Not surprisingly, then, an outpost had to be destroyed while it was still being built, I agreed with Balian on that. It was especially vulnerable at this stage, with no walls and no real garrison. We had to strike. Problem was, we were so few, only sixteen players, including the trainers. The outpost, on the other hand, had fifty NPCs, plus two PROJECT guys... We had to act fast, and there was no room for error.
We approached the fort under the cover of darkness, while the Dyrians were asleep at the camp set inside the unfinished walls. I could hear the quiet whisper of arrows, as Valkyrie and Lorindale silently disposed of the sentries, following Balian’s command.
Balian the Raccoon: Lionel, fend off their horses! Hermi, prepare the Grand Fire scroll.
Lionel: Roger that.
Hermione: GF ready.
Balian the Raccoon: Hit the camp with GF on the count of three! You others, free fire at the NPCs! Work in groups of three! Three...two...one!
We burst into the outpost at a gallop, a battle cry on our lips, and shooting arrows and raining torches and fire bombs everywhere as we went. The Grand Fire spell roared, covering the rows of ten with a wave of red-hot flame. The fire flashed, running through the tents, the cards, the piles of supply bags and the equipment boxes. The NPCs rushed around, engulfed in flames, and, taking them by surprise, we swept inside, slashing them apart and riddling them with arrows, trying to stop them from closing ranks and forming resistance.
With a mounted attack, I knocked down one of the enemy soldiers, ablaze, then pinned him to the ground with a javelin. My next throw was successful also, and the enemy, impaled through the back, reeled and collapsed, his arms outstretched. The Dyrian NPC had had no time to put on their armor and were dying like flies, mercilessly cut down by our raid group that was circling the burning outpost. I saw a couple of Dyrians trying to muster up a counterattack, their shields high, their weapons ready. They drove their spears toward one of our guys, killing his mount, but two more Liberty riders charged at them, scattering their shield wall and stabbing the NPCs to death. The bowstrings of our archers kept whooshing through the air, while Hermione, who, by this time, had dismounted, engaged the enemy with her two-handed sword. She clearly did not need any help; anyone who can beat off five opponents, can beat off a hundred, as our trainer Balian said. But where were the enemy players? Had they already gone offline at camp, or were they still here?
Balian the Raccoon: Lionel and Hermione’s groups, target the noble! Assist me!
A Dyrian nobleman, a burly armor-clad fellow, a head taller than me, was roaring and fending off our attacks with a two-handed axe. He was the commander of the local garrison, a third-star NPC, whose stats were much higher than the ordinary warriors. I did not relish the thought of engaging him, one on one, and neither did my clanmates, it seemed, as they advanced cautiously, like dogs to a bear, and swiftly jumped back again, dodging the swings of his axe. Somebody got too close, trying carelessly to run at him with their mount and knock him off his feet. No such luck; with one swift blow, the big guy chopped the horse’s legs off and crushed its rider—Jelaladin, I think—with his shaft, raising his weapon to finish off our friend.
That’s where Svenn came in. The guy might have looked like a blond klutz, but during combat, he was entirely transformed into a swift, calculating warrior with a rare Wild Ride ability. In mounted combat, he was at least equal to our trainers. This time, he appeared out of nowhere, emerging from a cloud of smoke. He changed his riding stance to Trick Riding—a high-level ability that required perfect Riding skills), flashed his sword and sent the noble’s head tumbling to the ground. Critical hit! A blow to the neck severed the opponents head, removing all hit points from players and NPCs alike. The noble’s heavy body, his axe still raised high, sank slowly to the ground.
A horse neighed suddenly and collapsed under one of our riders. Amour, its owner, landed deftly, sprang up, and twitched as he was struck by some kind of throwing weapon. I saw blades flashing in the smoke, heard screams, and then saw Amour fall again. From beside his body, a nimble dark figure darted toward us.
Amour: They’re here. It’s Illith! Throwing weapons, strong poison!
Balian the Raccoon: Got it! Lionel’s group, target Illith! Hold him! You others, finish off the NPCs! Lorindale, find the girl, she must be here somewhere!
Lorindale: Copy that. Looking for her.
Lionel: Got it, we’ll surround him.
I spied out the enemy in the clouds of smoke, and without pausing to think, threw my last javelin at him. Illith dodged it easily, and sneering, pulled my dart from the ground. With a lightning-fast throw, he returned it to me, piercing Snowflake’s neck right through.
Your mount received critical damage! Your mount received a mortal blow! Your mount cannot move!
Snowflake collapsed with a whimper, falling to the left and taking me with her. I dropped out of saddle and rolled. In addition to everything else, the Liberty trainers had also taught us to fall properly. Acrobatics skills decreased the damage caused by falling, so I got by unscathed, even despite the heavy slam.
I jumped up, drew my sword, and finally, managed get a good look at the opponent, who was fighting a trio made up of Lionel, Shaga, and Lannister. Illith was an elf, tall and lanky, his faced wrapped in a black cloth mask. He was wearing form-fitting leather armor, riddled with studs and fortified with plate pauldrons, kneepads, and bracers. He wielded two weird crescent-shaped hooks, their sharpened tips and blades gleaming viciously.
Lionel was the first to go. He was the best swordsman at Liberty; he might have been just a tad weaker than the pros, but no more than that. He faced off against Illith, and for a few seconds, they exchanged furious blows, filling the air with furious clanging. Then Lionel screamed in pain—I saw the hook of PROJECT HELL’s warrior pierce his thigh. Having planted his blade in Lionel’s body, Illith pulled him up, and with a technique I had never seen before, knocked him to his knees, following by cutting up to his head.
Shaga and Lannister attacked in tandem, each from different sides. Shaga used his favorite battle hammer and the Power Attack ability, while Jimmy Lannister quickly jabbed at Illith with a longsword. Their efforts came to nothing. Illith parried Lannister’s blows, and easily evaded Shaga’s hammer that shook the earth. He moved like a snake, quick, subtle, and unpredictable. Shaga, a huge orc, strong and fast, chased after him, trying to reach him with his hammer and shield, yet all his blows missed their target. After another deft dodge, Illith counterattacked and stopped the orc by hurling a dagger at him. A series of rapid strikes, and Jimmy was down as well. I realized that, at this rate, the guy would finish us all off. I rushed to help and slashed at him, when he was close. No dice; my blade simply cut at the air. It was as if Illith could predict our every move, slaughtering us like dim-witted bots.
Lionel: I’m down! Jimmy’s down! Shaga’s almost down, too! He’s too quick for us!
Balian the Raccoon: (Censored) Hermione, help them!
Hermione: OMW!
Lorindale: I found Midnight. I’ll mark her! Be careful! Svenn, get back!
Balian the Raccoon: Everyone but Hermione, attack Midnight! Assist me! Lorindale, what is she doing?
Lorindale: Helga and Svenn are dead! I’ve rooted her! Need help! Quick, she’s going to cleanse us! She might escape!
Balian the Raccoon: Cunning bitch! Everybody, assist! Catch her in a net! NET, I SAID! FAST!
The burning outpost was hit with a bright white flash that for a second blinded us all.
You are affected by Great Cleansing! All buffs and debuffs dispelled!
Midnight removed all our buffs, “cleansing” us. This was bad news. I had been buffed with the effects of resting, food and drink, a minstrel’s buff, and a minor regeneration potion. These had increased my health by almost twenty-five percent, and also gave huge bonuses to passive and active stamina, as well as hit point regeneration. I was in no state to think about the effects, though. Illith was gaining on us at a mad pa
ce.
Shaga was taking wound after wound, and couldn’t hold the enemy any longer. Illith ducked under his swing, hit him with his knee, stuck the tips of his hook into the slits in the orc’s armor, knocked him down, and finished him off with a sharp slash to the throat. I attacked him above my clanmate’s body, squeezing everything I could out of my character. It was pointless. Illith parried my blows with contempt, and ignored my feints, seeing right through them. I wanted to block his counterattack with Counter Parry, but his strength and agility were so high, he resisted the ability, blowing me away. Illith approached me, blocked my sword, catching it with his hooks, and disarmed me in one sudden movement. One of his hooks pierced my shoulder, jerking me forward mercilessly, while the other broke through my chest plate. I almost choked with pain.
Illith inflicted 176 damage!
HP: 204/380.
You are poisoned! Every 5 seconds, receive 10 damage.
You are partially paralyzed: movement speed decreased by 30%.
You received 8 poison damage! HP: 196/380.
Illith inflicted 214 damage! HP: 0/380.
You are dying!
60 seconds remaining till final death! 59...58...57...
Illith pulled out his hooks. One more hit, and I would be dead...but then, Hermione attacked the enemy using her espadon with such speed, that she looked like she was surrounded by a shroud of whistling steel. She managed to drive him back and even graze him—one of Illith’s pauldrons fell off, and his right hand was stained with blood. The PROJECT HELL fighter rolled to the side and pulled the black bandana from his face.
“Bitch!” he hissed, wincing. “I’ll mess you up!” Hermione gave him a mocking salute with the bloody blade of her two-handed sword.
26...22...21...
Flame wants to help you! Accept help? Yes/No
You used Greater Healing Potion! You restored 300 HP. Current HP: 300/380.
You received 9 poison damage! HP: 291/380.
You used Universal Antidote! You are no longer poisoned or paralyzed.
Balian the Raccoon: Spectral Shield! Spectral Shield, use the scroll, quickly! Archers, come on! Use stun! Stun her, for God’s sake!
Valkyrie: She’s immune! She absorbs our damage! We can’t stun her!
Lorindale: Balian, she’s a black healer! She transforms damage to health!
Diareus: I’m down...
Balian the Raccoon: Everyone, stop attacking Midnight! Stop inflicting damage! Lor, how should we handle her?
Lorindale: Everyone, step back from melee range! Ready! Start damaging!
Valkyrie: One shot! She’s dead!
Balian the Raccoon: Lorindale, what was that? Crystal Antimagic Sphere?
Lorindale: Yes, from the clan warehouse. What else can we do?
Balian the Raccoon: Not this...
Hermione: Help me! I’m barely holding him!
Balian the Raccoon: Alert! Target Illith! Kill him!
Hermione: Don’t even try to go into melee, he’ll kill you!
Balian the Raccoon: Got it. Ranged DD, attack Illith! Range only! Shoot him up, guys!
The battle was almost over. Our warriors surrounded Illith inside the outpost’s burning ruins. The assassin and Hermione were caught up in an elaborate dance, and we could barely make out their moves, they were moving so fast. Our trainer had an advantage, as her weapon was longer, but even she was having a hard time—Illith pressured her, wriggling in inconceivable pirouettes. At Balian’s command, a storm of Liberty arrows and darts fell down on the enemy.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Perfect values in Mobility and Acrobatics, plus a likely top-level Agility, enabled the player to work wonders. He moved like quicksilver, dodging arrows fired at point-blank range, reflecting them and cutting them in the air with the blades of his curved daggers, all the while managing to hold his own against Hermione.
Balian the Raccoon: What the hell? Archers, try harder! Damage, gimme damage!
Lorindale and Valkyrie started shooting at crazy speed, and I couldn’t even see them pulling their bowstrings. Finally, their assault started to bear fruit. Illith was hit in the shoulder. He immediately broke the arrow shaft, continuing to spin like a dynamo. A few seconds later, another arrow pierced his thigh, while the third left a bloody mark on his face.
The PROJECT HELL warrior leapt to the side, and raised his blade above his head, holding it parallel to the ground. It was a commonly accepted challenge gesture.
“A duel!” he croaked hoarsely. “Fight me one on one Watchers, or show everyone you’re cowards and sissies!”
Balian the Raccoon: Stop damage! Stop damage, don’t hit him!
The leader of Liberty stepped out from behind the recruits. Slowly, he unfastened his helmet and took it off, then discarded his shield. His bastard sword left its sheathe with a quiet swish. Balian repeated Illith’s gesture and raised his sword above his head, accepting the challenge.
Tall, head shaven, no shorter than the elf, Raccoon stood confidently, calm, and solid as a rock. His manner conveyed that, in his mind, there was no possibility of him losing. Balian was an exceptionally experienced fighter, a veteran of many battles, one of the best pros the Watchers had. He had trained us all, and I had crossed practice weapons with him, on more than one occasion, even managing to graze him in a few fights. Still, I suspected that if our trainer had turned up the heat a little, he would have easily defeated every one of us.
The combatants began slowly circling each other. Illith was crouching low, and holding his weapon in a battle stance, while Balian was calm and even smiling slightly, his sword kept low. Lorindale and Valkyrie had their sights set on Illith, and I could see Maria’s fingers turning white from the strain of her drawn bowstring.
The bells chimed. Illith straightened up like a coiled spring, and charged, only to bump up against our trainer’s insurmountable defense—Blade Barrier. The Raccoon seemed to act in a manner that was simple and easy to read, but the sparse sweeps of his sword landed right where it counted and stopped his opponent’s frantic attack. Balian made no unnecessary move, simply showing his skill, smoothly and confidently. He was not impressed by Illith’s feints, somersaults, pirouettes, and strikes, all made from unthinkable positions with his wicked hooks. The Liberty leader just advanced, as unrelentingly as a hurricane, unerringly parrying the enemy’s attacks and pushing him back.
The speed of the blows and the range of the sweeps increased, as the sound of clashing steel filled the air. Illith was the first to give way. After taking a hit, he was swept to the side, and tried to roll to dodge the next strike, but Balian did not let him. With a precise kick to the elbow, he knocked one of Illith’s hooks from his hands, at the same time, crushing him from above. Illith was fast enough to deflect the blow with his other blade, but Raccoon’s swing turned out to be a feint. Turning the sword grip in his hand, the Liberty leader transformed the slash into a stab. Pinned to the ground, the PROJECT HELL warrior tried to say something but failed, blood pouring from his mouth. All he could do was to give a curt nod and teleport to the respawn point.
Balian the Raccoon: Loot everyone, us and them. As for NPCs, take only tokens!
The loot was pretty standard: lots of weapons and armor, but taking it with us was impossible, even in the mounts’ saddlebags, as they were far too heavy. We were only interested in the emblems that dropped from NPCs and equipment from the players. I picked up several emblems of Dyre knights and archers. These tokens were dropped from the enemy kingdoms’ NPC fighters, their value depending on the NPC’s rank. Commanders dropped the most valuable emblems, while nobles, grandees, and errants granted tokens of third of fourth rank. These could be exchanged for reputation, or used as currency when buying faction honor sets. This gameplay element only worked during kingdom wars, and naturally, I already had a cunning plan to make money on it.
Illith had dropped one of his pauldrons, an epic item, and Midnight, a rare dagger and a few scrolls. All that was taken by Balian, who gr
umbled that he would probably return them for a fee, as the enemy had fought fairly. True, the two of them had almost killed the entire clan. I hated looking at the kill list: sixteen versus two, eight killed. Even I had been on the brink of getting sent to the respawn point. If not for our trainers, it would have been a total bloodbath. The members of PROJECT HELL were truly skilled in PvP.
We torched the buildings of the outpost that were still intact, destroying it for good. The glow of fire blazed brightly in the night as we rode away, heading for Eyre. Our task was complete, and we could hand over the quest and receive the reward.
The outskirts of Eyre changed dramatically on a daily basis. Every day, we saw more and more war camps, wagon trains, long lines of multicolored tents and pavilions appearing. The Err moved garrisons from the outpost of the secure western border, and summoned the troops of his vassals and allies. The city itself and the outskirts were teeming with armed NPCs, covered in badges and crests. The violet of Vista, the arrows and crane of Erda, the trident of Arday—I learned the heraldry of Eyre’s provinces by heart. This time, to get inside the city, we had to wait as a huge mounted convoy was entering through the High Gate under a scarlet and blue banner decorated with a lynx’s head, followed by a crowd of foot soldiers in chainmail, all smeared with road dust. The NPC guards at the gates joyfully welcomed their allies, and the following conversation reached my ears.
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