With that said, I couldn’t have cared less—I had no plans to hang around in the village. A return trip or two might have been in order to pick up the rest of the orc necklaces and the herbs, but even that wasn’t a sure thing. The pennies I would have gotten for completing those quests weren’t anything I would lose sleep over.
I checked the time—I had fifty minutes until ten, and I was going to use that time wisely.
The first thing I did was go see the blacksmith, who relieved me of six hundred gold in exchange for fixing up my equipment. The prices on smithy services were brutal—a direct hint trying to get people to study and level-up their smithing skill. Professions were good for society, and that’s why there were special state-sanctioned recommendations. The government was in on everything. No matter what you did, they pocketed a share of the money you made. They’d decided to sink their claws into the virtual worlds, too, figuring that people were having all kinds of fun without them. Who’s going to pay for the Olympics, mm? That’s just going to come out of the state budget? So what, it’s just the President who wants them, and not the whole country? Once they’d made the decision, they had to figure out how to get their two cents out of video game developers. Some smart person decided to have the developers get kids used to working. All they were doing back then was waving their swords around and killing people. Have them sew canvas and mow rye—go back to our roots in the fields and villages! So they wrote a law that required game developers to have 75% of players busy doing some kind of useful work in their games, and for a certain amount of time. If the developers couldn’t pull that off, they were hit with a huge fine. Their license was even revoked to boot. The person who wrote the law said he’d personally keep track of how it was followed. After all, he loved and respected the country’s children—its future.
The kids, for their part, listened attentively and, just like they always do, forgot every word he said. They didn’t sew canvas; they didn’t mow rye. The ones who’d enjoyed crafting kept crafting, and the ones who didn’t still didn’t. Nobody liked how high repair prices were jacked, though even that wasn’t such a big deal. Items themselves became cheaper, and more money was offered for beating quests to make sure the balance stayed the same. And everything with the fines and licenses turned out to be incredibly simple: our government officials are absolutely attentive, law-abiding, and principled, though, thank God, most of them are for sale. They aren’t even all that expensive.
With my equipment repaired, I wandered around the village a little longer hoping to find a local instructor. I couldn’t find anyone that fit the bill, unfortunately. On the other hand, I did come across Gilles de Blassi coming out of the tavern for some fresh air.
“My friend!” he called with a wave. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re exactly who I need—do come on over.”
His happy reaction told me that his meeting with the Conclave he’d mentioned the day before had been a success: they’d evaluated me, weighed me in the balance, and found me worthy of the quest they had. Maybe even a series, if I’m lucky. I also wanted to find out what that evil spirit we’d faced had been—she was unlike anything I’d met in the game. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen something out of the ordinary…
It was a normal morning in the tavern. The NPC miners were working off their hangovers, the NPC guards were having breakfast, and some players were there for a meeting. I led de Blassi off into a far corner when I saw them, as I wasn’t particularly interested in advertising the fact that I might be getting a series of quests.
“Last night I talked things over with the Conclave,” the inquisitor said, taking the bull by the horns. “I told them what you’d done for me personally and the college as a whole, and that my students, the ones you met in the mines, have you to thank for their lives. I also told them about what you saw down there. They ended up giving me pretty wide authority to discuss everything with you.”
“I’m glad to hear my humble person was the subject of discussion by such busy and influential people,” I replied gallantly. “So I can find out what the creature who took over the body of the dead witch was?”
“That was Heliana,” de Blassi replied, his voice lowering. “The lady of the dead souls, mistress of the Palace of Shadows.”
Tada! Now I understand everything.
“But who is she?” I asked the inquisitor. “Is she a goddess, one of the Departed?”
“There are no gods!” the inquisitor shot back sharply. “They’ve been gone for a long time, and they’re never coming back. Just the mention of the Departed Gods is sedition that must be destroyed with fire and the sword!”
“So who is she?” I asked despondently. It didn’t look like I was ever going to find out the truth.
The inquisitor faltered, coughed, and squirmed.
“Monsieur Gilles, out with it,” I said penetratingly. “I can’t help you unless I know, and I can tell that’s exactly what you want to ask me to do.”
“I hope everything I tell you…” The inquisitor peered questioningly into my eyes.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I replied sincerely, crossing my heart as I said it.
“Is that some kind of spell?” de Blassi asked inquisitively.
“Yes, in Tronje, where I’m from,” I said. “If you do that and don’t keep your word, you’re cursed forever.”
“I should remember that. Actually, I should write it down.” The inquisitor snapped his fingers. “Okay, so Heliana. She isn’t a goddess, and never was one. She couldn’t be, since she was created by one of the gods. She’s the spawn of Tekhosh, god of Gloom and Shadow.”
“Wait a second,” I responded. “Gloom and shadow…aren’t those the same thing?”
“Of course not.” The inquisitor sat back in his chair. “All the deadly creatures in this world operate in the gloom, though they were spawned in shadow. Don’t mix the two up, my friend. It’s a matter of principle.”
“Got it,” I lied. “Continue.”
“All the gods, the ones we call Departed, were given the right by their Creators to make their own disciples. Not all of them actually did so, since the gods were all egotistical—the disciples always pulled away some of the divine essence of their creators. Almost none of the Light Gods made disciples, though the Dark Gods… Almost all of them went for it. They wanted helpers, and they also know that they could sacrifice their disciples should the need arise. It was a smart, convenient, practical move.”
“And what, they gave them their own little fiefdom? You said she’s the lady of the dead, right? That’s…”
“Quite.” The inquisitor nodded. “But no, nobody gave them anything, of course. It wasn’t like that. When the gods were driven out of this world, most of their disciples died, as well—they couldn’t survive being torn away from the divine connection they had with their creators, or… Or they were killed by the first inquisitors—that’s when the college was founded. Although, of course, the Wild Brigades did their best, too. They swept through Rattermark right around then, destroying the undead and a few of those disciples with them. They didn’t realize it at the time, though that’s exactly what they did.”
“But some of them survived?”
“Yes.” Monsieur Gilles frowned. “Several of the disciples got away, though we found almost all over them over the centuries.”
“Almost?”
“Almost,” he replied, his gaze dropping. “The three strongest disciples of the gods are still alive, sewing evil and discord among people. Either they themselves learned how to inherit the layers of reality created by their patrons, or they were told how.”
“Understood. And Heliana is one of them?” The puzzle was starting to come together. “And so old Gedran is–”
“Did you say Gedran?” The inquisitor jerked. “How do you know that name?”
“It’s not the only one I know,” I grunted, “I also know that old hag as Gerda. It’s just that I killed her once when she was u
sing the name Gedran. Okay, so I didn’t kill her myself, though I helped. We were up in the North–”
Your relationship with the College of Inquisition changed.
You are now friends.
You received a title: Friend of the Inquisition
The next title you can receive by working with the Rattermark College of Inquisition is: Brother in Fire and Arms.
Before I went online, I’d made sure to see what the inquisition was all about, what you got for being their friend, and how the whole thing worked. It turned out that their friendship system was somewhat similar to what I’d seen in the North, if only somewhat. Your everyday, average player started off with a normal relationship. It wasn’t good, it wasn’t bad; it was just normal. Everything that happened after that depended on the player. If you started burning kittens under full moons in graveyards and digging up graves without a particular reason, your relationship worsened. If you burned a few witches, it improved. Next you got to friendship, and that was enough for quests and other benefits. It was just an easy 100 points away. Then came brothers in fire and arms, or an alliance, as some called it, though not many tried to get that far. You had to pick up 500 points, and it came with a lot of requirements: asceticism, no spells, and a lot more. A lot of quests still just gave you points toward friendship, so…
“We heard that Gretkhen was beaten in the North,” the inquisitor said, cracking his knuckles. “Sadly, the lords in the North don’t favor us…”
“You’re trying to get to the könig all wrong,” I explained. “Sit down for a drink with him, give him something useful, and you’ll be the best of friends.”
“We can talk about that later,” de Blassi interrupted. “So you killed her?”
“Not by myself. We had a whole group,” I replied. “Two warriors, professionals by the look of them, Northerners, and an odd character by the name of Wanderer. Oh, and–”
“Wanderer?” The inquisitor paled. “He helped kill the witch?”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have seen it. He slashed her up so good that there wasn’t a square inch of her body that wasn’t cut open.”
“Well, that’s news.” Gilles rubbed his forehead. “Quite the surprise.”
I decided it was probably time to stop revealing secrets, even though he was an NPC—all things in moderation. It was the right time to change the subject.
“Okay, so Tekhosh spawned and discipled Heliana, she did the same for Gedran, and Gedran was the one teaching those witches the dark arts?”
“Yes, exactly,” the inquisitor confirmed. “A few centuries ago, Tit Lucretius, an inquisitor, drove Heliana out of our ecumene into the eternal cold and darkness of the midworld. Her soul can still be summoned, however, though it’s difficult and the summoner always dies. She can even see through their eyes for a short while on occasion.”
“Ah-ha!” I nodded. “Now everything’s starting to make sense.”
“Yes. We fight with her and her disciple, and we’ve killed the latter many times. Heliana returns her from beyond the grave every time, unfortunately.”
“So what if you go after Heliana herself?” I asked.
“For that we’d have to get Zigfrod’s sword.” De Blassi stared at me. “And that’s impossible for inquisitors.”
“Why?”
“Inquisitors don’t have the right to take it in their hands. We’d even walk right by it if it was lying in the street—we just wouldn’t see it. That’s the will of the Demiurges.”
“So hire someone.” I was having a hard time believing his odd explanation. “Have them get the sword for you!”
“We can’t,” de Blassi said with a sigh. “We’d have done that a long time ago if it weren’t against the rules, too. The sword has to be found, collected, and brought to the Conclave by a friend of the order, not an inquisitor, and that friend has to prove he has the right to the feat. You did precisely that when you saved my students and killed the old witch.”
“Well, thanks for that,” I replied, touched. “It’s a good day already!”
“The Conclave of Five,” the inquisitor said grandly, leaving me to glance around and make sure nobody was listening, “offers you, Hagen of Tronje, the chance to do something that will lift your name among those parents tell their children about”
“Got it,” I rudely interrupted. “And I’ll have earthly honor, and live on in their memory forever. Let’s not waste time, monsieur—what exactly do I need to do?”
“Yes, yes,” the inquisitor replied, knocked for a bit of a loop. “You have to get the sword.”
You unlocked a set of hidden quests: Sword of Zigfrod.
Task: Collect the three pieces of the broken sword belonging to a great hero of old, reforge it, and deliver it to the residence of the Conclave of Five, where you will hand it to the Great Inquisitor.
Reward for completing the entire set:
40000 experience
+10 to one of your main attributes, possibly at your choosing
A set item of your choosing matching your class
2 active abilities matching your class
+10% to your health or mana (random)
+20% mental protection
A reputation with the College of Inquisition sufficient to summon inquisitors of the second circle every five days
Note: You must be at least a friend of the College of Inquisition to receive and complete this quest.
Note: You have one year to complete this quest, at the end of which it will be considered failed. That will not affect your reputation with the College of Inquisition, though you will not be able to receive the quest again.
Accept?
“I’ll take it!” I said, scratching the back of my head.
Chapter Eleven
On the road to the city under the mines.
“I’m glad you agreed,” de Blassi sighed in relief. “Believe me, it isn’t easy to find someone worthy of completing such an important mission for the college, and one that is far from simple… What am I saying? ‘Far from simple’ doesn’t begin to cover it; it will be an incredible feat of valor.”
“A feat of valor?” I didn’t like the sound of that.
“If you knew the difficulties and danger that await you…” Monsieur Gilles exhaled.
“What are they?” I asked apprehensively.
Wait a second—if this is a quest series, where’s the starter quest?
You unlocked The Story of a Hero from Ages Past.
This is the first in the Sword of Zigfrod series of quests.
Task: Listen to Gilles de Blassi tell you the story of Zigfrod, a legendary hero of old and the Vanquisher of Darkness.
Reward:
900 experience
+7 friendship with the Rattermark inquisition
Ability to unlock the next quest in the series
Accept?
So the first quest was easy—but that just guaranteed that the rest would be mind-numbingly difficult. On the other hand, there weren’t any big penalties for failing the quest, and a year was a long time. Whatever, why not? What I needed the quest for most wasn’t the reward at the other end; it was the cover it would provide for all the curious Miurats of the world. A hidden quest from the inquisitors? Seriously? Yes, I’d say, you can go get it yourself if you need it that badly. We can be best friends, helping each other out, living in perfect harmony!
“Listen closely, my friend, and I will tell you the story.” De Blassi settled himself on his bench and began.
It went on for quite a while, as he thoroughly enjoyed the highly informative tale with all its poetic ins and outs. He’d memorized three ancient ballads, one of which he even sang for me, and toward the end he sketched the great Zigfrod’s portrait. Because the whole thing turned out to be so long, my glances at the interface clock came more and more frequently—Dorn was supposed to get there soon, and the minstrel across from me had no desire to stop talking. I’d spent my whole life thinking that inquisitors were dark old me
n just waiting for the moment they could drag someone onto a bonfire screaming “she’s a witch!” Nope. The local inquisitors, I was finding out, were as kind and romantic as little calves. I should bring him some flowers. Maybe he’d like to make a bouquet out of them?
Zigfrod, incidentally, was made from a different cloth than the flabby warrior I was talking with. He’d lived in an earlier age, and everything seemed to be made out of steel when it came to him: his armor, his body, his nerves, and, judging by what I heard, his brain, too. His short life saw him do so much good right and left that a book could have been written about him. He’d killed the last fire-breathing monster in Fayroll, which sounded like a wyvern to me, in a resounding showdown near Lake Loch-Tess, somewhere in the Borderlands. The last member of a dying breed had hidden there in an attempt to live out its days in peace and quiet. All it dared was to occasionally poke its mug out of the water (A wyvern under water? You really do go off the deep end, my dear developers, and you certainly smoke the good stuff.) to see what the weather was like. But no, along came the hero, who swung his sword and dispatched the poor beast. And it hadn’t even bothered the local chickens—all it ate was water plants.
Then Zigfrod decided that a beast like that must have had a hidden treasure trove, so off he went to find it. Finally, having found nothing and having drunk himself into a frustrated stupor, he came across an innocent leprechaun in some cave. Somehow the alcohol and heroism flowing through his veins pushed him to the point where he mistook the creature for an associate of the wyvern he’d killed. Half an hour of talking with the courageous hero made it clear to the leprechaun that he had two choices: vanish or give the knight his bag of gold. With no other options remaining, he begrudgingly handed the gold over to the hero, cursing him as he did in five different languages.
The warrior once again showed off his sparkling intelligence by giving the bag a scornful kick and demanding something more substantial. Stunned by the bravery of the fearless hero and enraged by the loss of his familial gold, the leprechaun ran off to the enormous cave located somewhere in ancient and holy Mount Gorm-Mor where his leader lived. The two discussed what to do, and the leprechaun indebted himself to acquire and bring to the hero the sword I was supposed to go find. Nobody knew where the High Leprechaun had gotten his hands on it.
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