The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)
Page 8
Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel
Marked by Ingvar the Warrior God
First in Ghorazm Ruins
Agility: 380
7.9% chance to hit critically with physical attacks: 5% base, 1.9% agility bonus, 1% equipment bonus.
38% damage reduction from falling.
Strength: 1152
18.07% boost to armor: 11.52% strength bonus, 6.55% equipment bonus.
236% boost to physical damage: 230% strength bonus, 6.55% equipment bonus.
5079 lbs carrying capacity.
Constitution: 1081
10,810 hit points.
Vigor: 230
2300 energy points.
Spirit: 121
6.21% mana and energy regeneration in combat: 5% base + 1.21% spirit bonus.
6.21% mana and energy regeneration out of combat: 5% base + 1.21% spirit bonus.
1.21% HP regeneration out of combat: 0% base + 1.21% spirit bonus.
Intellect: 121
5.6% chance to hit critically with spells: 5% base + .6% intellect bonus.
60.5% to spell power.
1210 mana points.
Armor: 2771 (73.4% physical damage absorption)
Abilities and skills:
Tongue of Flame VIII—action bar
Ice Blade VIII—action bar
Jump I—action bar
Step through Darkness I—action bar
Stone Disc II—action bar
Morph V—action bar
Silence V—action bar
Earth Shackles II—action bar
Shield of the Elements V [active]
Portal Creation I
Personal Weapon Enchanting with the Power of the Elements V
Passive skills and achievements:
+5% to any magic action [Archmage Altus' Apprentice]
+5% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [Shaartakh's Slayer]
+1% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [First in Ghorazm Ruins]
+5% to physical and magic damage, +5% to armor class and all resistances, +5% to healing spells, +5% to experienced gained (party bonus) [Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel]
Bonus to damage with swords: +2%
Bonus to heavy armor: +2%
Toughness: 44%
Magic Resistances:
Water magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)
Air magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)
Earth magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)
Fire magic: 20% (45% with Shield of the Elements)
Mental magic: 95%
Dark magic: 75%
Nature magic: 20%
Light magic: 75%
Reputation with higher beings:
Setara—friendly
Ingvar—friendly
Bel—friendly
Reputation with other races:
Humans—hostile
Elves—hostile
Dark elves—hostile
Orcs—hostile
Dwarves—hostile
Drow—hostile
Demons—unfriendly (Ashtar Dominion—respected)
Weapon damage: 344.6-413.6
Stone Disc II—595.8-744.7 earth magic damage
Tongue of Flame VIII—3525.2-4231.1 physical damage
Ice Blade VIII—3525.2-4231.1 physical damage
Those last numbers were the most satisfying. Physical damage output was calculated by a single algorithm: weapon damage plus passive skills, plus active ability, and finally a percentage of the primary stat added to the sum total. After getting to level 100, my action bar had grown by one slot, so I now had nine. After some deliberation, I'd decided to keep it free for the time being.
Where could I find out if the citadel's gates close for the night? I thought, watching the sentries patrol the area. I'd rather not spend the night in a dungeon, or out here on this bench. I couldn't make a portal from inside the citadel—the spell's icon had become grayed out the moment I'd walked through the main gates. But then, with my new offensive capabilities, I would probably be done with the dungeon in a few hours, tops. And that should be enough. I just couldn't wait till tomorrow to find out what awaited me in the Cursed Princedom.
The heavy door closed with a dull bang, sealing me from the outside world. I was in a familiar dusky space that I'd observed a month ago through somebody else's eyes. The only thing missing was the station of the old gatekeeper who had perished in the corridor of the first floor. There were no signs of his desk anywhere. The place looked like a scene from a horror movie: the walls were burnt and peeling, and the floor was strewn with pieces of charred plaster. The huge mirror that once hung above the entrance had partially melted into the stone. Shards of congealed glass were scattered across the floor, pinned down by the blackened frame. The remains of what once was a staircase were piled up on the floor, alongside other rubble, and coated in layers of dust. Guarding the flight leading downward, and looking absolutely revolting, were five canines in the 80-85 level range.
In their past lives these dogs were probably mastiffs, but these days they looked more like wolves roaming around Ghorazm Ruins. Hides covered in sores and rot, with ribs popping out, and hypertrophied jaws beneath eyes that glowed a menacing blue—a scary sight for some, to be sure, but I'd seen too many of their kind to be intimidated.
The glass in a vial with the elixir of possibilities cracked, and all my stats jumped by one hundred each. Let's roll. Four dogs rasped helplessly, rooted by Earth Shackles; seconds later, a Stone Disc smashed into one of the four, knocking off 650 HP. I met the onrushing fifth dog with Ice Blade, then stepped aside to let the corpse, its skull cleaved in half, skid right on past me, ripping out the sword stuck in the beast's ribcage in a jerking motion. One down.
Three more discs flew at the wounded canine, the first breaking its front legs with a sickening crack, the second smashing into its side with a thump, tearing flesh and leaving a gaping wound, and the third striking at the same exact spot. With a hollow sigh, the fiend collapsed on the stone floor. As shackles faded, the three remaining dogs charged at me. Then one stopped midway, threw up its head and howled at the ceiling, chilling the blood in my veins.
The chat log lit up with a message about the debuff, which didn't take thanks to my mental resistance. Taking a step back into the deep doorway, a single shot at the beast's scowling mug made the score three-zero. The blade slid out of the corpse easily after Tongue of Flame, but the fourth dog still managed to take advantage and bite into my hip, taking off 350 HP. I took the bastard's head off with Ice Blade, and met the last remaining dog with my shield forward and another Tongue of Flame. The whole pack took less than half a minute to wipe out, and no pain whatsoever. I looted all the canine corpses, picking up giblets that were alchemical reagents: two spleens, one heart and two gallbladders. Frowning from the stench, I put all this nastiness away in a glass container I'd prepared beforehand, and stashed it into my inventory. Sure, I could have simply tossed it all inside, and it wouldn't have contaminated the other items, but then I'd have to get it out of there eventually the same way. After wiping the soiled gauntlet with a wool rag, I began a careful descent, holding on to the dust-laden handrails. The entrance to the lower floor was guarded by an identical pack of dogs that I promptly dispatched in a virtually identical fashion. Then I passed beneath a soot-covered arch into a familiar corridor.
The signs of destruction were even more pronounced here. Burn holes abounded on either side of the walls, the darkness ahead swallowing up the meager illumination of wall-mounted magic lanterns. The doorways gaped—the wooden doors had been fully devoured by the fire. The cracked ceiling pressed heavily on the psyche, inducing claustrophobia even in those who would never otherwise be susceptible to it. In fact, from the moment I'd entered the ruined wing I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd ended up in some post-apocalyptic game, and that waiting for me in the darkness of the corridor weren't mixed packs of skeletons or
blighted dogs, but camouflaged figures in hazmat suits and gas masks.
I fought back the sudden urge to rush the nearest pack and start swinging. What the hell is going on with me? Yes, I should handle level 80-85 packs without any issues, but there's no point in taking needless risks—the price is too high, and I have no intention of paying it. Ahead were two skeletons, a warrior and a mage, surrounded by three dogs. I kept to the same tactic: Shackles on the warrior and the dogs, Silence on the mage, then Stone Disc at the warrior. His two-hander hurt more than the dogs' bites. Dodging the mage's two-handed staff, I countered with Ice Blade, and followed with three discs at the warrior as the mage's bones clattered to the stone floor.
The entrance to the corridor was narrow, yet high enough to swing a sword. I stepped back, putting up my shield. The dogs, now free, stumbled over each other trying to get to me, growling fiercely. Their attacks triggered the familiar message about the debuff. Shielding myself, I countered with three consecutive strikes that ended the fight. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I bent over the corpses. Three broth bones for stock, two pieces of wool, a medium potion of healing and eighty seven copper. Not too rich, but clearing this instance once a month, every time it resets, would net around thirty gold after selling all this crap. And thirty gold in the real world is almost three thousand bucks these days, I thought with a sigh. Would that I could still return to the real world...
I kept moving down the corridor cautiously, then peeked into the first open door on my right, seeing iron shelving on the walls, metal crates scattered all around, and three skeletons in the corner. The hell with them? I probably wouldn't aggro mobs in rooms if I stick to the corridor. I won't get any XP for killing them anyway... I chased away the thought at once. The devs were known to play such tricks on players: give in to laziness and skip some mobs, and later in the dungeon, usually at the worst possible moment, something would trigger them all to come running and pile up on you. The clock showed twenty minutes past nine—it seemed I might be here longer than I'd thought. I zeroed in on my next target and started casting Earth Shackles...
Four mounting-shaped holes and a chunk of molten metal deformed from an explosion twenty yards away—this was all that was left of the silvery block that once hanged on this wall. It had taken me about twenty minutes to get here, after clearing out all the rooms along the way. I stood there in silence, gazing at this, the last line of Nittal's defense that nobody but me even knew existed. The sounds of battle from that vision washed over me once more, transporting me eighty three years into the past. Once more my eyes beheld the grim-faced warrior, spinning like a whirlwind of lethal steel, stopping the gruesome fiends from overtaking the defenseless city, and the ever-grouchy old gatekeeper shuffling along the stone slabs to his aid.
When I came to, I was breathing heavily and holding onto the wall. This time it all ended quickly—the vision merely flashed before my eyes. A sip from the flask had a soothing effect, bringing me back to my senses. As I looked around, my eyes fell on a chunk of blackened metal sticking out of a pile of rubble. I walked up and carefully liberated the find from under the rocks...
The magical explosion and resulting fire had failed to completely destroy the enchanted armor—a molten chunk of cuirass melded with the remains of a left pauldron was all that remained of Cymon the punisher. Neither his bones nor the other components of his armor were anywhere to be found. It was a wonder anything had survived at all. Well, that's one less mystery to unravel, I thought with lament, eyeing the deformed piece of mithril.
I wasn't going to leave the punisher's remains here. Many NPCs had long ceased to be mindless puppets to me, and if anyone deserved a proper burial, it was this tifling before me.
I bent down, intending to hide the armor remains into my bag...
You've accessed the quest: Cymon's Family Arms.
Quest type: unique.
Deliver what's left of Cymon the punisher's ancestral swords to his son.
Reward: experience, variable.
My hands were holding the fragments of twin swords—the very ones that the tifling had driven into the Agent of Death's eye-sockets right before the explosion. Straight guards, round pommels. A decent chunk of the bone hilt had remained in one fragment, while the blades had been trimmed to four inches at the most. It could have been the monster's venom, or perhaps the explosion. The moment I accepted the quest and put the sword fragments away in my bag, the leftovers of the punisher's armor crumbled to gray dust...
Another unique quest—these were often given to players who were first to complete a dungeon. And that was in addition to double the experience, the achievement for being first, and guaranteed phat lewts from the final boss. That made it clear why of those who made their living in the game, the most popular class by far was ranger, thanks to his superior movement and adaptation to virtually any terrain. Information about undiscovered dungeons fetched such exorbitant prices that the seller could turn around and buy beachfront property and a decent ride, and be set for life by smartly investing the rest of the proceeds. A rogue had his advantages as well, but nothing compared to the ranger's pathfinding and cross-country capabilities.
I should be happy. Being the only player in Demon Grounds, I was like a kid in a candy store with all these unexplored dungeons. Only I wasn't happy, not one bit. I wanted human contact. I wanted to talk to someone about something real, unrelated to fantasy. About cars, or books. About what had happened to all of us. I wanted to see my sister and my friend, and I didn't give a damn about these bloody dungeons! Maybe later, after I'd have made it out of here, I would come to regret not sticking my nose into every nook and crazy, sweeping everything clean like a Korean farmer, but that would be later. But for now... I inspected the corridor—only four packs remained from here till the floor's boss, a two-headed chimera. For now, I just have to keep going.
Master Varkas, a level 85 lich, was standing on the sand of the testing hall, surrounded by an entourage of four undead assistants. They stood in the same exact spot where once gaped the black portal window from which the Agent of Death had appeared in this realm. There was no portal this time, naturally, nor any pools of foul green-brown slime. Out of all the rooms in the research center, the testing hall had somehow suffered the least ruin. The only signs indicating that a magic blaze had wreaked havoc here at some point were the blackened walls and gaping doorways, the wooden doors having been burned to a crisp. The stone desks and benches didn't even have a layer of soot. Sitting up in the stands, I was having a smoke while studying the scribblings on the tabletop. Yet again they were proving to me that junior research fellow wasn't a job as much as a way of thinking.
Having resolved to check the archives only after clearing the entire dungeon, I'd made only one short stop at a small lab to complete Kyle Dar Ylsan's quest. The distilling tank—two closed copper pans linked by three tubes, each of a different color—was now tucked away in my bag, and if not for the faint glow it radiated, like virtually all of the game's quest items, I would probably still be rummaging through heaps of random junk looking for it. Really, what kind of idiot would think to call this contraption a "tank"?
The bosses of the first and second floors—a lizard-bird hybrid and a ten-foot ape—had taken me less than half a minute each. The packs on the way to them hadn't been particularly varied, and hadn't given me any trouble. My hopes of scoring some mithril hadn't come to fruition either. There doorways to the vault with the main accumulator were totally empty—evidently, the mages scouring this place after the tragedy had taken them out. I just didn't see how such massive doors could have vanished without a trace from the magical explosion... Or could they? Little had remained of the second floor as well—actually, I had a hard time understanding how anything at all had survived down here after a blast of that magnitude. How was it that the corridors had been left intact? And where had those dogs, skeletons and other weird creatures come from? Perhaps these walls were coated with some magic resistant substance, ushering
the flames down corridors like in tubes? Enough guessing, let this rest on the developers' conscience—I had a bunch of bony bastards to fry. I beat my pipe against the tabletop to knock out the tobacco leftovers, then put the pipe away, got up and drank a potion of invisibility.
Master Varkas had 90,000 HP. The mantle offered scant protection—twenty five hits or so should suffice. The mages at his side had 7,000 HP, so they needed to go down first. I didn't fear much with my maximum resistance against dark magic, but they could still have surprises up those sleeves. The liches were standing in a square formation with the master in the center, so it didn't matter which one I pulled first.
Invisibility allowed me to get right up to the mobs. Let's roll! As an Ice Blade knocked half the HP off one of the mages, I felt the familiar flavor of rage rising inside me. A Tongue of Flame, and the mage's bones crackled down to the floor before their owner knew what hit him. After a Silence on Varkas (Shut your trap, scumbag!), I interrupted another skeleton's cast with an Ice Blade, but then the other two let loose two Clots of Darkness my way, taking off 600 HP. After finishing off the second skeleton, I ducked under the master's sweeping staff and rammed my shoulder into his chest, pushing him into of the two remaining mages. The master and his assistant were knocked seven-eight feet back—a testament to how uneven this fight was. Another Clot of Darkness smashed into my side—damn! Side-stepping toward the other henchman, I twisted my torso and executed a Tongue of Flame in a downward arc. The skeleton tried to parry with his bone staff, but my blade sliced through his weapon like a hot knife through butter, then on through his skull with glowing blue eye-sockets, finally lodging deep in the ribcage—a crit! Rushing over to the last remaining skeleton, I passed by Varkas as he was trying to get up off the sand, and knocked him back down with a forceful heel to the chest. The next Ice Blade procced Freeze, and my follow-up swing knocked the last remaining skeleton's noggin right off.