At the moment, it was all academic, anyway. Never mind. Back to the upgrade. Despite the pressure from the mysterious “general public” (whose intervention I very much doubted), the game developers left one potential loophole for the players.
Field altars.
I’d already come across that particular artifact during our battle with Jack Frost. According to the update, although you couldn’t use field altars on friendly territories, you were more than welcome to do so on enemy turf. Each Altar opened a portal you could then use to travel elsewhere.
Still, even this little gap in the rules had strings attached. Field altars came with energy restrictions. They took ten to twenty-four hours to recharge, depending on their capacity.
Also, you couldn’t use them while they were on charge, either. You could only activate them once the energy was back to 100%.
In any case, how were you supposed to lay your hands on one?
According to the Wiki entry, it was a piece of cake. Every Altar consisted of five parts. You had to find all five, then press “build”. Easy peasy. In theory, at least.
As everything else in Mirror World, Altar portals came in various types from “gray” to “red”. Should I even mention that prices both for Altars and their parts had skyrocketed?
Acquiring Altar parts was a whole new story. The devs had had a ball coming up with all the new rules. The parts could drop from any mob, from a level-1 rabbit to a Cave Dragon. The higher the mob’s level, the higher a player’s chances of laying their hands on a more advanced kind of the same part. That is to say, a rabbit and a dragon could both drop the same part, the only difference being its color.
I did a quick bit of market research at the auction. Oh wow. A single Altar part could buy you a small car IRL. Fair enough. Rare loot called for higher prices. Especially in the light of the upcoming colonization of No-Man’s Lands.
I chuckled as I read a report about some level-3 players killing a level-5 Brown Bear only to discover he’d dropped a “gray” altar part. Lucky people. They had a reason to celebrate. I could imagine their unbridled joy when they’d realized what it was.
Undoubtedly, every clan’s sales department must have been on the lookout for items like those.
Never mind. Let them have their fun. Lady Luck is a fickle enough lady. Trust her to strip fellow players of their well-deserved moment of good fortune.
Admittedly, the latest updates worked very well for us. If you took that guy, what’s his name... yes, Dimax, the giant Horrud who’d decimated the Caltean ranks back at the river — imagine him getting killed while his field altar was discharged? When he resurrected, he’d find himself back where he’d come from. The twenty-four hour penalty plus the daunting week-long hike back to our castle walls... he’d be out of circulation for quite a while.
Seriously, I just loved this update. It improved our chances a hundredfold. Now players would have to think twice before launching suicidal attacks on us: they’d have to be more economical both with their time and with their altars.
Judging by his message, Rrhorgus had it all under control already. He must have been laughing as he wrote the letter, imagining the look on my face. For sure! He just couldn’t help passing along the good news.
“Right, Sir Olgerd,” I said, opening the auction. “Time to get down to business.”
I scrolled down to Blueprints, Sketches and Recipes and did a search for “green” items.
Not bad at all. The variety and the items’ sheer number — and especially their low prices — pleased the eye. Which was logical, really: “green” blueprints and recipes were standard loot dropped by low-level mobs.
I checked the profession list of my new clan members. Even better! I could easily supply each of them with ten to fifteen items.
I hurried to fill my shopping basket. It wasn’t even that expensive.
Next. Crafting materials. I ran a new search. Metals, wood, leather, parchment, paints and sewing supplies — not a problem. They cost nothing.
I bought a little of each material. I shouldn’t be too greedy or I might not be able to fit it all in my bag.
Now, tools. Aha. It wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. Most of the items had runes installed. Some were even charmed. I saw a pick almost identical to the one I used to have at the beginning of my Mirror World career.
The tools weren’t cheap. Still, it was worth it. This was an investment into my clan’s future. I had the money, anyway.
Strangely enough, Lia’s tools turned out to be the most expensive of all. The vendor offered them as a single lot. You could tell that he took his profession seriously. Each item came with a rune and a few magic extras.
I spent more time choosing gifts for the little painter girl than for all the other clan members. I can’t tell you why. She so reminded me of my little Christa, that’s for sure.
Five brushes and a palette made of Alven oak. A spatula, a scraper and three palette knives in various shapes and sizes, all of the finest Dwarven steel. Finally, seven tubes of charmed paints.
Unfortunately, I only managed to locate five “green” sketches for her. Apparently, her profession was quite rare. According to the sketches’ stats, she could only use seven colors. Never mind. Once Rrhorgus was back, I’d have to ask him to get her some more. The man was a market genius.
That was it profession wise. Now all I had to do was get some foodstuffs.
That’s when the bad news hit me. It wasn’t about prices even: they were okay. The problem was, I simply didn’t have enough space in my backpack. In order to transport just one sack of flour, I’d have to empty my entire bag first.
That was clever, in a way. They simply made sure that freight drivers could earn a living too.
Never mind. It wasn’t as if we were starving. Droy had even promised me to create a special team of hunters and fishermen. Still, we’d have to address the problem as soon as possible, if only to provide fodder for the livestock.
Who would have thought that I, a sworn townie who’d only seen cows on TV, would have to create an animal farm from scratch?
Talking about animals... I checked the clock. Almost 4 a.m. I had to move. I had one last problem to address.
Chapter Six
THE VILLAGE OF TIKOS was conveniently located by the foothills of the mountain I’d landed on a few hours ago. The Great Ocean spread before me. The Tallian Prairie lay behind me. That’s where I’d taken my first Mount Riding lessons.
Despite the early hour, the village was bustling with life. No wonder: it may be night in Europe but across the Atlantic the day was still in full swing.
This time I’d decided not to bother with any disguise. I simply kept a low profile, attracting occasional curious glances. A level-50 Alven lady lingered by the door of a magic shop, her amazed gaze filled with recognition.
That felt admittedly funny. They probably viewed me as some sort of legendary high-level player. On my way to the riding hall, I hadn’t met a single player whose level was higher than mine. In a way, this was flattering but still I shouldn’t give in to the illusion. They could look at me all they wanted but none of them had yet attempted to speak to me.
Which suited me just fine. All I wanted was to reach the riding hall without any more surprises.
I saw a tavern and hurried to cross to the other side of the road. It was dimly lit; two of the streetlamps weren’t working. Excellent. I took a shortcut through a dark side street stinking of rotten vegetables and cat piss.
Where to next? In front of me lay a public garden. Good. I hurried toward it. Quality gear was a great thing. It gave you this invincible feeling.
I moved through the garden in short bursts, lurking in the shade of the trees. My heart was about to jump out of my chest.
Finally, I forced my way through the garden hedge and stopped, facing a small square. The gate of the riding grounds was visible at its far side.
I lingered in the shadows, watching. Someone short and stocky — could
be a dwarf or a Dwand — sneaked through the gate. A tall blond Alven archer with a quiverful of arrows slung on his back followed him.
That seemed to be it. All was quiet. Off we go.
I crossed the square in two heartbeats.
Now the gate. I hurried to enter.
Finally I could catch my breath. No one had attacked me yet. And I knew that all fighting was off limits in the riding school.
“Ah-ha,” a familiar voice said behind me. “Look who’s here!”
I turned round.
Master Rotim hadn’t changed. Same bronzed skin and clean shaven chin, his slanted eyes watching me closely from under his closely cropped hair.
“Greetings, Master,” I said. “I’m so happy to see you. I feel flattered you remembered me.”
“How could I ever forget! A Miner wishing to learn mount riding!” he curved his mouth in a sarcastic smile. “Or should I say, a renegade warrior wanted by the Mellenville authorities?”
I was speechless. That’s what the absence of Reputation can do for you.
Master Rotim must have noticed my hesitation. He waved a nonchalant hand, “I shouldn’t take it too seriously. I don’t care if you have problems with those paper-pushers. I can tell you everything about them myself. They don’t know what they want, the bastards!”
That was an oversight on my part. I really should have checked his story out in Wiki. He sounded like someone with a bit of a past.
I nodded my understanding. “I bet. Today they shower us with privileges, and tomorrow-”
“And tomorrow they give us the boot and send us to some God-forsaken prairie to teach wannabe cowboys how to tell a horse’s head from its backside,” he ended my sentence for me.
Aha. He wasn’t too happy with the powers that be, was he?
Actually, he was one of the very few NPCs I’d seen outside Mellenville or the Citadel. In a way, he too was an outcast. Just like myself.
“Never mind,” he waved a dismissive hand. “You’d better tell me what brought you here this time. Will I be able to finally see your mount?” his suntanned face dissolved into a cunning smile.
He must have known I’d had a mount all along, he’d just been too tactful to press the subject. Then again, what was I saying? Of course he knew. He was only a computer code. He was part of the Mirror World system.
By way of an answer, I activated both summoning charms. First Prankster’s, then Boris’.
Rotim’s previously slanted eyes took on the shape of two saucers. I thought he’d stopped breathing. He just stood there like a salt pillar.
Ignoring the transfixed riding instructor, Prankie set off to inspect the new territory. He was now the size of a young panther clad in armor from head to toe. No wonder Rotim looked impressed.
A few players beelined for us. I didn’t mind. Let them look.
Sensing my frame of mind, Boris reared up, showing off the ashen gray span of his wings. His gorgeous armor glistened in the moonlight. He looked good even if I say so myself.
The players surrounding us studied him in admiration. A dark-haired girl opposite me covered her mouth in awe in a funny childish gesture. Heh. These weren’t your regular common-or-garden pets. These were relic animals. I still couldn’t believe my own luck.
Master Rotim was the first to come round. With a gulp, he took his eyes off Boris and looked around him. He didn’t look too pleased.
“What are you staring at?” he shouted at the players. “I thought you had a job to do? Or do you think manure will disappear on its own while you’re fooling around?”
The players promptly made themselves scarce. What remarkable obedience. He must have issued them some really important quests. That was the answer to my question of how they managed to keep the place so clean.
My chat box started pinging. Someone was desperately trying to contact me — one of the players I’d just seen, most likely. Sorry, guys. I’d have to deal with you later.
“Olgerd,” Master Rotim’s voice shook with emotion. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? This is a Night Hunter! And a Black Grison! How is it possible?”
Oh. How interesting. “You’re full of surprises, Master Rotim,” I said. “I had no idea you were familiar with these breeds. Your erudition is impressive.”
“Thank you,” he said with a small bow.
I could see in his face he was pleased with my flattery.
“May I touch him?” he asked in a voice filled with reverential awe.
He was impressed, wasn’t he? “Absolutely,” I said, sending Boris a mental command to approach.
Boris obediently froze a couple of feet away from the riding teacher.
Rotim’s shaking hand lay on the beast’s neck, his fingers stroking the silvery feathers.
“You’ve no idea what seeing him means to me,” his voice rang with regret. “I grew up on legends about the great Night Hunters and their riders. My grandfather used to tell them to me as bedtime stories.”
“And now you discover that one of those riders is your own student,” I added, smiling.
Rotim laughed softly, trying not to scare the motionless animal. Finally, he wiped his tears and said, “I know it’s none of my business but would you care to answer a question?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Are you a descendant of the Der Swyor clan?
I froze in place, flabbergasted. “How do you-
He chuckled. “You too are full of surprises. You don’t have to answer my question. I already know. And as for my, as you put it, erudition... That too is my granddad’s influence.”
I couldn’t believe it. It looked like I’d finally stumbled across a clue, after all. And in Rotim’s stables, of all places!
“Would you care to listen to one of my granddad’s tales?” Rotim asked.
“Honestly, I was just going to ask you the same thing. Please do,” I coughed, clearing my suddenly tense throat.
“It’s not very long,” Rotim reassured me, then began his tale,
“Deep in the mountains in days of yore
Amid all the stones and layers of ore
A master craftsman finished in his lair
His last most amazing ware.
In awe he stood before his great work,
The marriage of magic and steel,
But then the Mountain King went berserk
And the treasure he planned to steal.
To the craftsman’s house his guards would go
On the orders of the king
For to seize the fruits of the master’s work
And forth the capital to bring.
Then all the workers laid down their tools
And took up arms to a man
In order to save the master’s great work
And thwart the king’s scheming plan...”
He paused, whispering something with his eyes closed as if trying to remember what came next. He didn’t look as if he’d succeeded, though.
“Shame,” he sighed. “I used to know the entire ballad by heart. I must be getting old...”
“Can you just tell me what happened next?” I asked.
“Well, to cut a long story short, the master’s apprentices weren’t the only ones who took his side. The leader of the Der Swyor clan offered the old man their protection. His warriors were known as the Wings of Death. They used to ride Night Hunters.”
I gulped. The belt buckle in my bag! Apparently, it had a fine history.
“...Unfortunately,” Rotim continued, “the Der Swyor troops suffered a resounding defeat. The King under the Mountain was so furious that he ordered his men to kill each and every one of the Der Swyor. There was something else I couldn’t understand as a child. According to my granddad, the king was so furious he even had all the Grisons exterminated. Why would he do that? They’re such beautiful animals!”
“You’re lucky,” I said. “But I can tell you why. They killed Grisons — although as you can see, they failed to eliminate them completely
— because they served as a silent reminder of the crime they’d committed.”
“I still don’t understand. Why Grisons?”
“They had the misfortune of being part of the Der Swyor emblem.”
“I see,” Rotim said darkly. “You know, sometimes I ask myself why animals can’t live on their own without the interference of humans? The world would have been a much better place...”
He heaved a sigh, then continued in a more cheerful tone, “Never mind! Enough sadness. You never told me why you came. Having said that... don’t. I think I know.”
He gave my pets a quick once-over and pronounced his verdict,
“Your Hugger has grown a lot. His magic abilities need fine-tuning. I think I could raise his Flight to level 3. That way his range would double. He’ll also be able to carry four more items. And most importantly, he’s now strong enough to carry two riders.”
“Excellent!” I stroked Boris on the head, unable to suppress my excitement.
Rotim smiled. “That’s not all. His ability to temporarily stun the enemy...”
“Yes, the Triumphant Crow!”
“I think I can bring it up to level 2. That would double the stun times.”
“Excellent.”
“Now, your Grison. This beast is born to defend his master. His ability to repel part of the damage dealt to his owner deserves to be doubled. His healing ability can be trebled. There’s something else I could do: I could make him heal any other person of your choice. I can offer you all this at the discounted price of four hundred gold. What would you say to that?”
“Oh yes, please!”
For the next quarter of an hour, Rotim was busy exercising his magic on my pets, running his hands over their heads and whispering something. The two creatures suffered the weird ritual in silence; even the restless Prankie didn’t show any attempts to run off.
I read the system messages reporting their progress. When the last one of them appeared, informing me of Prankie’s Reflection ability reaching level 3, Rotim finally opened his eyes.
We spent a few more minutes discussing my pets’ future transformations. This, however, seemed to be the standard pitch he delivered to every customer. He just sounded too stilted, just like he had on my first day in his stables.
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