by G. Akella
"Anyone know a zipper spell that could get this one to shut up for once?" Masyanya let out a sigh. "Or maybe just a good old bottle of glue would do the trick."
Bonbon had changed. Sometimes, as you walk down the street, you see a man walking towards you and realize that, deep down, he is truly happy. Yes, Bonbon's jokes and general tomfoolery had not changed, but there was something elusive and enviable about him. Maybe I would find that happiness too someday.
"Hello everyone!"
I had been too deep in thought to notice Donut's sisters approaching.
Which feathers had they been pruning up there, exactly? I couldn't detect any outward changes. Short, heel-less boots, leather pants, fitted jackets. The only things missing were the cloaks that had veiled their faces and bodies. Still, sometimes a woman will change things about her appearance and a man doesn't even notice. These girls looked stunning, regardless. They were a biker's dream, and would have fit perfectly in cult vampire hunter comics. They were so alike, too. The same level, class, clothing, and short haircut. They only difference? The color of their hair. Diana—who was nicknamed Viper—had light red hair, while Erika's was dirty blonde. Apparently, they had spent very little time in their character editors. Or maybe they had even spent time making themselves more alike. Even identical twins differed by the age of thirty, but each of these sisters was like a mirror reflection of the other. Donut also looked very similar to them, but there was no chance I'd get him confused for Viper or Erica.
"At last!" he exclaimed. "We were beginning to worry..."
"Shut up, little brother," Erika snorted, taking her seat. "What the hell would you know about... Oh, sorry, Masyanya." She shrugged guiltily. "I forgot he was married."
The huntress smiled. "And you really think he's matured as a result? If he has, I haven't noticed."
"Look how they're ganging up against me," Donut sighed with feigned sadness as he poured a glass of brandy.
"Cool nick," Bonbon noted to Diana, then unexpectedly broke into a song.
"Oh Diana she's a Viper gal, so don't you let her fool yer,
With 'er light blue eyes and 'er dark blue gown, she's quite the one to drool o'er..."
Silence hung over the table for a moment. Diana looked at him in surprise, then sang out a next line before he could make it himself.
"But then again, her bonnie friends, they do a lot o' droolin',
For the brandy starts their day an' ends wi' epic foolin'!"
"So you know the song too, eh?" Bonbon winked, and she smiled. "Great song! Got inspiration for my nick from it. Well then, let's drink to our acquaintance, shall we?"
We did. Diana sent a questioning gaze my way.
"I hope we didn't miss anything. You'll tell us when you're on your way to kill that boss in the catacombs, right?"
"And why would I do that?" I smiled back.
"You wouldn't just leave two defenseless women all alone in this inn, would you? You just have to take them under your mighty wing of protection!" Erika shrugged. "Plus, we'll be useful, believe me. As good as anyone over two hundred."
"Uh-huh, defenseless. Sure." I shook my head, but invited them to the clan anyway, then pulled out my pipe, and got a little more comfortable. "All right, so here's the plan."
I didn't talk for long, for there wasn't much to say. A little about the meeting with the Ferat Clan, a little about the week's schedule. When I was done with my story, I smiled at everyone seated around the table.
"I won't try to talk any of you out of it. Anyone that wishes to come with us, may, except for Masyanya, of course."
She gave a small jolt. "What?"
"Listen to our commander now, dear," Donut gently nudged her shoulder. "He know what he's doing."
"You know better than anyone that you can't go," I explained to her. "No one knows how everything down there might affect your future child. Just a little longer, and you'll be able to throw yourself at whatever dragons and genies you can find. I know you'd add seven percent to the raid damage, but we have four clans and our bonus is already at about three hundred percent. No sense risking your child for such a tiny boost."
Masyanya sighed, lowered her gaze, and shook her head softly.
"Sexist, isn't he?" She smiled at Donut and poked him in the ribs. "Fine, I'll wait at the entrance. Just take this one with you. He'll have an easier time facing an evil underworld god than surviving a day with me!"
"We'll take him down, don't worry." Bonbon was full of confidence, and even fuller of food. Another plate of meat came out. "Come on, Masyana, eat. You're so thin, and so irritable when you're hungry."
"Geez, I can't wait till your wife moves in," the huntress said, rolling her eyes. "I'll give her my own rolling pin and set her off to rolling some bonbon! Look, meat isn't what I want right now. And having to put up with your nonsense is giving me a headache, anyway."
"My Lord Prince!" a voice came from the hall entrance. "Your presence is requested!"
I nodded to the receptionist and gestured for everyone to relax.
"I think I know what that is. You go on ahead, and I'll catch up."
I finished the glass of brandy and headed to the lobby, expecting to find the two dwarves there. It was likely that I was the only one who could deliver the banner to the ambassador in order for the quest to be completed. Otherwise, I could have dumped the quest from my quest log. Now, how did they find me? Easy. A demon prince in the human capital? The Unicorn would be the first place to look. Was I angry with the two of them? Probably not—I had cooled off by now. Plus, fools weren't worth my demonic anger. Indeed, both dwarves were there. Gisli held the folded banner more carefully than he might a baby. When they noticed me, both lowered their heads. The banner holder took a step forward, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"How could we have known what banner you meant, prince? We were such idiots. We couldn't have imagined..." He sighed heavily. "Gorvin formed our century up on the embassy lawn. He said they would all stand there until they fell of exhaustion, and we had better be back with you before they did, or else. Only you can place this banner on the Altar of the Ancestors. Only the one who has retrieved the banner has the power to lay it down. I am so ashamed. In that gorge, my father and my older brother were left to lie, dead, unburied, robbed of their burial rights." Gisli looked me in the eye. "If the insult is great enough for it, prince, kill us here and now! Kill us if you will, but carry the banner to where it belongs!"
I didn't say anything. I simply took the Banner of the Sixth Dwarven Legion and, holding it just as carefully as he had, left the inn for the embassy. The dwarves followed me in silence.
Chapter 16
A line of dwarves dressed in mithril stood motionless in the wide-open gates, a hundred soldiers of the Mountain Kingdom forming a corridor behind them, leading to the figure of the gray-haired ambassador lit by a parade of brightly burning torches. It was Elder Master Gorvin, a level 450 dwarf. He stood with his legs apart to brace himself and a huge axe held on his immense shoulders, its blade wreathed in magical scarlet flame. A crowd of curious onlookers, including a dozen or so players, had gathered in front of the embassy.
When I was about a hundred feet away from the gate, the dwarves accompanying me simultaneously drew their axes and marched forward.
"Make way!" Gisli yelled, prompting the crowd to part.
To match the gravity of the moment, I entered my combat form and placed my princely title above my head. It was almost automatic. I just somehow felt that it was the right move.
"Make way for the relic!" thundered the centurion's voice, overpowering the exclamations of surprise from the onlookers in the square.
A drumbeat began pounding to my left. Six dwarves from the gate line stepped forward and opened their formation, another sort of gate.
"Silence!" the centurion roared as the gray-haired dwarf at the end of the living corridor brought his poleaxe down from his shoulder and struck the cobblestones with the butt of its handle.
"Glory!" the commander barked this time, thumping his axe against a shield just drawn from his back.
"Glory!" the whole formation uttered in response.
The dwarves all struck their chests with their fists. The sound was deafening. Then, they lowered their heads and froze.
Gisli and his companion had fallen behind me, now. The drumbeat changed rhythm. Now it beat as it had then, for the legion facing a host of demons five times its number.
Suddenly I felt a profound discomfort. This glory was not mine. Even my role in the slaying of Shaartakh had been indirect, at best. I was just a wandering stranger. Someone on vacation, passing by. And yet, there was no other way. I had no need for glory from these dwarves, but since the ritual depended on me...
The drumbeat stopped. I stood in front of the ambassador now and announced what I had brought to the square, my words loud and clear.
"The Banner of the Sixth Dwarven Legion!"
"Greetings, Prince Krian of Craedia!" the dwarf lifted his gleaming eyes from the banner to me. "You have the gratitude of the Mountain People. Now do us the honor of placing this relic on the altar!"
He waited for my nod before continuing.
"On our way then, prince." Deftly placing his axe back on his shoulder, he walked along the embassy building, leading me around the corner to the right.
The inner courtyard held a square. In the center sat a portal, shimmering with every conceivable shade of brown. The dwarf entered the portal, and I followed. Of course, it would have been dumb to assume the Altar of the Bronzeback Ancestors was in the embassy building. All the way back at The Unicorn, I had realized we'd be going to the mountains.
Kraet Peaks; Depths of the Northern Ridge; Stoneforge; Hall of the Elders; zone level 400.
"Glory!" My ears rang from the cries of the eight sentries posted in the portal room. I blinked hard as we stepped out and followed Gorvin down a long corridor lit by magical lanterns. I was deafened for the whole seven-minute walk to the Hall of Elders. Groups of sentries stood fifty feet apart, and their stentorian shouts were intensified by the echo in the place. Anyone who had ever accidentally set firecrackers off in a closet would understand what I mean. The number of sentries and the ambassador's confident gait gave proof that their leader had been informed and was waiting for us in the throne room.
As we walked, I looked at my notes and learned that the Hall of Elders was in fact the throne room of the thane. The dwarves had their own unique hierarchy. The head of the whole race was called simply the "sovereign." A thane was roughly equivalent to a count in Erantia.
The corridor led us to a huge room lined with statues. The honor guard stood frozen at its far end, near fifteen-foot-tall mithril doors displaying boar muzzle engravings. They were a dozen dwarves encased in adamantine armor, with a centurion at their head.
"The altar is in the far right corner. Go!" Gorvin told me, shouting a command to the centurion. "Make way for the relic!"
"Glory!" bellowed the soldiers in response. They parted, opening the doors for me as they did.
"Now, prince. Go!" Gorvin instructed again, stepping out of my path.
It was a throne room indeed. I felt like I was in the grandest station of the Moscow subway. Not that it was such a large space, but that ceiling! It was decorated with a strange, broken stone pattern and glowed with a soft orange light, rising to such a height that I had to lift my head to see it—which I did immediately upon entering. Everything else about the hall fully corresponded to the average player's idea of what a dwarven throne room should look like. The floor was granite slabs, tightly fit together. The walls were decorated with marble bas-relief, and a huge bronze throne and long reddish stone table sat on the platform at the front. The two rows of chairs were crafted from the same material as the table.
Nine dwarves of various ages awaited us in the hall. Thane Gunbrand, a mighty level 590 dwarf standing at a height of no less than six feet, sat immobile by the altar. Eight elders stood to the left of him in a jagged line, quietly watching me. The altar itself was of brown rectangular stone, about three feet tall and split with three deep, uneven cracks. It stood directly opposite the door, to the right of the massive fireplace holding a smoldering pile of coal. That made sense, the coal. This city was deep in the bowels of the ridge. Trees didn't grow here, and the nearest exit was about a hundred miles away.
I had no intention of stalling, so I crossed the threshold and headed straight for the altar in solemn fashion. The ambassador had forgotten to tell me how exactly I should place the banner down, and I doubted those standing here would tell me. Damn it. What if I did it wrong?
"Glory to the heroes," the thane pronounced, never taking his eyes off the banner I held. His soft-spoken words echoed off the walls. It seemed as though they rose up to the ceiling.
"Glory!" the elders repeated.
I stepped up to the altar, unfolded the cloth, and carefully laid it upon the brown stone surface.
The next instant, the floor rocked underneath me. The scarlet eyes of the wild boar embroidered on the banner flared up, as did the coals in the fireplace. I heard the screech of stone. The altar trembled and the cracks in it vanished. And right before our eyes, the holes in the cloth knit themselves together. Only blood was left as evidence of the battle. It was the blood of the last legionnaire, who with his mighty feat changed the course of the great conflict. After all, if Kirana had been defeated, Bagert and Shaartakh would have slammed into the mages covering the army. And the knights wouldn't have been able to stop them.
Attention all players of the Mountain People race! The relic has been returned to Stoneforge. Henceforth all residents of the Mountain Kingdom (except those in the Bronzeback Clan) receive +1% to physical and magic damage, +1% to armor class, +1% to all resistances, +1% to the effectiveness of healing spells, and +1% to experience gained. Dwarves belonging to the Bronzeback Clan receive +7% to physical and magic damage, +7% to armor class, +7% to all resistances, +7% to the effectiveness of healing spells, and +7% to experience gained.
Interesting, I thought as I read the system message running by my eyes. The quest said I needed to bring the banner to the head of the dwarven people. The dwarves, meanwhile, had asked me to place it on the altar. Was that the same thing? Or did I have to do something else?
"You have my gratitude, Prince Krian, for returning the banner of our fathers," the thane spoke in a low voice, interrupting my thoughts. "Now, take this as a token of the gratitude of my people!" He handed me three black curved strips of metal with dangling straps and locks set around their edges. At first I had no idea what they were, but when I did realize, I felt ashamed. Every reward should fit the deed. I knew that there in the square of Craedia as I received an oath from my soldiers. Perhaps my princely title had changed something. But still...
I stopped the dwarf with a gesture. "Thank you, Thane Gunbrand, but this is too generous a gift. I did not kill the beast that took your banner. I met the ghost of Archmage Altus on the first day I appeared in your world. I needed Shaartakh to die in order to complete my quest for him, to give him eternal rest at last. At that time, thane, I was still weak and unable to help him. The archmage alone killed the demon—I merely took the banner from his corpse. My deed is not worthy of any honor. I have only returned what belongs to your family."
"I value your modesty, prince," said Gunbrand with a thoughtful grin. "But I see much more than you speak of. You shed your blood in that battle. And you convinced the mage to help you. Also, you know too little of our relics—they will never allow themselves to be borne by the hands of the unworthy. So this is your right, prince. You have earned it!"
Gunbrand stepped towards me and placed a breastplate in my hands.
You've completed the quest: Returning the Relic.
You have gained a level! Current level: 256.
….
You have gained a level! Current level: 258.
You have 13 talent points to allocate.
&
nbsp; Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 39 stat points to allocate.
You've received: Ingvar's Breastplate of Valor.
You've completed the quest: Ingvar's Breastplate of Valor.
Your reputation has increased! Dwarves now relate to you with respect.
Your reputation has increased! Dwarves of the Bronzeback Clan now relate to you with reverence.
Attention! You have garnered the attention of a higher being. Grimnir, God of the Mountain People and Patron of Smithing and Mining, knows of your existence.
I really should assign those stat points, I thought to myself, looking at the treasure I held in my hands. Three pieces: breastplate, an armored abdominal band, and a backplate. The armor even had a movable support for a spear. It was as perfect as a young maiden... And yes, blood had flown from my ears when Altus was killing Shaartakh, so perhaps the System was right this time.
Ingvar's Breastplate of Valor.
Chestguard: plate.
Durability: 3788/4000.
Epic scalable. An item from the Ingvar's Valor set.
No minimum level.
Armor: 1548.
+129 to strength.
+387 to constitution.
Absorbs 12.9% of incoming magic damage.
Weight: 22.4 lbs.
3 item set bonus:
+20% to constitution.
+5% to all max resistances.
From the armor set of Ingvar the Warrior God.
"Have a seat, prince," said Gunbrand with an inviting gesture. "Ale will be served, for we drink to the memory of our ancestors."
"Of course," I said with a nod. I changed forms, put the breastplate in my bag, and sat at the place offered me, at the end of the table. I didn't know a thing about dwarven etiquette, but I surmised it was the place for honored guests.
"While the meal is prepared and set forth," he continued, "please tell me how you managed to escape the plane sealed by the gods themselves! And..." The dwarven ruler hesitated, sighed, and looked me in the eye. "I and those sitting here have a request for you, prince."