I pulled a scroll out of my jacket pocket and whispered:
-- Algora.
Flash. A shining light picked me up and took me with it.
A second passed and I was already standing on the central street of one of the busiest cities in Valdira. Algora, which, translated from the language of an old, vanished race, meant a celebration of life. Around me, stretched a lively stream of people. The scroll had left me on a free patch, a step away from the center of the street. Damn… it’s the central street, but far from the place I needed.
Hearing the sound of running feet and some creaking, I quickly threw up my hand and, after a moment, before be stood a rickshaw— “harnessed” to a small, two-wheeled cart. Some intersection between the traditions of old and modern tourism, it was the best type of urban transport in Valdira, other than local scrolls, which operate only within urban boundaries.
Throwing the rickshaw, who was glancing at me inquiringly, a silver coin, I sat in the carriage, which creaked under my weight and said:
-- Mage’s Guild.
I was lucky— the rickshaw was able to work and the player too, if the desire arose. They say that there is no better way to pump endurance, strength, and even mobility. And you get paid for it too. In addition, Valdira regularly hosts urban and continental rickshaw races and only members of their guild may participate in them, with experience of at least three months. And if you’re in the guild, you have to work. That’s why you can sometimes you can meet a stunner— a 200th level player harnessed to a card, pulling a level 5 noob with the utmost humility.
But, as I said, I was lucky— the rickshaw was a “local,” and silent. For the entire way to the gates of the mages guild, he did not utter a single word— focusing only on the deft maneuvering among pedestrians and other obstacles. He raced with surprising speed and knowledge of the city, saying nothing— and as though for a brief tour, we raced down a couple of narrow streets which I had never before seen.
-- Thank you – I offered, stepping on the pavement.
-- Thank you, good sir – bowed the rickshaw and, straightening out again, added—Aunt Snessa is angry, sir.
-- Yeah… Huh!? – I started— What did you say?!
-- Don’t you remember me? – smiled the rickshaw, wiping his grimy face with a shirtsleeve— Just a little while ago, we met at the Square of the Seven Fountains. You were asking then where you could find a good sage.
-- Right… -- I nodded, a little slowly— It was so. She’s angry, did you say?
-- Right. Angry— nodded the nephew-rickshaw, again picking up the bars of the carriage and turning it around— Good luck, sir!
-- Wait! Your aunt— who is the?
-- A seer – shrugged the guy – Good. But she doesn’t like it when promises are not fulfilled.
-- Yes, but I have no time limit for the quest!... – I muttered, opening the window with my task list and looking at the short lines— nope! what nonsense…
-- Oh right! I’ve forgot!
-- What have you forgotten? – I asked him suspiciously.
-- My aunt told me to tell you— the name of the cub… choose wisely, don’t mess it up!
-- What, how does she…
-- And also she commanded me to add— a good deed is done when Myrta is helped to sleep forever. And that the brass in the hands is often more valuable than the sapphire that is promised. Good-bye, sir.
-- Wait! What do you mean?! What brass? Hey!
Whether from a built in turbo nuclear reactor or natural talent, the rickshaw sped away with the speed of a walking plane on the take off.
-- You understand anything? – I said, sadly, to the nose sticking out of my jacket.
The nose sniffed energetically and hid back.
Perhaps, it seemed to me, the wolf cub had gotten a bit older… at least, its curious nose had certainly seemed to have increased in size.
Again, I heard a guttural growl and the fangs sank down into my suffering jacket, thanks to the insatiable beast.
-- Damnit… but a wolf pup’s stomach can’t be bigger than a thimble… -- I sighed scornfully. Not a minute of peace! You’re a real… Oh! Here it is!
I dove into the open gates of the Mage’s Guild, swerved to the side and trekked through the green areas, and hid in a dark corner of the garden. On one side, the damp walls on the stone fence— on the other, a fence peppered with flower buds and bushes. Just as I like— no one sees or knows anything.
-- Hey, can you hear me? – I asked, and heard a discontented growl continue in response. – Come on, come here!
After a short but fierce fight, I pulled the cub out of its hiding place and, lifting the trembling animal up higher, said:
-- I give you the name Tyrant!
Do you wish to name your pet Tyrant?
Yes/No
Well, no.
-- Yes! – I said aloud unnecessarily and, simultaneously, pressed the shimmering icon.
The little Tyrant growled obscenely, nodded sleepily, and went limp in my hands. His black tail hung helplessly, and his ears drooped. Skeptically examining him again, I was once again assured that there was nothing at all unique about the pup. More like little black and white mutt from a neighboring yard.
I was struck almost immediately by a flow of information— I hardly had enough to close all the pop-up posts as they came up.
A unique Achievement!
You’ve received the achievement “Master of Unicom!”
(This achievement does not improve in rank.)
Memorial Achievement for All Owners of Unique Pets.
Congratulations!
Your reward for the achievement: A bone wolf statue inlaid with precious stones.
Object Class: Unique/ Unrepeatable.
Object Status: Part of the Collection “Sixteen Great Beasts of Valdira.”
Number of total collected items: 1/16
Achievement!
You’ve attained the first rank of “Collector!”
See the table of obtained achievements in the settings for your character.
Your reward for this achievement: +0.5% towards the size of your individual room.
Current Bonus: 0.5%
Achievement!
You’ve attained the first rank of “Trainer!”
See the table of obtained achievements in the settings for your character.
Your reward for this achievement: + 0.2% towards the growth rate of your pet.
Current Bonus: .02%
-- The achievement has been recorded! I offer my congratulations on behalf of Valdira’s administration— informed the demon, who had just emerged from out of nowhere— do you wish to make your achievement public?
-- No— I shook my head— I do not wish. Thank you for your congratulations. And I apologize for such a long wait.
-- Good luck— the angel wished, before he vanished back into thin air. As it seemed to me— with obvious relief. Melodic trumpet fanfares were not heard, and there was no ascension either. They have a hard job, those angels, what can I say…
I “packed” the sleeping Tyrant back into my jacket, and got out onto the track and, with measured steps, took my course towards the doors of the guild, all the while rolling around in my thoughts the incomprehensible phrase: “brass more valuable than sapphire… brass more valuable than sapphire…”
Eh— time for me to go to the swamp… or else the turn of events will take a very bad turn. The fortune teller, it seems, was not just an ordinary “local.” Perhaps she’ll send me “damage” of some sort, and then I’ll have a whole boat load of joy.
This time, no one greeted me. That is, to say the least. And if to say more— nobody cared more for my heroic arrival than they would care about the arrival of the most terrible monster in Valdira. Nobody even noticed my appearance. And even more, here was no sign of the great Archmage Tarnius anywhere— no one offered me a seat in the armchair.
Hesitating at the entrance, I was finally fully convinced that n
o one gave a damn that I was there and therefore acted decisively— I shook up the “local” who was wearing an indeterminable color cloak and had a crooked nose, waited until he looked up at me with sleepy eyes, and asked:
-- Sir, would you mind telling me how to find the Archmage Tarnius? A fellow in a purple robe. I would like to see him to…
Mentioning the name of the Archmage worked better than spilling a bucket of ice water onto the gatekeeper. His sleep eyes instantly brightened and, pressing his lips together into a hard line, he proceeded—
-- No one dares disturb the peace of the great Archmage without a very good reason!
-- That’s understandable— I nodded, slightly bewildered, hardly understanding what was going on in this rather long sentence. He could have just said “no.”
The gatekeeper, satisfied, closed his eyelids, but again I touched him on the shoulder.
-- So, no way at all I can see him?
-- Eh! – he screwed up his face, obviously unhappy— No! I’m telling you, stranger— no one dares disturb…
-- Yes, yes, yes— I added, hastily— Not here and not there, as the killer says as he’s getting rid of the victim…
-- Huh!?
-- What I’m saying is— please be so kind, dearest and respected gatekeeper, to pass along to the arch wizard Tarnius that Rosgard wanted to see him, in order to tell him about the evil white werewolf and the greatest battle of all tome and people, which took place last night and ended up… Hey, are you listening?
Trying to digest my tricky question the gatekeeper, in his most natural way possible, “floated.” His eyes had rolled to the back of his head.
Spitting, I once again patted his shoulder and, still keeping a more or less earnest glance, said:
-- Archmage Tarnius. Period. From Rosgard. Period. Beat the werewolf Grim, but he’ll live. Period. We oughta talk about it. Period.
-- Archmage Tarnius— dutifully repeated the gatekeeper— From Rosgard…
-- Rosgard! – A familiar voice rumbled behind me, and I turned with a start.
Here was the archmage himself. Despite the lack of wind or even a draft in the building, his robes fluttered widely and bright sparks ran through the glistening material, his narrowed eyes containing lightening.
-- You saw Grim— whether it was a question or an affirmative statement, I could not tell – You saw that dark animal…
The aged wizard did not lower his voice, and due to this all currently present in the guild turned to us in interest and listened— particularly, this was most obviously the case with the long-eared elves.
-- Yeah— I confessed— I saw. Oh great archmage… damn it! Respectable Tarnius, it would be great to talk in a uh, uh… a more quiet and secluded location.
-- Follow me— shortly answered the old man, abruptly turning to walk away. I kept my pace behind him.
A minute later, we were in the familiar office again. Waiting until the archmage sat down, exhausted, in his armchair, I settled down across from him and gently took into my hand the crystal goblet with wine which flew again into my hand. But the cup was different this time— on the upper edge of the radiant glass ran an elaborate golden script. I carefully took a sip of wine and almost immediately a multitude of data lines ran before me, describing several different short-term bonuses. I caught sight of the most important figure— “30 minutes”— and, grimacing in disappointment, closed the message.
-- Rosgard… -- the archmage began thoughtfully. I nodded quickly:
-- That I am.
-- Myrta is asleep— the magician said slowly, putting his hands into the sleeves of his lush robes— fell asleep forever.
-- You know? – I asked, surprised, and frantically tried to figure out which side the Mages Guild favors in the case of “ancient” legends. At first glance, I had not foreseen any loopholes.
-- We know— the old man nodded— we can see a lot of what is happening in the world. You battled Grim, stranger. You survived and didn’t lose the bracelet… I’m impressed.
Congratulations!
+1 goodwill towards relationship with the Mage’s Guild of Algora!
Not bad…
-- You’re the only one who was able to withstand the sheer strength of the monstrous creature. And the only one who was able to end his reign of terror in his fleeing…
-- That’s what I wanted to talk about, great archmage— I said, delighted. The conversation had turned in a favorable direction— Grim survived after out fight.
-- You are still weak— the mage shrugged, but I did not agree with this verdict.
-- Maybe I’m weak, but it wasn’t my own power which I used during the battle. Over a dozen combat spell scrolls of the highest rank! And all this on the head of a single werewolf. Grim could hardly keep on his feet… well, on his paws. And then he simply disappeared!
-- Yes – nodded the elder— Disappeared. To kill Grim is not a very easy task, Rosgard. Many have tried and many have failed. So far…
Sighing wearily, I thought for a moment and finally decided to ask directly.
-- Is there a secret?
-- Secret?
-- Yes, a secret. Maybe it was necessary to beat Grim with a specific magic, or there’s an artifact to keep Grim in one spot? Maybe I did something wrong?
-- I have heard of no such thing— the wizard shook his head and fell silent for a short while. Then he asked— Was there by chance a silver medallion around the neck of the werewolf? With the image of a wolf’s bared fangs?
-- No – I answered firmly— neither on the neck of the gigantic wolf, nor on the neck of Grim in human form, when he came out naked from the bushes, to say hello… Hm… that was awkward…
-- There wasn’t— the archmage Tarnius repeated— Hm… Well! Thank you Rosgard! You risked your life and was unafraid to fight against a huge werewolf! You…
During the next three or four minutes, the archmage carried out a speech of standard and cloying nonsense. Half-listening, I maintained a polite smile. To interrupt a “local” of such rank is not worth it. Let him speak out— though I didn’t need these honors and praises for anything. I mulled over the details of our short conversation, only to realize that I had come to the Mage’s Guild for absolutely nothing. Only time wasted. My only benefits were increased positive relations with the Mage’s Guild— one tiny unit. This is not Mossy Hills, where, for the execution of quests, goodwill in relations rises for about ten units at a time.
Rumor has it that if you can get a solid increase in reputation at the Mage’s Guild, certain “gold” level quests and privileges will open to you. Not unique, but more interesting and higher paying.
The archmage, meanwhile, finished his speech and looked at me expectantly.
Right about now I should have been falling apart with responses of thanks, and politely saying goodbye, and thus completing an audience with such a high-ranking person.
You won’t wait long enough old bastard!
More so, my gaze was fixed on the empty crystal goblet. Gold and blue reflected off of the crystal goblet. Brass in the hand sometimes more valuable than the sapphire that’s promised… wasn’t that the rickshaw’s proverb? Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush… and the bird is not just valuable down with tender meat…
Looking the archmage in the eyes, I slowly and clearly said:
-- You know what, respected mage… sometimes in the town square of the Seven Fountains appears the sorceress Snessa. She has a funny shabby looking tent— it disappears and appears in the blink of an eye. And it is through her beloved nephew that she relayed to me these strange words: “brass in the hands is worth more than the sapphire that is promised.” And I got this message right by the entrance of this here Mage’s Guild. So that’s that… does this mystery mean anything to you. Because…
I did not have to finish my sentence— because the archmage’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped to his knees. Not a faint reaction… why could an ordinary wandering seer this effect on
the all-powerful archmage?
-- Snessa? – croaked the mage— She…
-- Yep! – I nodded happily, pressing onwards. – The very one! Is she a relative?
-- Stop this blasphemy!— growled the old mage, rising to his feet.
-- Sorry— I put my palms in front of me— I’ve stopped. I’m sorry. It wasn’t proper…
-- Let’s go!
-- Huh? Where, sir? – I asked, slightly suspicious.
Surely not to the guillotine? Or the torture chamber…
-- This way!— the archmage Tarnius turned his back to me and left the room.
Eh.. Answer damn it!
Grimacing, I hurried after him, listening carefully to his senile muttering:
-- Surely, we will oppose it… but in the list of prophecies, there is not one word about it… nothing…
At the words “list of prophecies,” my ears perked up. Loosely translated to regular human tongue, it could perhaps mean “list of particularly important tasks.” Which means it is above normal quest tasks such as “bring me ten blueberries, kill ten rats in the basement, deliver a letter to a neighbor, mow the lawn in the backyard…”
That’s what the archmage was talking about, as he made his way quickly through the dark corridors of the huge building. We were not moving towards the exit, that’s for sure.
The corridors were replaced by vast halls, which, in turn, turned into stairs made of white marble and sparkling white stone and again into corridors. But I did not protest— I stared in fascination all around the guild. Maybe there are certain players who can come and go in the guild as they pleased, but I was not of their rank. And now I had the chance to do so… plus, the archmage did not burn with the desire to have a conversation and so we made our way forward in silence.
Another ring of steep stairs going downwards, and we finally stopped. The circular room was spacious, with a high ceiling, a floor of dark stone, and the walls… I was momentarily dazzled, as I almost thought I saw the rainbow marking the “entrance” and “exit” from Valdira. There were all the basic colors, and a dozen different shades. And at the center of each color patch, there was a door. No… of doors, in their usual sense, there were none. But in fact there were no less than twenty DOORS, or perhaps even more. Powerful, made of steel, with intricate magical runes and surrounded by multi-colored halos. In general, each of these lovey doors were the jealousy of any global bank. Even the doors of their most secret vaults were probably less complex…
The Way of the Clan 3 (World of Valdira) Page 4