Tickled pink, the warrior took a little gold, regardless, as a keepsake and marched on in search of anyone he could and should help, or maybe even save.
The poor guy didn’t know that the leprechaun had made a quick stop in Kallidon Forest, deep in the heart of which was a field the locals called “Faif, the cursed meadow.” There lived a woman as old as the world itself, one whom the whole of the Borderlands claimed was a witch—though they did so in hushed whispers. Her name was Isabelle Goud, or just Old Lady Goud.
It was a mystery what the leprechaun gave the old woman for her work, though the curse of misfortune she placed on the sword worked flawlessly. Failure and disaster befell the fearless warrior like hail—he was left with no time to heal his wounds and grieve for his lost comrades, friends, relatives, and lovers. But something strange happened: the sword, already cursed to bring the hero unhappiness, became endowed with the startling ability to destroy all evil spirits and undead no matter what spells they cast to protect themselves. It even glowed when brought close to magical beings. Legend has it that it was capable of smiting the gods themselves.
But it all ended poorly. Close to the end, Zigfrod lost all control, got tangled up with some waitress named Flant at a roadside tavern, and managed to get himself on the wrong side of all the laws set by the lords of Rattermark—something he’d avoided doing before that. Ultimately, the adorable pair (they went by Zig and Flant) polished off a group of tax collectors and made off with their money. After avoiding the guards sent after them, however,they soon found themselves up against the impenetrable underbrush in the North. Soon, they were surrounded by a band of roving vampires at some farmstead and torn to pieces. The blood-suckers couldn’t take the sword, as it was like fire to all evil beasts of their type, so they left it there. Some warriors the könig had sent to capture the crazy hero and kill the girl in the scuffle found the sword and their remains.
The könig was an intelligent, careful man who had no use for the sword and its curse, so he had his mages break it into three parts and send those parts off to far countries—he saw no reason to keep the pieces in his lands. Nobody knows what has become of the sword since then. The end.
“Hey,” I said, asking de Blassi my first question when he finished his saga, “how does that evil old woman manage to be in so many places at once?”
“I’m not sure.” Gilles spread his arms. “We can’t figure it out. The continent is enormous, though the facts are the facts: that accursed witch wreaks havoc everywhere, somehow keeping up with it all. You haven’t changed your mind about helping us, have you?”
“Of course not,” I replied thoughtfully. “I gave you my word, so there’s no going back now. I do have a couple questions, though.”
You completed a quest: The Story of a Hero from Ages Past.
Reward:
900 experience
+7 friendship with the Rattermark inquisition
“What are they?” de Blassi replied quickly. “I’ll answer what I can—there’s nothing to hold back.”
“Well, the first thing is this,” I coughed. “Did the spell leave the sword when they broke it up?”
“As soon as the sword ceased to be in one piece, the curse disappeared. However, to answer your next question, I can tell you that it will return the moment the sword is reforged, becoming whole once again.”
“So I’m supposed to carry around a cursed sword?” The prospect didn’t have me terribly excited. My life was fun enough without a curse to liven things up even more.
“Why not?” De Blassi was as calm as a dead lion. “Until you declare the sword your own and use it to draw blood, it’ll be nothing more than luggage. You won’t so much as sneeze—the curse only works on the sword’s owner.”
“Well, that’s different,” I replied, feeling better. “That should be fine then. Next question: where can I find information about where the pieces of the sword currently are? Or, at least, where they were taken back then?”
“Nowhere,” the inquisitor replied. “There’s no such thing.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I asked, taken aback. “Scour the entire continent?”
“No, there’s no need for that, especially since we have a way to find the pieces.” De Blassi pulled two parchments out of the shoulder pack sitting next to him on the bench. “Here it is. It’s far from easy, though it will definitely work.”
You unlocked Go, Find, Learn.
This is the second in the Sword of Zigfrod series of quests.
Task: Use the spell Gilles de Blassi gives you to ask Isabelle Goud where the pieces of Zigfrod’s accursed sword are.
Reward:
1300 experience
+11 friendship with the Rattermark inquisition
Inquisitor Cloak
Ability to unlock the next quest in the series
Additional information: If Isabelle Goud is killed in the process of completing this quest, you can expect an additional reward from the College of Inquisition.
Note: The spell can be used even if Isabelle Goud is dead.
Accept?
“So I’m supposed to go find that damn woman and ask her to tell me where the pieces of the sword are?” I asked with a dumb smile on my face—it only widened when the inquisitor nodded happily.
I accepted the quest, of course, though I was having serious doubts about how realistic beating it was. Walk up to the witch and stick my head right into her mouth? I had plenty of other, equally deadly things to do, and they brought me a whole lot more benefit—I had better odds of surviving with them, too. For example, I had that visit to the Double Shields weighing on me.
“What are the scrolls for?” I asked gloomily. “And why are there two of them?”
“Because you need two,” the inquisitor answered. “One is a spell you have to read when you’re less than five steps away from the witch. If you’re farther away than that, it won’t work.”
I thought back to the quest description. “Do I understand correctly that it doesn’t matter what kind of witch she should be?”
“What do you mean?” monsieur Gilles frowned. “What do you mean, what kind? Are there many kinds?”
“I mean, does it matter if she’s alive or dead?” I explained. “I have no idea what will go down when I get there.”
“If you’re able to kill her even for just a week, you will have done a great deed,” said the inquisitor. “It’s so wonderful that you were able to knock her off in the North!”
“And what about the scroll?”
“Oh, right. As far as the scroll is concerned, it doesn’t matter.” He handed both of them to me.
Ready or Not
Determines the location within Rattermark of a cursed item or person. Must be used no more than five meters away from the person who placed the curse on the item or person.
Action time of the spell: instantaneous
Scroll use: one-time, does not need to be learned
Cannot be stolen, lost, broken, or gifted.
Does not disappear from your inventory when you die.
Additional information: For the spell to fully work, you need a second scroll to display the information you receive. The second scroll must be prepared by a certified specialist.
Note: This scroll was prepared to find the accursed Sword of Zigfrod at the Academy of Wisdom in Aegan.
The Academy of Wisdom: always with you, always for you!
How’s that for an advertisement? Everything made sense with the second scroll—there was nothing new there.
The tavern door banged open, and I heard Dorn’s voice.
“Some beer, innkeeper! Screw school, it’s time for some dwarf fun!”
Well, that’s my signal.
“Don’t worry, monsieur Gilles de Blassi,” I assured the inquisitor. “I’ll try to take care of your problem. I can’t promise you that it’ll happen quickly, though I will try.”
“Thank you, warrior.” The inquisitor rubbed his chin. “Oh, I forgot
one thing!”
Protection of the Inquisition was cast on you.
You get the following benefits:
+3.5% health regeneration speed
+3.5% mana regeneration speed
“That spell is really just for members of the college,” de Blassi explained, “but seeing as how you’re our friend…”
“Thank you, monsieur,” I replied with a bow. “Always at your service.”
“Hello, good friends!” Dorn walked over with a mug of beer in his hand. “Ready to go? I’m just going to down this beer, and I’ll be ready.”
“Go for it,” I said. “By the way, monsieur Gilles, who should I talk to when—if, of course—I get the sword?”
The inquisitor paused for a second before responding.
“The college is in Kadrans, which is on the border between the Western and Eastern Reaches. When you get to the city, just ask any of the guards where the inquisition is. They’ll take you there.”
“What if you aren’t there?” I asked warily. “Will they kick me out on my face?”
“No, certainly not,” the inquisitor said. “Don’t worry!”
“Okay, I’m ready,” Dorn said, wiping fizz from his mustache and beard. “Shall we?”
“I have to go, unfortunately,” I said to the inquisitor, holding out my hand. “I’ll do what I can.”
“And I’ll wait to hear from you,” he replied. “Good luck, Thane Hagen.”
We walked out into the street, where I handed the dwarf a scroll. He was just about to use it when I took an unpleasant and very unexpected hit to the back—right around the kidneys. That was followed up by a nasty-sounding voice asking a question.
“Hey, dude, are you the Hagen? The one who screwed us over?”
Surprised, and apparently having forgotten the good old days when I had goblins and orcs talking to me in that tone, I was especially annoyed to hear him say “the Hagen.” What, so there are other Hagens wandering the paths of Fayroll without knowing anything about me?
“That depends on which Hagen you’re looking for.” I turned around to see who was talking.
I should have guessed. A Thunderbird was standing there leering at me, a youngish, Level 60 elf named Lidon.
“What do you want, elf? Or, I guess I should say, is this really what you’re looking for?” I looked at Lidon, not exactly expecting an intelligent response.
“I want your head,” he replied, letting me know that my suspicions were right on the money. “There’s a good price out on it, and it’ll be fun to take you out. They’ll start taking me seriously in the clan if I do, too.”
“Okay, but what makes you think you’ll be able to just walk off with my head? Have you thought about how things might end very differently?” It wasn’t every day you got a show like that, and I was intrigued.
A snort was the only response I got from the elf, apparently serving as his estimation both of my fighting ability and intelligence.
“No, they told me you’re a decent fighter, though I think you just like to go around saying that,” he said finally. “You want people to stay away from you. But I’m not buying it—I know better.”
You can’t cure stupid. Ah well, looks like it’s time for you to die, my dear kamikaze. The whole thing was actually working out well, as there was a trick I’d been waiting to try out. I’d wanted to try it out on some animal somewhere so there wouldn’t be any witnesses, but that was not to be. You can be my guinea pig, Lidon, since you don’t know how to treat people with respect.
“Okay, let’s go, vigilante,” I said to him. “Dorn, are you coming, or are you going to wait here?”
“I’m coming,” he replied, tugging on his beard. “Are you going to kill him quickly or draw it out?”
The elf, who was walking on ahead, laughed, apparently thinking that we were joking.
“We’ll see,” I said. “There isn’t much time.”
Outside the walls of the village, the elf took me by surprise. He used what I assumed was an ability to quickly zip off about forty meters, and when he got there he pulled his bow off his shoulder and shot a few arrows at me. A few of them I blocked, the rest I simply dodged.
“Wolf Soul,” I yelled. “Eat his hand off—hard!”
The elf had time to shoot one arrow into my gray helper before he leaped up and latched onto Lidon’s arm. Then I pulled out Romun’s amulet.
“I summon the Shadow Brigade!”
Nothing happened. Maybe I have to say it differently?
“I summon the warriors of the Shadow Brigade.”
The air in front of me started to solidify into four tall figures. Just a few seconds later, they were standing right there, looking at me and waiting for an order. They were all Level 55 warriors wearing armor made out of the bones of some enormous animal I had to assume had long since gone extinct. On their heads were ridged helmets, and they had shields and short, gladius-esque swords in their hands.
“Go kill that guy over there.” I jabbed my sword in the direction of Lidon, who’d just finished off my wolf with his kopis. He’d actually handled himself quite well. It looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight. “No pity.”
The warriors nodded and ran toward the elf, who was standing there with saucer-like eyes watching the new turn of events.
The Shadow Brigade did their job quickly, chopping the elf into pieces. Four on one was anything but an even matchup. But before he gave up the ghost, Lidon did his due diligence and promised to hunt me down, though that was a threat I’d heard so often and from so many people over the past few months that he wasn’t even near the top of the list.
Soon, the warriors melted away. I waved to them and went over to where the hapless avenger’s cocoon was lying in the grass.
“Hey!” I heard him call. “What are you doing?”
The elf was standing near the entrance to the village and looking at me angrily.
“Come get it,” I called back. “Want to risk it? Fine, then get out of here.”
He pursed his lips, shook his fist at me, and ran off. Probably to the hotel.
I checked his things, though there was nothing of note among them. They weren’t worth anything beyond the few coins a quick trip to a vendor got me.
Thinking back, I realized that those warriors were a handy weapon to have in my pocket, even if two minutes a day wasn’t much at all. For a situation like the one I’d been in with a single opponent, they were perfect. They were exactly zero help when it came to fighting a group, however. Okay, so maybe a tad more than zero—but still not great. They took time to show up, they’d need to level-up…and I never knew how many of them there would be. I’d be toast by the time all of that happened.
“Well, ready to go?” Dorn opened the portal and stepped into it. Just before I followed him, I noticed Lidon running out of the hotel dressed somewhere not quite to the nines. I waved.
The previous twenty-four hours had done nothing to change the scenery: it was the same rocky road, the same torches, the same stale air.
“Recognize anything?” Dorn pointed at a wall a good ways off.
“Is that where we talked about how we were going to beat the worms?” Everything was familiar, but that made sense—I’d been there just the day before.
“Right. And a little farther, you remember, is Salt Lake. But if you turn right here, in another four hours you’ll get to the walls of Malakh-Targak.
“Which walls?”
“Malakh-Targak,” he repeated patiently. “In Dwarvish, that means something like ‘wall – lonely – impregnable – by water.’ It doesn’t translate well…”
“Who cares about the translation?” I’ve never been a linguist. “Let’s get going—the two of us stick out like sore thumbs right here. The last thing I want is to die underground, especially in a place where people come and go.”
“Well, I died.” Dorn seemed a little hurt.
“But you didn’t die on the road,” I objected. “Way fewer peopl
e go over there by the lair.”
“That’s true. Still, I got lucky that nobody saw my stuff.”
“Hey, so what about that steamboat?” I decided to kill two birds with one stone: talking would make the trip go faster, and I’d learn something useful as well. “The one that goes to the Sumaki Mountains.”
“What about it?” Dorn stared at me. “It’s there, and people told me it’s just your normal steamboat, with a funnel and that big wheel. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Yes, that’s all well and good,” I replied with a sigh. “But how do you get to it? You said there was some kind of quest, right?”
“Oh, right, the quest.” Dorn blew his nose. “It isn’t that hard, apparently, though it sounds pretty tricky. Basically…”
Long story short, the steamboat did go right to the Sumaki Mountains. It was a two-day trip by water, and there was no other way to make the trip underground. Aboveground it was a different story, as the trip didn’t take two days up there; it was more like two or three weeks, taking you through some spots that weren’t the most hospitable. There were unverified rumors of an underground road to the lake through old mines and abandoned cities, but they were just rumors. Neither NPCs nor players could confirm or deny that they were true. Players died before they got to the abandoned levels, getting exotic curses cast on them for their trouble. NPCs…well, none of the NPCs said anything besides there’s no road down there.
Things weren’t all sunshine and lilies on the rivers either. You had to pay for the trip, though they didn’t accept money. The wide underground rivers were interspersed with narrow canals straddled by high cliffs, and the dwarves weren’t the only ones living down there—both friendly and highly aggressive underground races rounded out the picture. Those aggressive creatures liked to attack and, if they could, rob the dwarves’ boat, killing everyone on board in the process. For that reason, the dwarves took players on board to help the crew fight off attackers. Nobody took any money, and even offering it as payment was enough to earn you a punch in the nose. The dwarves were a simple folk…
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