But does this apply to players? You cannot take away the players’ characters. Quite likely, you could take their equipment. And create a clone— having the same skills.... But here, I could speculate forever.

  Death reigns here

  And there is no place for the living!

  ......

  “Standing in front of the entrance to the dungeon of darkness

  Read these lines if you are brave enough!

  Tantarius! Vierto herroid!

  Igarus! Imortus! Iretsi! Mogoroto!

  And the door rumbles! And the door opens!

  And you must decide for yourself!

  This about the gates of Tantarial? Oh, it is unlikely - it is too simple. However, I distinctly remembered the girl's words— saying that Angora lies at the FIRST Gate of Tantarial. Therefore, reading the spell, a smart player will pay attention to the third word - “herroid” It says everything clearly: get ready, asshole, everything from here on out will be a hemorrhoid....

  But remember !!

  Death reigns here

  And there is no place for the living!

  Well … how could you forget?!

  After reading it over a few more times, I scratched the back of my head, and exhaled sadly:

  "I need more poetry!”

  “You w-want me t-to read?” Said a hiccupping peasant with a stunningly red nose the size of a solid eggplant.

  “No, thanks,” I shook my head. “Have a beer— drink for my health.”

  “Oh thank y-you! Hic! Hic! Go g-get em!”

  Having left a generous tip, I left the cafe and stopped at a sunny intersection, thinking deeply - where would the rest of my footsteps be directed? There were many options.

  In fact, too many - my brain, finally awakened from hibernation, was giving me one option after another. I am not a genius, my ideas do not shine with an inconceivable cunning and guaranteed success, but there were so many variables now that my head was spinning.

  Turning to the Black Baroness, for example, and the Sleepless Clan in general. They would definitely help. But this is a bad idea. If they have their own ideas on how to get to the City of the Dead and if I am not in their scheme, then they w
ould definitely write me off as crazy.

  The Mages Guild of Algora. For what? Since I reconciled with the Snessa, I am again on good terms there. But embarrassment gnaws at me when I recall the Guild of Mages. It seems that I borrowed something from them, but did not return it.

  Speaking of Snessa, I can also try to address her. She is also in good standing with me and we have a friendly communication going. True— but who knows how the goddess will respond? There might be unwritten rules— to execute any mortal who opens the gates of hell. And a note below, written with red ink: to execute the scoundrel by way of a slow, disgraceful, degrading, morally, spiritually, physically, astral destructive death, so that all the points of his chakra close once and for all.... Before one goes to an extremely powerful goddess with such questions, one should first find out her position in this matter. I think none of the gods will like such boldness.

  Moreover - they can and angrily punish the army of heroes who decided to go down to hell. According to them, the underworld is a madhouse for their brothers and sisters. Imagine if tomorrow you find out that some moron, along with a brave team of degenerates, decided to storm the local psychiatric hospital by opening the doors and killing the guards? Would you like that idea? And the prospect that, after their trip, the inmates will begin to run around their streets, meaning, insane immortal monsters that have escaped from hell?

  And there was a problem much more important problem - many of the present gods had replaced the former. Who would want his predecessor to suddenly return, even in a different guise and in a monstrous condition? No one! Even the bright gods would not want this. The Oracle who predicted their fall was enough. And then another jerk decided to open the door? And he is also the father of a future goddess? Well, then, bring us a hundred-ton enema with napalm and a few drops of valerian .... Brought it? Thank you. And now let that moron take the downward dog pose - and with our firm divine hand, we will give him the enema and get some matches.

  In short, it is better for me not to stick my nose out before the deities. They would kill me, for sure. Who else could I contact? Shmig was trapped for some time in the sewage system of Algora. Who else? The bog-creatures nesting under Algora? They live there, and would probably scurry over different corridors. The corridor, Alishana said, was stone. It was a kind of masonry, but a very unusual color. The red and yellow stone… immediately memorable. It is not ordinary stone. I would remember if I saw it before… wait! Stop! And I did see it, I saw exactly such a combination, but did not pay attention to it at all.

  “Hee-e-ey,” a gnome passed by a strange gait, carrying a statue of a bearded old man carved from a gray ordinary stone. I got it! It cannot be…

  It took me five long minutes to be sure. Then I made the decision, and ran straight for the hotel.

  After that, everything went quickly. In ten minutes, I was already wearing a stupid broad-brimmed feathery hat. The hat’s purpose was to hide my nickname - temporarily, but to hide it nevertheless. Shouting came from all sides:

  “We have a crystal ball for predictions! Working one!”

  “I draw to order! All, except the half-orcs! And I am not a racist - no more green paint!”

  “Kurlyups! Cooked kurlyups!”

  “Performance! A super-show! Clowns without makeup!”

  “Wolves! Wolves! If you hate wolves! I take orders for the destruction of any wolf - white, gray, black, magical and ordinary, in any quantity, at any time of day or night! Destroy them! Wolves! Wolves! If you hate wolves! Kill them all!”

  The hoarse furious voice sounded so passionate and ominous that I literally froze to my spot, staring at the slow and majestic player passing by riding a wild, powerful fanged boar the size of a grizzly. His nickname was incomprehensible and gloomy - Suffix Furious Fang. He was the leader of a battle clan, as the icon with the golden crown next to his nickname indicated.

  The boar strides heavily and confidently, shaking his huge head, his tiny eyes aggressive - a powerful beast who was clearly looking for a fight. No, he was not just looking for one - the swine was just itching for one. The rider in black and gold armor was just as serious. Moreover - he was fanatical. His gaze sparkled with pure fury, while he cried:

  "I am getting rid of all wolves! Werewolves and ghouls turned to dust! Wolves! Wolves! Wolves! Cursed wolves!” His fists of black steel clenched with a crunch each time he said "wolves!", and the wild boar emitted a malicious squeal, its eyes sparkling with fury. “Wolves! Wolves! Wolves!”

  The sinister rider slowly disappeared into the crowd, which closed behind him like ocean waters. I have seen a lot, but that was something out of the ordinary …. I heard his retreating voice.

  "I am cutting them to pieces! I am destroying them all! In any quantity! Any time! I have killed eight thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight of those nasty fluffy monsters! Give me the order! Let’s go! In the afternoon! In the evening! At night! Wolves! Wolves! Wolves! Bring me to the wolves…”

  When the wild roar of the gloomy knight died down, the usual noise of Plosefont burst into my ears again:

  “Only today - the best wandering zoo of Valdira at your service! The most unusual animals, birds, creatures of the sea and land, air and dungeon! Entrance is only three gold coins!”

  “I have everything unusual - what is normal and what is not, I only decide! Your business is to show your goods! If I take it, I pay! Show your creations!”

  “I am a copy of the famous legend Rosgard! I am just as clumsy, dirty, and ragged, and I smile badly! Here is the painted dog! For a photo of me together with you, only two silver …."

  What the hell?! It would be nice to hit that bastard! But I am here incognito ... damn it!

  “I have enchanted porcelain coffee cups!”

  There was a push, and someone reached for my pocket. I slapped away the thief and tried to squeeze between three fat men rolling a cart with a huge cake - I almost tripped over them and into the cake. Behind them walked a sad girl in a funny cap with stars on it. Having successfully avoided collision, I turned sharply aside, and jumped over a strange man lying on a bed of nails in a high turban, in leather shorts and red shoes.

  And finally, I was here ....

  Seven magnificent white columns of marble. Made in a strange order— the central column in the form of a stern warrior in full armor, wearily leaning against a two-handed sword, his helmet crowned, and a magnificent cloak on his shoulders.

  The other six columns were much simpler, warriors in armor and bearded old men in woven robes with long staffs in their hands. Seven men, seven columns. Beating sparkling streams of pure water was raining down from their heads and into the pool. The fountain filled with clear water was not made of white marble - the pool and the square bases of the columns are lined with red and yellow natural stone. The stone was very old. But everything was clean, the stone was scraped of mud, and at the bottom of the pool lay coins and precious stones. There was not one grain of sand, as far as I could tell.

  Why did players throw coins into the fountain? Well, same as the reason in the real world.

  Why had no one stolen money and stones so far?

  I wondered this myself as I sat down on the side of the pool and ran my hand over the red and yellow wet stone. Could the coloring be a coincidence? Yes— easily. There were a few colorful stones in Valdira and in Algora - walk along the street, and find a lot of variety. But I somehow remembered this one.

  And the statues— what did Alishana say about the mages and the king who fell in battle? Yes, there were many who had died, if you were to believe her words. But these seven were particular.

  I was distracted - I sat on the edge of the pool for a few minutes, picked up a stone, and studied it. And then a kindly smiling player of the hundred-sixtieth level approached me. Behind him were two more players, their level under two hundred.

  “Hi!”

  “Hi. I am not stealing the coins,” I immediately replied. Taking out two pieces of silver from my pocket, I thr
ew them into the water.

  “Excellent,” the player again smiled. “Thank you. Because I am tired of it! Believe me - someone started the rumor that if you can steal three coins from here, three times, then your thievery skill will immediately be increased to “lightning fast thief.” But this skill does not exist— who the fuck invented that bullshit?”

  “Not me,” I said.

  "Oh..." the player drowned away. I thoughtfully rubbed my lower lip, got up, and went around the fountain.

  The first two players belonged to the Architects clan. The one who talked to me, a good-natured and somewhat grouchy, strong-hearted man, was a recruit of the clan Fiery Kites.

  Soon, I came across a simple board which was installed next to the fountain. There was a warning to thieves. A warning for those wishing to swim. A warning for those wishing to wash. You could fill jars, wineskins, and other containers. You could drink yourself, and give water for your pets. But at the bottom it was stated that this work of art was being watched by the modest Clan of Architects, that they were watching, taking care of the purity of the water and of the sculptural composition.

  How funny ...

  And I myself have ended up in a funny place… in Plosefont, at the Square of the Seven Fountains, in a place serious players try to avoid in order not to discredit their own name ....

  Can it really be that the entrance to the mysterious tunnel is here, at Plosefont, in the middle of this crowd of freaks? Can the Field of Fools actually grow a golden tree?

  The answer was simple and short - it can.

  In the world of Valdira, everything was possible, as I have seen proven a couple of times in the past few days. Perhaps, with a careful examination, it would be possible to find some traces on the fountain that confirm this theory in practice - a plaque, chips, scratches, rising air bubbles or the water quivering in a single place. But the guards seemed very serious. If someone very stubborn appears, then a piercing alarm whistle or cry of "Attack!" will be heard— and players much more serious would arrive.