The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)

by G. Akella

  Mana: 300.

  Energy: 1450.

  Armor: 522.

  Abilities and skills.

  Passive skills and achievements.

  Bonus to heavy armor: +2%

  Magic Resistances:

  Water magic: 0%

  Air magic: 0%

  Earth magic: 0%

  Fire magic: 0%

  Mental magic: 75%

  Dark magic: 0%

  Nature magic: 0%

  Light magic: 0%

  Weapon damage: 550-590.

  Stat points available: 145

  Talent points available: 29

  Oh snap, how had I missed Ayim's HP falling to one tenth of what it was? The kid had eight pieces of gear: two chainmail and the rest leather, a sword, a shield, a ring and a charm. All were of ordinary quality with +95 to a single stat. Still, a ninety percent drop in HP! What a cruel, dirty trick. Now I knew why accepting folks into a clan was irreversible. How was I supposed to go war with these weaklings? With his stats and equipment, the kid wouldn't last two seconds against a mob of the same level!

  All right, let's start over. Subtracting the clan NPCs' modest equipment bonuses, the stats were the same as those of regular players. Ayim had 310 points in stats, and 145 yet to be allocated. As for talents... The available classes were: healer, warrior, archer, mage and rogue. The talent trees were small, maybe one tenth that of real players', but the talents themselves were more... well, focused. There was nothing superfluous, with NPCs getting one talent point every five levels.

  Professions... Ayim had none, and Salta was a fledging bowyer, capable of crafting the simplest wooden arrows. Both also had a "leadership" bar in their character window, going from private to captain, that was roughly one third full.

  I'd had a hard enough time picking my own talents—now I was supposed to do theirs? If so, it definitely wouldn't be now.

  "Is something wrong, dar?" the youth gave me a concerned look.

  "Use my name—Krian. Did you feel anything just now, when you joined the clan?"

  "I don't think so," said the demon.

  "A lightness," Salta bowed her head, as if listening to herself. She shifted her shoulders gracefully. "Yes, as if a weight has fallen off my shoulders." The girl suddenly jumped to the side, slipping the bow off her back. Then she froze. After a few moments, she slung the bow over her back and walked over to us, smiling.

  "Well, I won't argue with lightness," I shrugged. "It's pretty late... Maybe we shouldn't wake up others?"

  "They're not sleeping," Ayim shook his head. "They're waiting for us, so—"

  "Reena definitely isn't sleeping," the girl snorted, rolling her eyes playfully. "How could she fall asleep without you?"

  "Quiet, you," the flustered youth shushed her. "Come with us, Krian, if you would. They're all dying to know your decision."

  "All right, then," I gave Gloom a friendly slap on his side, interrupting his snoring. "Get up, valiant mount, let's take a walk."

  We had indeed been expected. A group of young demons were sitting outside a long cabin. All conversation died the moment we came into view; the peasants all leaped to their feet and just stood there—all tense, some even frightened. Not of me, apparently, but of the razorback following behind me. Do they think he'll be the one accepting them into the clan? I chuckled. Even in daylight the boar looked far from a harmless guinea pig, but now, with his massive frame swaying in the moonlight, and yellow eyes glowing in the dark, he looked like the stuff nightmares were made from.

  Total silence. Only the sound of oil crackling in lanterns, crickets singing their night song, and Gloom's puffing air through his nostrils.

  A frail-looking girl of black hair and deep dimples made a start toward Ayim, but stopped under his emphatic gaze, looking flustered, and lowered her eyes. A pair of oil lanterns illuminated the area in front of the house pretty well; I didn't see any magic lanterns, nor any mages, for that matter.

  Remember to add Spark, Magic Lantern and Firefly to the backup action bar, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time. With all this running around, I keep forgetting. Most of my connecting talents simply amplified my primary abilities, but some could be fairly useful on their own.

  I was looking at a confused, disorganized crowd. Equipment wise, these demons were even worse off than Ayim and Salta: several wore random leather pieces, and three had bows on their backs. Hell, I felt like I was back in the army!

  Oh yeah, I was a lieutenant once. Only it was in the reserves. Service in Russia was mandatory, and I'd spent my first year after college in the army. Like most draftees, I hadn't served in the paratroops, the marines or the Spetsnaz. And, praise Hart, the country hadn't warred with anyone for twenty some years by then. The upshot was that I'd ended up in the engineer aviation platoon. And for three whole summer months, due to the officers' vacationing, I even served as the deputy commander. Aviation engineering, soldiers, shifts guarding Mig-25 FoxBats and other jets from another era that had been decommissioned in the previous century... Nothing heroic by any stretch, but rules and regulations had to be read and memorized just the same, so the notion of service wasn't entirely foreign to me.

  I stood there for a minute in a tense silence, sizing up my future clanmates. Then, with a sigh, I added a dash of irony to my voice, and said:

  "Are these the fighters you spoke of?"

  "Yes, it is them, dar," Ayim stammered. "Don't mind their—"

  "Silence!" I stopped him with a gesture. "Lesson one, when your commander asks you a question..." I turned my eyes to the crowd and continued, "This concerns all of you. When your commander asks you a question, there are only two possible answers: 'Aye-aye, dar!' and 'No, dar!' The second one may then be followed by a quick explanation. What you were just doing wasn't explaining, but mumbling. Got it?"

  "Aye-aye, dar!" Ayim stood erect. "These are the people who came with me from Feator, and with Salta from Uriatta!"

  "You said there were twelve? Where are the two others?"

  Ayim looked over his people, then turned and gave Salta a pointed look. Finally, he turned his eyes to me, looking bashful.

  "They'll be here in a moment, dar," and started briskly toward the cabin.

  "Yes, literally a moment," the fair-haired demoness' eyes shone with serious fury. Turning around, she headed for the front yard exit.

  "Looking for me?" walking our way was a young demon in an ornate long-sleeved red tunic, pants tucked neatly into his boots, and headgear that looked like a service cap—turned sideways, naturally. The only things missing were a carnation in his cap and a harmonica in his hands. "Hi there, sir knight! Name's Reece. So, I gather we're off to battle tomorrow?" skirting the enraged demoness, he suddenly came upon the lolling razorback. "Whoa! How cool!"

  "Where have you been?" Salta hissed at him.

  "Oh, you know I love you, sunshine," Reece' eyes twinkled with mirth. "I want to be near you always, but the venerable Skarda urgently needed an infusion of swamp leaves. Who am I to refuse help to a lonely woman?" he concluded with feigned sorrow.

  "I am going to—"

  Salta's burgeoning threat was cut short by the muffled swearing and deafening racket coming from the cabin. A male figure materialized in the doorway, looking like a rearing bear. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, the man smashed his forehead on the door post, resulting in another string of bawdy cusses, and finally lumbered outside. Ayim followed after him, barking something at the guy while nodding my way. Squaring his mighty shoulders, the beefcake surveyed the crowd with a surly look, then turned to me and uttered in a low, bassy voice.

  "So, um, I'm Aritor..."

  "Splendid," I smirked. "My name is Krian, and, unless someone has changed their mind, I'm ready to accept all of you into my clan. My one condition is simple—unconditional obedience to my orders and demands. You do what I say first, and think after. And another thing," I looked around the crowd of demons, "once you're in, you're in. There is no going back. So think long and hard."

/>   "We needn't think long nor hard, sir knight," the black-haired dimpled girl looked up at me, stepped forward and bowed her head.

  Farmerwoman Reena requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

  Farmer Ivar requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

  Farmer Aritor requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

  Farmer Reece requests to join the Steel Wolves clan.

  ........................................................................................................................

  Farmerwoman Reena is now a member of the Steel Wolves clan.

  Farmer Reece is now a member of the Steel Wolves clan.

  ........................................................................................................................

  No one had deliberated for long. In a few moments, twelve requests became twelve fellow clan members. Now it was up to me to make sure these young men and women wouldn't come to regret their decision. We were as one, now and for all eternity... The atmosphere was much livelier now, with plenty of excited chatter and one young woman actually crying for some reason. I found Ayim with my eyes—he was speaking with his lady friend, making emphatic gestures.

  "Ayim, is this all the equipment you've got?"

  "Yes, dar," the demon looked down in shame. "Everything we've scavenged after the battle plus what we've brought to Ballan."

  "Can anything be purchased here in the village?"

  "Pardon for interrupting, but Skyle, the local smith, has seven sets of armor for sale, plus weapons and various trinkets," flicking a non-existing speck off his sleeve, Reece straightened his tunic and walked over to us. "The only problem is, he won't let us have them on credit. We've brought twenty two kids with us, and they've got to eat... But we'll scrounge up enough for one set."

  "We'll figure it out," I nodded to him. "The kids' situation as well, but later. For now we need only fighters."

  "Aritor is a smith. Hagedia is a darn good seamstress; give her some fabric and she will surprise you," he continued. "Daeron attacked unexpectedly. We hadn't been able to take anything with us. There's plenty of iron and fabric left in Uriatta that the undead have no need of. If we knock the enemy out of the village, we'll solve our equipment problem."

  "Feator has iron, too," Ayim voiced his support. "And armor in the storehouse. My brother was the smith's apprentice," the youth motioned at the bear-like demon, still yawning furiously while leaning back on the cabin wall. "He and Master Hoyle were in the middle of smelting steel when the village was attacked. There were lots of them, more than a hundred—only scraps of the army had made it here. Our father, he was the elder... He ordered us to go—we never would have left otherwise. We would have died with everybody else..."

  "I got it," I interrupted the demon's woeful memories. "Silence!" this was to everyone. When the chatter died down, I continued. "I know you have many questions, but it's late. Go to sleep, you'll have your answers tomorrow." Giving Reece a pointed look, I added. "And I expect everyone to be up and ready."

  "Why are you looking at me?" the demon put his palms up, imitating a kind of outraged innocence. "I'm always here, I never leave Lady Salta's side. Aside from bringing the venerable Skarda her infusion against migraines. It helps her sleep, I'll have you know."

  "Till tomorrow, then. Or rather, till today," I struggled to hold back a chuckle after glancing at the enraged archeress. "Up, up and away, Gloom!"

  As I was leaving the front yard, there came the juicy sound of palm slapping cheek, followed by a demon's raucous laughter.

  "Never leave my side, do you? Who the hell do you think you are?!" Evidently, Salta had resumed her disciplinary role. I knew there was a reason her leadership XP bar was only two thirds from full!

  For the first time in a month and a half, I was going to bed almost happy...

  Chapter 10

  Alarm clocks are something I well and truly loathe. And, since recently, I had found out that I hated roosters, too—especially in the mornings. That is to say, I didn’t mind either of them during the day, but it all changed at the break of dawn...

  I lay on the hard bench with my eyes shut, with the crowing of these motley-feathered schmucks ringing in my ears, fully aware that going back to sleep was probably a non-option, since they would just keep on crowing all across the village till I went mad. Unlike an alarm clock, you cannot turn off a rooster unless you break its neck. Alas, I couldn’t resort to that method—I’d be wide awake by the time I started chasing those damn birds! The chicks would stop hatching, too—or were the two unrelated in the game? Anyway, I moved the accursed fowls up in my morning hate list, placing them right above alarm clocks. From that moment on, I decided I hated roosters way more. And boars weren't far behind!

  “Get lost, Gloom!” I pushed aside the snout that stank of something rotten. “You have slept the whole night, you bastard, while your master was busy taking care of important matters,” I added a few choice expletives, finally deciding to sit up on my bunk. The boar snorted in a somewhat disgruntled manner, but I failed to notice any signs of remorse on his muzzle, crisscrossed by old scars.

  What an incredible thing the inventory was! The water I kept exclusively for washing remained as cool and refreshing as if drawn fresh from a well, the milk and bread fetched yesterday still warm and crusty. After a quick wash and breakfast, I fed the razorback ten apricots, lit up my first morning pipe, opened my clanmates' stats and fell in thought.

  Truly, when someone tells you to "sleep on it," it's golden advice. Last night I couldn't even imagine where to start, whereas now it all seemed to clear. Now, judging by their stats, I had four casters under my lead: Reena, Reece, Osk and Hagedia. Reena and Reece were fairly advanced herbalists, and the dude was an alchemist to boot. Perhaps he'd been serious when talking about making medicine for that dame, whatever her name was. Even if his main goal had been to get a rise out of certain somehow... Nevertheless, he was capable of brewing a number of potions and elixirs for our level range, which was a huge plus. Hagedia could sow cloth gear for players around level 100. I saw plenty of cloaks in our future. As for heavy armor, I was mulling over a very different idea.

  I nixed rogues right away—I just didn't see the class excelling in a mass battle. Rogues didn't offer any long-lasting buffs to others. They were great for scouting and diversionary tactics, and indispensable in dungeons, but they didn't fit into my combat tactics, so I was better off avoiding the headache altogether.

  My squad of fifteen called for at least three healers. Four would be even better, but skimping on mages would mean giving up additional crowd control. It was settled, then—Reece would be a mage like me. The dude just didn't have the a mender's personality—havoc and destruction would be more his style. Great, done with the casters.

  Next, fighters. There were four men: Aritor, Hurd, Ayim and Surat, of which two needed to become tanks. The razorback and I could soak up some damage too in a pinch. Tanks needed plenty of hit points, and considering the equipment currently worn by demons, the best candidates for the job were Aritor and Hurd. Both were miners, and Aritor was also a smith around the same level as Hagedia's sewing. I saw the two getting along real well going forward. Ayim and Surat were to become damage dealers. Certain bosses fell into berserk mode and emitted a powerful AoE wave if there were too few players in their melee zone, so you couldn't make do without some close combat fighters.

  Finally, ranged dps. This was easiest since there were six demons left, three male and three female: Ivar, Hyld and Raud, Salta, Olta and Zara. All were bow-makers of roughly similar skill; all three males were also woodcutters, while Olta and and Zara were cooks.

  With the classes decided, it was time to move on to skills. This would be much more complicated...

  "Gloom, are you a razorback or a puppy? Don't give me that pleading look," I tossed another apricot to the boar, and opened the talents page.

  Ah, there's the combat form! Demons got it at level 160, and it increased
armor class and healing spells by ten percent. It also granted sets of specific talents to each class. There were general talents, like Trembling Earth, stunning all enemies in a five yard radius for two seconds; or Infernal Rage, making every strike a critical hit for a period of ten seconds; or Lord's Blessing, instantly restoring twenty percent life, energy and mana to a selected target once every five minutes. All those skills had their utility, just not for me. Combat form was obtained by investing talent points into it, except it wasn't available for me to invest in. Why the hell not, you might ask? I hadn't the slightest clue. On the outside, I looked just like any demon... Well, sans horns or a tail. But whatever...

  When allocating clanmates' talents, I had to take into account battle tactics and our environment. The last thing I wanted was to take losses. Raising the clan to even level six would require at least a category five castle, whereas presently only the main citadel was available for capture in the princedom. Sure, technically the other three could be cleared of the undead, but keeping control would be impossible. No, not even a level ten clan could do it—with no respawn available in the princedom, all the NPCs were suddenly mortal...

  I need to think big. Suppose I had a century under my command. According to Gvert, some undead hosts numbered in the thousands, which meant my squad needed to possess exceptional mobility so that, if push came to shove, we could take flight and regroup. The goal was also a realistic one, as every class had talents related to mounted combat. Archers had Mounted Archer at level 180, and warriors had Getare at the same level. Mages could attack from horseback as well, but only with instant spells, and the same went for healers. This meant all my clanmates had to have their combat form and mounted combat by level 180.

  It felt good to have a strategy. I took a sip from my flask, tightened the cap, and put it away. I could use a Coke... the dreary thought came unexpectedly. Who would have thought I'd be missing that garbage? But if there was a McDonalds around, I'd pop in for sure. Indeed, you don't know what you have till it's gone. At a glance, what was so precious about carbonated water with artificial coloring and a crapload of sugar? And yet, I was ready to pay a hundred gold for but one can.