I personally witnessed at least a dozen similar Quakes. A burning jungle in the south of the continent, a huge Tsunami hitting the west coast, a volcano suddenly awakened, spewing huge amounts of lava. Huge amounts of locusts devouring crops, earthquakes of the islands of Scarlet Coral, an unexpected rebellion against the King…
All these events are losses. As to players, as to “locals.” As a rule, the players suffer much less than the “locals.”
All of these, at least the major events, have unpleasant consequences. Destroyed houses as well as whole cities, villages disappearing, changing landscapes, trade routes, and dramatic lifting or falling of prices.
As say the “gurus” of Valdira— this is how the global economy of Valdira is regulated. The price for rare pink pearls has risen too high? And only Achilots, who can retrieve them from the depths, are getting richer in front of everyone’s eyes? No problem! Whack! Earthquake! And a huge portion of the ocean floor is raised to the surface, long with all its wealth and thousands of precious shells with pink pearls. The market is crowded with pearls, instantly falling in price. And why such an accumulation of shells with pearls there in the first place? Who knows… they liked it there… Achilots howl, flare their gills and try to sell their unwanted stocks of the once-rare pink pearls, which instantly become cheaper than conventional beads.
The azure wood from the Rainy Jungle is too cheap? No problem! Whack! A huge fire destroyed not only a huge piece of the jungle but also all the azure timber and lumberjacks themselves in the process. And wood prices instantly jump up to the heavens. Previously, whole crafts and houses were made from the azure tree and now there is barely a scrape left, hardly enough for a couple of boards for a tiny box.
Too much grain? No problem! Whack! Enter the locusts, and not a blade of grass is left on the fields… farm owners are tearing off all the hair from their bodies. Including the players— owners of large grain farms.
Too many alchemical potions, scrolls, and equipment on the players? Nowhere to put them? No problem! Whack! And a war breaks out. Not particularly large. But expensive. Players can choose any side. Each side promises lots of bonuses, if they become a winner. Due to the incessant fights, scrolls and potions are disappearing, gold flows away into the abyss, and equipment turns to useless junk. But how much fun! What excitement! What a great fight! A collision of clans! What armies for battle! You decide your fate! Alchemists are working very hard, as well as the gunsmiths and armorers. All for the sake of war! All for victory! And fie on the emptying warehouses and storefronts!
And there are many such examples. Especially for fans of conspiracy theories, which had find an insidious plan in any situation. However, in contrast to the “real” world, Valdira’s deceits actually exist.
A Quake is a Quake. Some become richer, some poorer. And hardly anyone stays the same. Quake…
This time it is also her. Her majesty the Quake.
How powerful are the clans which worship Snessa? Or any other god who has been predicted to fall?
All of these clans have good bonuses— depending on the god, but in any case, they are fat and numerous. And suddenly, it is reported— your god is about to fall, and you will be left with nothing. And so much incredible effort was put into it, to get the favor of the god… it took so much gold, so many quests performed, such enemies ruined, prayers read, temples built and victims sacrificed too…
And what? All for nothing? Wave your happiness goodbye? Grieve and forget?
No way!
We shall not allow our god to fall!
War? Excellent! Let there be war! We’ll see whose god falls!
You don’t have to be the Great Oracle to predict the development of events— the global war. Not a long one, and yet one which fundamentally changes things.
How is it said? He who was no one, will become the greatest! And who was the greatest… to them a straight road to hell.
Damn… I can understand the fundamentals of the coming events, but to cover the entire scope of it… one must be a super-analyst. I can say only one thing— a huge mass of money will be spent. Millions and millions. If two characters meet to fight— they are already spending at least a dozen scrolls and potions. And the cost of repairs for equipment and weapons. If clans are fighting— multiply by a hundred or a thousand. If the gods are at war…
At least the war will not begin right now— this event is still far in the future And the information is free to spread— they will hear it, ponder it, estimate the “pros” and “cons.” And begin to prepare. Treasurers will begin to feverishly figure out the costs, clan leaders will hold meetings, seek allies in the coming war, and study potential adversaries. And all this against the backdrop of a trip to the lost continent of Zar’graad.
And I… I’ll buy good wine in the nearest wine shop, and a couple of packages of marshmallows… and go sit at the campfire next to the Karst caves.
Because right now my brain is paralyzed. Decay will soon begin if I go on like this.
Besides, I promised. They’re waiting for me.
And it’s not for me to think about the Quake. Instead, I’ll have to think about getting a couple of things from the Silver Legend and raising my level to have the desired amount of mana points.
Quake or not... there is still uncertainty. But the campaign towards Zar’graad will be inevitable. Even the dates are approved. That is what I have to think about. And worry about.
And after I successfully find myself on Zar’graad— then I could not care less!
But first, fire, marshmallows, and the wine of victory…
Chuckling, I turned towards the nearest hotel— it would be necessary for me to unload a bit.
I made a step and stopped in surprise, staring at the strange company slowly wandering through the night of Algora.
Ahead of me, a broad paced guard in a highly polished uniform embroidered with a silver badge with an image of the town emblem. Behind him awkwardly trotted a few players in striped suits, carrying a wheelbarrow, the sort in which one carries cement. But in this stretcher wasn’t concrete, but a colorful jellylike mass. Looking closer, I realized that this was an assembly of Slims— of all colors and sizes. From tiny lumps to the respectable sizes of watermelons. Following the bearers walked another player in the same striped suit, carrying another couple of Slims in their arms. He paused, leaned over the garbage urn, looked inside— and, with a sigh, lowered a bright green Slim into the wide neck of the urn. Then he straightened and hurried after his friends. Behind him another guard walked slowly, full of self-esteem and zeal.
At first, I thought this was another masquerade. And only a couple of seconds after I understood that what I saw were very real prisoners, left to do corrective work. And in fact, a crime which was out of the ordinary— because one does not simply dress up players in striped prison uniforms for no reason.
What the players were doing was clear to me— seating Slims into garbage cans. I had passed one of these just recently, one of these living trash receptacles built for processing waste.
I wonder, what had these players done? What had angered the town board?
Anyway, I had no time for this. Stepping aside, I let the trio pass me slowly and involuntarily heard snippets of their conversation.
-- The Slim ate my sleeve! – bitterly complained the last of the trio, the one which had “sat” the slim into the urn. Above his head shone the nickname Karhaym.
-- Property damage— said the leading guard nonchalantly— Twenty pennies to pay for the damage.
-- But I’m not guilty!
-- State owned property! Pay the twenty coppers at the end of the punishment! – replied the guard, leaning on another urn and looking inside— And there is no Slim here! Where did it go? Do they creep away? Surely someone is stealing. But they are useless to everyone! Oh… Hey! Prisoner! Plant a slim here! And get a move on! We still have two blocks to go!
-- Yes, I’m planting, I’m planting— Karhaym sighed, putting an
other swaying clump of translucent jelly into the urn. This time, a poisonous yellow.
-- Then, on to the dump— the guard continues, glancing over— He probably already spawned offspring.
-- I told you so! – sadly drawled another prisoner, with the nickname Sword— We shouldn’t have!
-- You don’t say a word! – hissed the player holding the stretcher— It’s all because of you anyway!
-- What do I have to do with it? – protested sword.
-- Because! What did I say before the court? We must sincerely repent! We were stupid, it won’t happen again. And what did you say?!
- What did I say?
- Don’t you remember? Karhaym! Remind us! That one super-quote, Sword! At which the judge lost the power of speech!
Picking up a couple of Slims from the stretcher, Karhaym stretched and rattled:
- We are not criminals! We have contributed to the preservation of rare species, virtually exterminated by the evil players! It is for this reason that we brought the baby to the most protected place we could find and released it to graze!
- Ugh! – growled Varamo in a deep voice— Contributed! Conservation! Released to graze! I wish you had kept your mouth shut, Sword! Damn Greenpeace!
- Right! – echoed Karhaym.
- And you too!
- What have I done?!
- Who tried to run away after the verdict? Who rushed to the door?!
- I was trying to divert the attention, so that you could hide!
- Oh sure! Only ten steps in and you ran! And because of this, an extra five hours of hard labor! For resisting!
- I said— I said from the start, we shouldn’t have done it at the beginning!
- You work, and do not talk! – growled the guard— Follow me! Let’s go! We still have work and more work! And where is that one?! Where’d he go?!
- Here— said the last guard, looking over his shoulder— Hey! Hurry up!
- Yes, good master!— I heard a shrill and plaintive voice wafting from behind— I run! I make haste!
The voice seemed to me very familiar. Even all too familiar— and evoking some not too pleasant memories. Related to water and fire.
- I’m not your master! – shouted the guard— But a guardian of the glorious city of Algora! Hurry up! Why’re you barely moving your paws?!
- It’s dry!— complained the voice in the darkness and a blurred and strangely built shadow appeared— Feet hurt… hard stone… hands hurt… and no fish!
- Shit! – I howled, my eyes bulging at the ridiculous figure emerging out of the night.
The bog creature! My old friend— all his damn features I could now recall perfectly.
On his thin neck was a thick collar, on his shoulders a great striped prison uniform reaching up to his knee. The expression on his muzzle was very tearful and unhappy— his huge eyes a dark wet spot.
- Don’t you get involved! – grimly advised the last guard, glancing in my direction. And then again he switched to the bog creature, hobbling on the stone floor— Hurry! Damn thief!
- Oh, my friend! – in turn yelled the creature, seeing my humble person— Oh! Oh! Save me! Help me!
- What, no fish here too? – I asked with a sorrowful sigh.
- There are fish! – the creature shone, and then immediately his ears drooped sadly- But you cannot take them…
- Dear sir— I said, turning to the guard— Excuse me, can you please tell me the accusations of this unfortunate creature
- And who are you? His friend? – squinted the guard suspiciously.
- You could say that— I opened my arms— We are acquainted.
- The offender is guilty of stealing and eating fish directly from the market stalls— the guard told me the sad story of a helpless criminal— He was captured on the spot. Sentenced to five days of hard labor.
- Why so many? – I was amazed.
- Freedom for bog creatures! – the creature hung to my leg.
- Shut up! – hissed the guard and turned back to me— Because he ate a dozen fishes before he was caught— nine large and expensive ones. For this he was given two days of corrective labor.
- And what were the other three for? – I asked, looking askance at the bog creature criminal seated at my feet, clutching to my knee and not letting me go.
- As it turns out, before the incident at the market, the offender had committed another crime— he stole a goldfish from an aquarium and ate it alive! The owner of the goldfish was an old woman and she fainted in the wake of this heinous ac. He was sentenced to two more days of hard labor for the good of the city. The offender was offered to pay a fine, but he was able to offer as payment only his loincloth, removing it in the courtroom… for which he was sentenced to one more day.
The bog creature hiccupped affirmatively and stroked his sunken stomach with his paw.
- Wow – I shook my head— Well done… damn exhibitionist.. damn it!
- Let’s go – barked the guard— Crr-rriminal!
- Save me! – the creature looked at me pleadingly— Help me!
- How did you get here anyway?!
- House on fire! Smoke, fire, hot, dry! Bog creature run! After all, no more fish! I don’t know why my house burned… do you know why my house burned?
- Ahem… May I make a payment for it? – gritting my teeth against greed, I asked. Greed with a feeling of guilt mixed in. The swamp had burned with my participation, and become a branch of hell altogether.
- You may— answered the guard— Tomorrow, in the courtroom. Payment— ten gold coins.
- And what if right now? Ten gold coins and another three as a donation to the valiant guards of the great city of Algora.
- It is possible – said the guard after some reflection, offering his hand to me— Pay!
- Of course— I surrendered to the inevitable, and counted the coins— Thirteen gold.
- Payment accepted— the guard grumbled, putting the money in his waist pouch— It is free. And good thing— he’s no worker anyway. Just thinks about food all the time. Even tried to devour a Slim!
The collar on the creature’s neck softly clicked, opened, and flew to the guard, glued to his belt. The collar is not a normal one— with such a device, one cannot escape. There is also a leash invisible to the naked eye. Players are certainly not subjected to this often, but “locals” sometimes. Especially if the perpetrator is a bog creature thief.
- Thank you! Thank you! – squealed the bog creature, jumping in joy— Thank you, dear friend! Thank you!
A second passed and the frail figure was by the lattice leading to the drainage wells, huddled under the rain pipe in the wall of a house.
Another second and the grille rose and then fell back into place. And the bog-creature disappeared, dipping into the underground catacombs of Algora. From the dark throat of the tunnel came a triumphant screech, rapidly receding and becoming slurred:
- I am free! Freee!..
- Twenty coppers— said the guard mutedly, looking in the same direction as me— at the drainage gate, which was already almost silent.
- Eh?
- I said— twenty coppers. That’s the cost of the prison robe, carried away by the perpetrator himself. Pay up!
- Damn it!
- Twenty coppers! Pay up!
- Yes, yes, crying… and sobbing… damn bog-creature and his damn fish!
Chapter Two.
Campfire, Campfire. Cedric the nasty. Cursed by god…
As planned, my first plan of action was to visit my private room and leave there all things that were superfluous. For example, Grim’s medallion— the properties of which I had not yet looked at. Not because of negligence. No. Only because of a reluctance to hurry. Time was running out— I had promised to meet with my new companions and sit by the fire.
And therefore, I wasn’t going to hurry. I’d drink a little virtual wine, and have a look at the flashes of a digital campfire and at the sky of Valdira, existing only in my imagination.
>
And then I would go back to my private room and attend to business. Of which I always had a ton. And which I always set aside “for later.”
The careful inspection of my winnings. Finding the fitting equipment. Further planning, etc., etc., etc.… and all the while the soul wanted only one thing… a little rest. And I couldn’t resist the urge— the outing in the breeding grounds and the violent fight with a werewolf had exhausted me too much.
I left on my person only the gold coins and, going out of the hotel, went first into the wine shop, where I bought a dozen bottles of red wine— young, sweet and tart, as the “local” salesman had said. That’s good— exactly what was necessary. Let others drink the old, bitter and sour wines. In the same shop I bought a tremendous package of marshmallows. I reached the magic shops with a fast pace and bought a few scrolls of teleportation. After making sure that nothing was forgotten, I activated a scroll and found myself at the entrance of the Breeding Grounds— twenty paces from the entrance. With a glance at the entrance, shivers went immediately down my spine.
In spite of the nighttime, almost nothing here has changed. The same brisk trade went on, and players in white cloaks with a red cross were still among the crowd, shouting to advertise and enlist. Someone cried out mournfully asking people to help retrieve the weapons they had lost in the caves. All as usual.
This is understandable— Valdira never sleeps. And underground there is never any light anyway. Plus, there are extra bonuses in the night time, and perhaps extra problems, or both. For example, creatures may emerge out of the caves and delight the players sitting around and minding their own business. At night, anything can happen.
There was a strange excitement at the entrance to the breeding grounds. Here and there were torches stuck between the stones, and many magicians had conjured balls of light— so there was enough light that I could see all the details. And the more I looked, the more I was surprised— the overall impression was that a battle group was forming at the edge of the cave. And the whole group paraded around in white cloaks with a red cross— that is, the group was purely clan, no strangers. And the guys who gathered looked serious— soldiers in massive armor magicians, healers and several players whose classes I couldn’t guess at first glance. A total of fifteen or so. Large levels. Too big for this dungeon. Either the entire clan of the Scarlet Cross was suffering from insomnia, or something else…
The Way of the Clan 4 (World of Valdira) Page 3