Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon)

by G. Akella

  Spring Whisperer's Cloak of Haste

  Cloth

  Durability: 163/200

  Unusual item.

  Minimum level to equip: 190.

  Armor: 520.

  +80 to agility.

  +60 to constitution.

  +50 to stamina.

  Weight: 5 lbs.

  Not a bad cloak for a melee-specced druid, rogue or ranged dps. In truth, it wasn't anything special, and wouldn't fetch more than a few gold at the auction house. Like in many other games, items in Arkon fell into a range of classes: from plain items to artifacts. There were also sets that comprised several items of the same type, all unusual or above, from two to eight pieces per set. Combining several or more pieces resulted in decent set bonuses to their owner. I put the cloak away in my bag and reached for the larger letter.

  You've accessed the quest: Special Delivery.

  Quest type: normal.

  Deliver the letter of Ar-Iraz, the prince of Jarus Province, to Nittal and hand it to Lady Janam the Beautiful, second wife of Astarot, the lord of Ashtar Dominion.

  Reward: 5 gold, experience.

  I accepted, naturally.

  I took the letter in my hands warily. It was a scroll of fine leather, inscribed from top to bottom with strange symbols and sealed with red wax, the symbols flashing scarlet periodically. Thankfully, I was never the curious type, and especially not at this level. Besides, reading other people's mail was a clear sign of bad manners.

  The other letter was a bit more plain:

  You've accessed the quest: Sales Report.

  Quest type: normal.

  Deliver a sales report from Jarus Province to Nittal and hand it to Venerable Yldiz, head of the traders' guild of Ashtar Dominion.

  Reward: 2 gold, experience.

  The human mood is a strange thing indeed. It hadn't been twenty minutes since I wanted to howl at the moon from despair, and now I smiled up at it like an old girlfriend. Who was I twenty minutes ago? A pauper without a penny to my name, without a home or occupation, hated by everybody around save for perhaps those gophers. But now I had things to do, quests to complete. I only needed to find out the location of Nittal, which, seeing as the lord lived there, was probably the dominion's capital city.

  I got on the road and headed toward Lamorna. Bit by bit, a plan was taking shape in my head. All of Arkon's kingdoms had similar layouts. For example, in the human kingdom of Erantia, the capital—the humans' starting city—was situated roughly in the center. Abutting the capital were the royal lands—zones ranging from early levels to low 50s. Beyond the royal lands stretched the Great Princedoms, its zones offering content from roughly level 30 through 180s. Further still lay the Borderlands, designed for players levels 150 through 250, brimming with fortresses, wild tribes, lawless gangs and no large cities to speak of.

  To the south Erantia adjoined the Great Forest—home of light and dark elves; to the southwest loomed the Kraet Peaks, populated by dwarves and drow; and to the east stretched the steppe, inhabited by orcs. The kingdoms' borders were not strictly defined, which led to frequent conflicts between warring races. That fact, however, hardly precluded dark elves, drow and orcs from traveling throughout Vaedarr and taking up service with its human rulers.

  The realm employed a sophisticated system of reputations, ranks and titles. In theory, any player could become the king of Erantia, but the reality was much closer to the real world. Taking an honest look around, what chances did a regular person have of becoming president? Or governor? Truly powerful clans built their castles on vacant territories and entered into vassalages and alliances. You could build a castle for free and without anyone's permission in the unclaimed lands abutting Erantia to the southeast, which, as the rumor had it, contained the Shadow Empire of Darkaan. But there hadn't been any volunteers to build a castle in places teeming with hostile NPCs and 200+ level monsters. To my knowledge, at least.

  Demon Grounds were probably planned similarly, which meant I had to make it to the capital and start my path from there. My "unfriendly" reputation would make most of the quests unavailable to me, but I should be able to make do just fine with what was left. Besides, reputation was a flexible thing that could be changed. The one glaring disadvantage was that I was alone. A tank and a healer in one. I didn't even have anyone to talk to—NPCs didn't really count. Among my few available resources was the game wiki, which had virtually zero information on Demon Grounds or its capital. There was no one to reach out to—the zone chat was unavailable. Mail service with the other planes hadn't yet been established, and I didn't have any local contacts.

  Then I remembered that I had money and could call my sister! I dialed her number, but for some reason she wouldn't pick up. Could she be sleeping? But it should be daytime in Moscow. Weird. I stopped and considered whom else to call.

  "Who are you and what are you doing here, o human with a demon's soul?" a deep, imperious voice sounded behind me, catching me off-guard. Startled, I spun around... And my jaw nearly hit the ground.

  Standing before me was a ghost with a level of 516... 516!!! In life, the stranger had been human—above average height and roughly fifty years of age, with strong-willed features, a neatly trimmed beard and shoulder-length hair bound at the forehead with an ornate band. His piercing gaze regarded me as though I were a fly that had had the rotten luck of landing in his soup. "Ghost of Archmage Altus"—read the legend above his head. Level 516! The baddest raid boss killed by the Azure Dragons wasn't higher than 350! My eyes bulging, I stared at this NPC that had showed up out of nowhere, thinking frantically of what to answer him...

  "Are you deaf?" the mage cocked his head, as if eavesdropping on my deliberations.

  "No, not deaf," I sighed. "I don't know how I ended up here. I was born in Vaedarr," I wasn't going to traumatize the NPC with my tales of skyscrapers and airplanes, "fell asleep by some kind of temple, and woke up here. The gods must have chosen me to carry out some mission yet unbeknown to me," I concluded with a glorious fib.

  "What year is it, and who governs in Vaedarr?" the mage continued his questions.

  "Year 1376 from the last Chaos War," I quickly looked up the answer in the wiki. "And Rayan I Erast, dubbed 'the Wise,' is the ruler."

  Archmage Altus fell in thought for a moment, then made a casual gesture and two chairs materialized out of thin air. He took a seat on one, putting the staff, which he had been holding in his right hand, on his knees.

  "Sit and tell me what the temple at which you fell asleep looked like." He frowned. "And what are these rags you're wearing? Are you a beggar?"

  "I am a mage!" I declared, trying to instill my voice with confidence. Noticing Altus' look of irony and amusement, I corrected myself, "Well, um, I intend on becoming one."

  "How the times have changed," the archmage shook his head despondently. "Used to be that the gift would only awaken among the noble, but now..." he sighed heavily. "So, about the temple?"

  The two of us made a quite a comical sight—a human and a ghost, sitting in the middle of a road at night, a quarter mile from the closed gate of a demon village, engaged in a calm conversation.

  "I'm not sure, it was nighttime," I was scanning the information on gods, out of which only Myrt was known to me. "It might have been Setara or Loaetia," I added, finally pulling up the list of Arkon's pantheon.

  Your reputation with Archmage Altus of Erantia has increased! Archmage Altus is neutral to you.

  The bar above the NPC's head changed color from pale red to yellow.

  "Setara, you say," said the archmage contemplatively, "perhaps it was her who sent you—to put an end to my three-hundred-year-old solitude."

  In this scenario, I was supposed to be offered a quest...

  "How may I be of service?" I spoke the standard phrase for such a situation.

  He sighed and gave me an intent look, whereupon he seemed to have reached a decision.

  You've accessed the quest: Duty Calls.

  Quest ty
pe: hidden, chain.

  Help Archmage Altus perform his final duty to his people.

  You've accessed the quest: Duty Calls, Part I.

  Quest type: hidden.

  Listen to Archmage Altus' story.

  Reward: experience.

  Hidden quests were highly coveted by all players. Acquiring one was only possible by being in the right place at the right time, and after fulfilling a heap of conditions to boot. In one example, a player from South Korea spent a whole month pummeling a mannequin. The sheer stubbornness must have had its effect, as the governing AI eventually took mercy on the poor bastard, whom his fellows Koreans were already beginning to perceive as an NPC, and offered him a secret quest for some unique profession.

  I accepted the quest, looked at the archmage sitting across from me, and was transfixed by his gaze...

  ***

  The royal palace—Vaedarr's chief structure—was built by the renowned Vel'cato during the reign of Erast the Great, who had used both sword and coin to unite the eight Great Princedoms under his banners. The palace's beauty was staggering, its tiniest detail materialized with the utmost love by the architect. Time appeared to stand still, and you could hardly resist the illusion that the warrior by the wall could step down off his pedestal, square his shoulders, shaking off the weight of fifteen centuries, and finally breathe in a chestful of air. It was here, at a graduation ball two hundred sixty years ago, that the master of flame, still young at the time, had met his Elsa.

  Archmage Kyam Altus, Grandmaster of the four elements and one of Arkon's mightiest mages, chased away the somber memories. He looked around the small hall of the Royal Council, and the rulers of Erantia that had gathered there around an oval table. All were waiting for the king, and each was doing their own thing in the meantime. There was Count Calle, the commander of the Royal Guard, sitting right across and explaining something quietly to a portly bald fellow with the face of a street vendor. The latter's harmless appearance belied his station—a dirty trick played by fate, for the name of Count Gel'ta, head of the Secret Chancellery, was whispered by humans and other races residing in Erantia exclusively in hushed tones and with great trepidation. Sitting to the left of the throne, the head of treasury was writing something into his notepad; the first minister was listening to Archmage Stavus, nodding his agreement periodically, and only the fighters—Duke Grasse and an unfamiliar colonel—were sitting quietly.

  He and Lars were clearly out of place. Altus had long retired from public life, and his friend, Champion of the Order of the Red Flame—a mercenary troop for all intents and purposes—were not among the royal advisers. And they wouldn't be here if not for what had happened...

  "Lars, do you think it's some lord colluding with Darkaan? Or is this an independent initiative by one of the Covens? The dark emanations and astral traces left in the ransacked villages is clear evidence of necromantic activity, but the survivors speak of demons," Altus nodded at the papers. They hadn't had time to speak before the council assembled, as the archmage rushed here from the Great Forest in response to the highest appeal (not even the king could flat out summon him). Lars had been busy preparing the operation—working out the details with his Foxes, as the order's knights were unofficially called.

  "Do me a favor and drop the emanations talk. It's enough to make my head swell, and I need it to eat," Lars looked up from his pile of papers. "On a serious note, I really don't care who's involved. Our job is to penetrate the portal blocked by those sanctimonious fools, destroy the scumbag who's causing all this shenanigans, and get the folks out of there. As to whether demons are involved or necromancers," he petted the hilt of his precious sword, "the Silver Tear doesn't care any more than I do."

  "Quit acting like a dimwitted jarhead," Altus frowned. "Nobody knows what we're dealing with here. I get that two million is a fair price for the risk, but I propose we at least throw some ideas around. Especially since, as you well know, building a portal from the demons to us cannot be done without divine intervention."

  "Fine, let's brainstorm," the master sighed. "We can probably rule out Ahriman—I doubt that the overlord would get mixed up with the Twice Cursed. He's more likely to rip out the heart of any lord who did. They'll sooner come to terms with the Untainted."

  "Then Untainted, then," Altus smile at the mental image of Father Sebastian whiling away an evening over a bottle of Arto with some demon ruler.

  "However, should some lord or prince secure the support of anyone from the Great Essence... If I had to guess, I'd say one of them has colluded with the Twice Cursed."

  King Ritar III Erast entered the Council hall at a brisk pace. Puckering his brow at the servant shouting out his arrival, he waved to the nobles as they leaped to their feet, bidding them to keep sitting, then went and took his own seat.

  "You may proceed, earl," the king looked at his first minister. "But be brief, we're short for time."

  Duke Galean opened the red folder on the table in front of him.

  "In the past month there have been four attacks on villages in Borderlands. The nature of these raids is nearly identical. The attackers are presumably demons. Those who resist are butchered, the rest are abducted through a portal. Four peasant eyewitnesses claim that the attacking force is roughly one thousand strong." The minister took a sip of water from the glass before him. "On the portal site the crown mages have discovered trace emanations of dark magic—"

  The king slammed his palm on the table:

  "We are just beginning to recover from the war with the orcs. Squash those scum on the other side. The hermit has predicted the time and place of the next attack. This is great fortune, for he is unlikely to speak with my messenger again."

  "My guys and Monsieur Altus' forty aces are ready," Lars said. "As long as the mages hold the portal on this end."

  "Perhaps you could use more fighters?" the king asked. "Two and a half hundred sounds small to me!"

  Lars shook his head.

  "Monsieur Altus' mages can cover no more than two hundred at maximum effectiveness—any extras would only get in the way. Three years ago we destroyed Saart Dak with precisely these forces."

  "Well, you will have six hours," the king looked expectantly at the realm's foremost mage. Upon getting his nod, he continued, "You will be accompanied by fifteen hundred swordsmen, reinforced by Colonel Morris' archers, and five hundred Silverwings under Calle's command. This is to ensure that the invading force in our lands is destroyed in its entirety." The colonel and the guard commander nodded in unison. "We will open twenty portals in three hours in Livedum. Colonel Morris will lead the assault. That's it for the Council, gentlemen. Time is of the essence."

  Three miles from the city, on a training ground in Livedum that was the mages' favorite for honing their skills, the troops were immersed in pre-battle hustle. Putting their squads in formations, lieutenants scorched the air with obscenities, as staff officers scurried to and fro. Off to the side stood Silverwings—the finest cavalry in the realm, having yet to taste defeat, their armor shimmering silver. They were making minor adjustments, cool as cucumbers.

  "Monsieur, champion. Greetings," Saverus, Kyam's right hand, walked up confidently to Altus and Lars. "We're ready to move out. The first four squads of eight will go with Champion Lars' troops, each covering fifty soldiers. I will be with you, monsieur, as part of Raena's eight," Lars shook his hand and started toward his fighters—to listen to reports and issue final orders.

  "Another hot mess, why am I not surprised..." said Altus, for a moment the quintessential grumpy old man, when he and Saverus walked up to their assigned squads of eight. Seeing the brass, the commanders and their subordinates jumped up to their feet and, hastily fixing their mantles, tried taking up some semblance of a formation.

  "Saverus, when are you going to teach these nitwits discipline?" the archmage groused in his typical fashion.

  Saverus showed his subordinates a fist, and they responded with the customary fear and zeal on their
faces. Nothing changes, Altus chuckled, surveying his students: the ever-dolorous Gerat, the beautiful Alsa, the twins, Gable and Ronan, the cold and contemplative Raena—once green academy graduates, now hardened battle mages.

  "Nobody knows where the portal will lead us, so we had better be ready for anything. As always, we'll be coordinating everything with the Foxes. Maximum focus should be placed on protection from dark magic." Altus looked around everyone's faces sternly. "Do you even understand why we've been selected for this?"

  "Because we're the best," Alsa replied vibrantly and without a second thought.

  "And the most humble," Gerat looked at her sideways. "Will you be coming with us, monsieur?" he asked right away.

  "Yes, I'm with you," he watched their faces light up. "And we were selected because, despite all your tomfoolery, we have the highest coefficient of defense and area of coverage when collaborating with battle groups. Well, that and," he looked and Alsa and smiled, "we really are the best."

  "Monsieur Altus!" Colonel Morris addressed Kyam. Standing next to him were ten strangers, six of which wore distinct gray robes—the Untainted. Lars and his officers had approached as well. "We start in half an hour. You, the count's troops and Captain Arx's fifteen hundred," the colonel pointed at one of the people present, "will take the six furthest portals that we'll open here," he gestured toward the groups of mages bustling at a distance. "After the portal is captured, it is your job, Arx, to hold it and make sure not a cockroach escapes. As for you, Norris," he turned to one of the Untainted, "you know what to do. The Silverwings and I will cut the enemy off and destroy them. Good luck, gentlemen. See you after the operation."