The Way of the Clan 3 (World of Valdira)

by Dem Mikhaylov

  -- Eh, how you’ve started up… Alright. Have the eyes. And give me two hundred gold. Keep the silvers for now, and you’ll owe me exactly seventy gold. Give it back in say… a week. Good?

  -- Aye, yes! Thank you!

  Having given him the ugly eyes, I didn’t forget to warn him:

  -- You have little time before they expire.

  -- Uh-huh! Even today, I’ll do everything! If I have no time— I’ll buy a freezing spell. Don’t worry. I won’t pass up such a chance.

  -- Well, okay. What kind of potion are they for, anyway

  -- For “Poseidon’s Stare.”

  -- What’s it do?

  -- If you cook the potion with the eye of Mrs. Rott, it gives you the two-hour ability to see through any water three hundred meters and deeper. And it doesn’t matter, what kind of water— seawater, freshwater, cloudy, swamp— you’re still going to see everything perfectly. I’m going to cook one potion for the examiners— another for myself, for auction. There’s a trip to the lost continent soon, you know, and such an achilot-type potion is going to be in demand. But for me, skill-development is all that’s important, you know…

  -- Right, and gold doesn’t hurt, either— I said, taking the two hundred golden coins from Brave— And that same “Poseidon’s Stare” is only possible with the eyes of Lady Rott?

  -- Of course not! But in order to achieve a strong and lasting effect you need strong ingredients, you know? For example, you can cook the same potion with the eyes or ordinary sea turtles. And what? On one vial of potion you need about forty-fifty eyes, and still the potion won’t work longer than fifteen minutes. And you won’t see very cleanly or very far away. You can, for example, go hunt for the eyes of bog-creatures and pick them out— they are a little better for the potions. But it’s expensive to hunt them... and they’re pure evil. And have the memory of an elephant. One offense, and the whole lot of them will never let it go! They’ll find you anywhere! One such player hunted the bog-creatures once, and they got him in the bathhouse! Can you imagine?! Sitting in a hot pool in the arms of some “local” beauty, just stretching his hands towards her soft places, and then emerges a bog-creature blathering something bad and he takes a poisonous spear and gets him! What kind of spear it is and where he prodded, I do not know, but the player never showed up in the baths again. And in general, in any places where there is even a puddle. Hmm… so that’s what’s up.

  -- I see— I nodded, listening with interest to the fascinating story about the everyday troubles of alchemists— Good luck, Brave. See you later.

  -- Uh-huh! And thanks! – called the alchemist, hastily collecting his goods into the bag— I’ll run like the wind! To the guild!

  Waving goodbye, I went on, peering into my new collection of goods.

  The last stop I made was to a stranger, a half-orc player selling crystals and runes. The runes were special, but not quite rare, and so I hoped that luck would have mercy and show me a full-toothed grin.

  -- Interested in crystals? – the seller was the first to break the silence, and his voice was clearly impatient.

  -- Tired of selling? – I smiled knowingly.

  -- Yes, damnit! – confirmed Bronegram Tank— I want to punch someone’s face in! With an axe.

  -- To punch with an axe? – I chuckled— Not bad. You got any Lapis Lazuli here? I don’t need any regular ones.

  As I found out, several kinds of crystals can be used in the Karst caves. The standard— return from any level of the dungeon to the exit. Lazurite crystals are more interesting— it returns you to the exit of the dungeon, but you can be anywhere in the range of ten leagues. A kind of mini-teleport of the local variety.

  -- There— nodded to half-orc, to my indescribable but well-concealed joy— Eight gold coins!

  -- Why so expensive? – I was indignant— Robbery!

  -- An hour ago the price was four gold— sarcastically informed he— But the second dealer went home, so the product has become singular and unique. Basic economy, brother. Will you take it? Or wait?

  -- I’ll take it— I muttered with a sigh, opening the trading window— Take your money and give me the crystal.

  -- Done.

  A ring, and I was the new owner of a greenish crystal with gray veins the size of my index finger.

  -- Thank you— I said. Bronegram nodded and turned with indifference, and the monotonous cries continued:

  -- Crystals with runes for the return to Karst! Any level!

  Trading without lights. Although, that’s what’s necessary for him.

  Done. With this, I had successfully completed my purchases. Time to get down to business.

  In my private room, I put the money on the floor, having complained a bit about the absence of a table. I added the cover with the strange verses. Checking the contents of my bad, I picked up Tyrant and clenched my fist around the crystal.

  Flash. Iridescent flashing of light, a brief moment of darkness and I was standing on top of a small grassy hill, in the center of a revival platform made of rock.

  -- Don’t stand there, good man, come down from the stone— asked a heavily armed guard, brandishing a halberd.

  -- Uh-huh— I nodded casually and, coming to my senses, “turned on” my politeness just in case— I’m sorry, sir. I’m already gone.

  Reputation above all else!

  -- Oh! You’re Rosgard, right? I’ve heard about you! – beamed the guard in turn, clapping me with his free hand on the shoulder— I’ve heard about you! Are you off to the Breeding Grounds?

  -- Yeah— said I – There.

  -- Be careful— admonished the guard, and immediately switched his attention to the next player, who had appeared on the platform— Hey! Get down from there…

  -- I was killed! – squeaked a pepper-haired girl, standing in the middle of the platform in a bikini. The rest of the equipment had presumably remained on the “corpse.”

  Yes, I was right— a bikini it was. Relatively discreet, black with numerous yellow stars.

  -- What are you looking at?!— the woman spat— Miserable pervert!

  -- Huh?! – I was indignant— Not me! I’m not like that!

  -- R-ruff! – agreed Tyrant, hanging in my hands.

  -- Yes, yes, he’s not like that— boomed the guard in my support, again putting his hand on my shoulder— He’s different!

  With the increase of my reputation, my relationship with local residents had grown so much that they were willing to protect me from attacks, including verbal.

  -- U-u-uh… -- the girl-player glanced at the guard as he put his hand around me— That’s how he is!

  -- And not like that, either! – I growled evilly— Your bikini was just interesting!

  -- It’s pretty right? – switched the girl immediately, and I sighed mournfully— “oh, women!”

  Not wishing to continue the strange conversation, I nodded to the guard and walked down the hill, looking around.

  -- Sorry, Rosgard! I just died, that’s why I’m being wicked! Have fun in the caves! – the girl shouted after me – And beware of Proteus! And buy boots!

  -- Thank you! – I said— And good luck to you, star-girl!

  Boots? The hell I need boots for? A local joke?

  Already leaving, I heard the girl mutter thoughtfully under her breath:

  -- Ros… gard… where have I heard it before…

  I quickly picked up my pace, and hoped with all my heart that she would not remember where she heard my nickname, and that the entrance to the caves would not soon me swarming with my “fans”.

  Straight ahead stood a mountain slope, decorated with an irregularly shaped entrance— the entrance to the Breeding Grounds.

  From inside the cave came a continuous and gushing stream of water— wide, and seemingly quite shallow, a winding ribbon which stretched to the side and flowed into the river near it.

  In addition, thirty or so paces away from the entrance, there were several buildings and shelters— among which
stood a watchtower with a pair of guards at the top. There was also a small space and a few pitchers, probably filled with fuel. Above the heads of the guards shook the polished sides of a medium-sized brass bell. A fairly good alarm system. Looks like it’s designed for the case of the escape of creatures inhabiting the grounds.

  Around the buildings and sheds were people— dozens of players in colorful attire busily scurrying in different directions.

  Here was the place for organizing groups, selling trophies or buying the necessary items.

  During the short period of time it took me to overcome the distance between myself and the Breeding Grounds, I made two very interesting observations.

  First, in the small shed next to the watchtower was located a tiny shop, consisting of a wide table with an extremely poor assortment— torches, regular arrows, quivers, garlands of dried meet and jugs on a small flimsy table. On another were some clothes, and several pairs of tall boots— they looked like fishing boots.

  Secondly, among the players and guards, there strolled a few people in colorful cloaks with the image of a bright red cross. They were the local clan’s defenders. I remembered that I had already met a representative of this clan— when I was slammed by the Grey Merlin.

  One on the Scarlet Crosses— a burly and bald fellow— raised a long wooden horn to his mouth and shouted:

  -- In Baghdad all is quiet! In Baghdad all is well! So the dungeon is free of aggrs, you may go and die in peace! Heh!

  A humorous guy, I’ll give him that. And meanwhile, the fellow shouted the following message:

  -- Security from aggrs provided by the clan the Scarlet Cross! If there is any trouble— please inform any of our recruits! To be blunt— the scarlet crosses! For the slow— scarlet is similar to red! For the truly slow— a cross is two crossed sticks! And also— don’t be noobs! Buy boots! Come to us for info! The price is scanty, and the use is rich!

  Again boots?

  Right. As long as there are clan members at the entrance of the cave, players don’t have to be afraid of aggrs. Unless, of course, someone decides to become an aggr right in the dungeon. Attack another under the temptation of valuables that a player may have.

  All the surrounding shops pay the Scarlet Cross for their protection, and give them a percentage of their income. And of course, this is very beneficial to the clan— so that as many players as possible join, creating the most turnover. The clan grows. And anyway, If there were aggrs here, most players would not find it wise to come. And the prestige plays no small role— what kind of owner of the land are you, if you do not chase the robbers away?

  Let’s see!

  Approaching the clan member with the loud wooden horn, I began politely:

  -- Good afternoon!

  -- And the same to you! – the fun loving fellow smiled, clutching the horn under his armpit— What do you want, small fry?

  I took no offense at that since, compared to him, I must have truly seemed like a newly hatched tadpole.

  -- What’s all this talk about boots?

  -- In the shop— the player waved his hand— Cheap.

  -- For what? – I answered quickly.

  -- From Proteus— responded the puzzled member of the Crimson Cross— Wait, is it your first time here?

  -- Yeah— I nodded, assuming a compassionate and sad expression— My first.

  -- Here— he stuck several pages of neatly folded paper, not of the best quality, into my hand.

  -- What’s this?

  -- This is a mini review of the Breeding Ground – patiently explained the fellow— Monsters, flora, fauna, all in a row. Plus, instructions— said he, and advertising notes appeared in his voice— Which the Scarlet Cross clan made up for all players. We’re giving it away almost free of charge— with your two coppers. It’s better to take it. A really useful sea of information. A necessary thing to have, unless of course you’d prefer to be stuck in the muck yourself and not on someone else’s orders.

  -- Damn… -- I faltered, seeming discouraged— I’ve left all the money in my private room!

  -- You’ll owe me then— waved the fellow regally – I am here until evening, when my watch is over. This one is without pictures. Text only. I can give you a more complete booklet with color illustrations and other things— but then you will owe me twelve coppers.

  -- Color for me— I decided, giving back the “stripped-down” version— I’ll have to owe you. Thank you!

  -- Uh-huh. Good luck. The parties collect a little further down— ten or so paces from the entrance. You’ll hear them.

  -- Thanks again— I nodded, went a little down the way, and sat on a moss covered gray stone to read the “booklet”.

  I was hit with information and sank down into a deep shock. Everything was extremely thorough and fundamental. Everything was in it.

  Descriptions about dungeon monsters. Their classification differences, attack methods, vulnerabilities, and more. The accompanying map was accurate and complete, with a note that the fourth level of the topography was constantly changing. There were the available resources of the caves, their pictures, and a brief description of their production methods. Yes, this document was certainly worth the requested twelve coppers!

  There was even a beautifully painted food chain, with arrow pointers and explanations.

  A variety of small fish lived on algae, fish was gulped down by Proteus, and Kobolds ate those and others as well.

  The second page was devoted only to boots. And reading it was truly entertaining!

  Written in red ink, the text stated that if a peaceful and shy Proteus noticed you collecting their Light Mushrooms, you can begin the funeral music— for the gentle Proteus will instantly fly into a rage, and instantly begin to exude special pheromones which madden all those around it. They go into huge flocks and rage, imbued with hatred that moves and enters their field of view. Complete darkness ensues. Turn off the lights and take out the corpses.

  And the aggression of the deranged amphibians affects not only the players, but also the locals— from algae to Kobolds. The rage lasts no longer than an hour, and then they come back to normal and cease hostilities. To my deep regret, the Proteus feasted on the Light Mushrooms no less than three or four times per day.

  To the players hanging around here, dealing with the wrath of the amphibians was simply unrealistic. They could only flee. And this was for that very same reason one needed those repeatedly referred-to boots! Because they are very high, are made of thick hide soaked in some corrosive solution, and are bound in iron and have steel toes and spiked soles.

  Not to fight. No. In order to escape. The first two levels of the dungeon are almost completely covered with a layer of water which gives the Proteus free range for movement. At the first level— water comes somewhere to the ankle, and on the second— just below the knee. At the third level water accumulates mostly in underground streams, and the Proteus there are practically not observed. The fourth level— the Kobold Breeding Ground. A wild mishmash of underground rivers, streams, stone columns, a lot of rope bridges and rope hanging from up high. For this reason, the risk of facing Proteus exists only at the first two levels. If you come across the frenzied wave of amphibians, the once chance you have is to escape— escape to the exit, relying on the strength of these boots. Running directly on the slippery bodies and their bared teeth, because there is usually an attack from all sides at once.

  Then followed a hymn dedicated to AntiProt boots (yes, they were called that!), produced and introduced to the masses by none other than the Scarlet Cross:

  I quote verbatim.

  Buy “AntiProt” and don’t get caught!

  Boots withstand the teeth of Proteus, stitched from thick skin and iron-clad!

  Boots do not dissolve in Proteus mucous, because they are of special composition!

  Boots do not slip on the backs of Proteus, because they are lined with spikes!

  Boots protect your favorite kneecaps, and even Proteus who bounc
e and climb over each other to get you cannot climb over the tops!

  Boots AntiProt— that’s what matters in the Karst caves!

  Boots AntiProt— put them on and feel secure!

  If you’re a human— wear AntiProt!

  If you’re an elf— pull on those boots!

  If you’re a half-orc— pull your paws in the boots!

  If you’re a low dwarf— the Crimson Clan expresses sincere condolences!

  Huh… so the dwarf bit was a bit disappointing; but the little creatures get a lot of racial benefits when they’re under the ground. They’ll endure the insult somehow.

  Shaking my head, I went back to the section on the main and most intelligent monsters—Kobolds.

  They were divided into three main classes.

  Kobold hunter gatherers— common even in the first level of the dungeon. Armed with long knives, bows and sometimes thin harpoons.

  Kobold soldiers— more massive, more tenacious and better-armed. Short swords and spears tipped with poison.

  Kobold charmers— the most dangerous. They wield combat magic— water and stone. Some hold divine dark magic techniques.

  There was, entrenched at the lowest level, the Kobold chief, but to see him is not necessary and almost certainly means location revival. This is the leader and main boss of the Karst caves. And the boss does not move around on foot but on a huge white Proteus. No additional information was given about the leader, and neither about his “horse”. Certainly, there were some secret, but the Scarlet Cross was not in a hurry to share them. After reviewing the proposed information on the Kobold, I glanced below and stumbled upon an unexpected warning— do not play a lone hero. For a more or less comfortable passage of the dungeon, you must coordinate a team. Classics work best. The one classic which is always effective and always in fashion— a tank in the front, and behind… well, then began the variations. But without the very first sentence, without the large tank, those variations made little to no sense at all.

  After making sure that the rest of the “booklet” was devoted to plants and rocks, I folded it up and placed it into my bag.

  I rose, and walked to Tyrant, who had managed to sleep again— not a wolf, but a damn sleepyhead! – lifted him up, and walked to the shops again, looking at the people who were crowding around them. A lot of players— therefore, I took the cub in my arms, so that he wouldn’t be trampled. All were hurrying, late… no one really that drew my attention, with a stranger’s nickname.