by G. Akella
Meanwhile, the black-haired beauty closed shut the dead dwarf's eyes and, snatching a massive sword off the ground, vanished into thin air without casting even a single glance at the knights.
***
I was sitting on the bed when I came to.
What the hell was that?! If every quest I received came with this type of prelude, it wouldn't be long till I went off the deep end. The din of battle was still ringing in my ears, my eyes watery from the pungent odors.
You've accessed the quest: Returning the Relic.
Quest type: epic.
Deliver the banner of the Sixth Dwarven Legion to the head of the Bronzeback Clan.
Reward: experience, unknown.
I folded the fabric carefully and put it away in the bag.
The dining hall was empty, and I mean completely empty. Not only of customers—there wasn't even anyone manning the bar. The innkeeper must have stepped away somewhere. I wondered what the bar counter was called at an inn? It wasn't a proper bar, after all.
I recalled the differences in establishments between San Francisco and Moscow. To be sure, forty years of buoyant growth of capitalism made their mark, and yet the employees of Russian drinking establishments differed considerably from their Western counterparts, and not in a good way. Like it or not, historically the Russian people were always held together by the state. In a country that officially waged a war on drinking there thrived all kinds of dive bars, speakeasies and similar establishments in which nobody gave a damn about any drinking culture. All that mattered was the consumed amount. Employees of said establishments didn't need to be experts in mixing drinks, nor paragons of service. As a result, they were plainly inferior to American bartenders, as sad as it was to admit.
In the meantime, the door to the residential quarters of the first floor flung open, and out came the innkeeper alongside a frail-looking demon in a mage's robe.
"I'm sorry that I'm unable to help," said the mage. "Mirana is no healer either, but there's no time anyway. If she could find the foul beast, maybe things could be different, but it would take time," he sighed, "time that we do not have." The mage glanced at me, and his expression changed just barely, as if he saw a sticky note on my forehead. But a moment later he'd already forgotten about me.
"I understand, Alsuil," the innkeeper nodded grimly. "Thanks for dropping by." He patted the mage on the shoulder, and when the latter exited the establishment, he turned toward me.
"I'm off duty," something had definitely happened with the man, but he was keeping it together. "The cook will be here after lunch," he added and headed for the door.
"Maybe I could help, Kort?" I asked him.
The innkeeper stopped in his tracks, cocked his head and turned around slowly.
"You look more like a vagrant than a seeker or a Great Healer, light one," he spoke slowly and deliberately.
"I overheard your exchange with that gentleman, and it sounded like someone was in need of healing," I shrugged. "If that's the case, then it's really not a problem."
There was a glimmer of hope in the demon's eyes.
You've accessed the quest: Healing the Sick.
Quest type: unique.
Cure Treis, the sick wife of Kort, the innkeeper of The Genteel Legionnaire, or destroy the cause of the sickness while Treis is still alive.
Reward: experience, unique skill.
Penalty for failure: reduced reputation with Kort, the innkeeper of The Genteel Legionnaire.
"My wife has hours left to live, light one," he walked up to me and peered into my eyes. "Only a miracle could save her; my only other option is to lay to rest about twenty souls, and do it in time."
I removed a Potion of Greater Healing from my belt and offered it to him. The demon's hand jerked toward the vial, but stopped dead midway. Kort looked up to meet my eyes.
"Do you even know how much that's worth?"
"Less than your wife's life, I reckon," I put the vial into his still hand.
He nodded, clenching the vial so hard I almost feared he would break it.
"Wait for me here," he nodded and hurried for the door. A moment later his voice cried out from behind the door, "Irsa! Get up, you lazybones! Fetch our guest something to eat, along with a bottle of Rivan wine. Move it!"
It's easy to be generous and noble when it doesn't really cost you anything, I thought to myself. Sure, the gifted potion was probably prohibitively expensive, but I'd become so adapted to this world over the past few days that I stopped perceiving those around me as mere programs. And even if they were, I wasn't so sure they would remain as such. Besides, I was just like them in my current incarnation. So why not help a fellow man in his hour of need? Correction, a fellow demon... Not that they differed much from humans. I hadn't even considered that it might fetch a quest or some mysterious skill as a reward.
Typically, it was pretty easy to tell a quest giver apart from other NPCs by the semi-transparent exclamation mark over their head. But even if Lamorna had regular quests, they were too tough for me, or I simply couldn't see them at my current level. There were some exceptions to the rule, however, in the form of some social quests or the one I'd just received—the unique kind.
Unique quests were generated in real time in accordance with the game situation and certain actions of specific NPCs. As for the unique skill as a reward, typically it was something in the left field, like cross-stitching. Which didn't mean it couldn't be lucrative, because it could, and very much so. But I'd rather not count my chickens before they hatched.
In the meantime, the waitress peeked out from behind the door—warily, like a mouse from under a broom, clearly frightened. Confirming that I was the only one in the hall, she slipped through the door, laid a plate of food and a bottle of wine on the table, and literally ran back. I tossed a piece of ham into my mouth and started chewing it slowly. I decided not to touch the wine until the innkeeper returned.
Your reputation has increased. The Genteel Legionnaire's innkeeper Kort and his wife Treis consider you a friend.
It worked! This whole time I was still worried that the potion might not work on demons, or perhaps have some other effect? But everything worked out, so I returned to my meal. The innkeeper appeared five minutes later—all smiles and with some kind of bundle in his hands.
"Thank you, Krian," the demon shook my hand heartily. "Here," he shoved the bundle into my hands, "change into these. Treis is still freshening up, but she wanted you to have it right away."
I unfolded the bundle, which contained an embroidered red shirt, brown trousers, and boots of light brown leather. I looked up at Kort questioningly.
"You can just toss your clothes here. Assuming there's no emotional attachment," he motioned at the floor. "Irsa! Where are you?! Gather this gentleman's clothes and burn them."
I didn't need to be asked twice, and quickly changed into the new clothes, but not before removing the remaining three vials from the old belt. The new get-up didn't offer any bonuses. It wasn't combat gear, but at least it made me look decent. I tossed my rags on the floor and took a seat across from the innkeeper, who had already filled our mugs with wine. We drank, and then the owner led me out into the backyard.
"Don't worry, you'll get back to your meal soon enough," he grunted, noticing my wistful gaze in the direction of the plate.
The backyard was mostly empty: a stack of logs, a few nondescript barns and a wheel-less wheelbarrow in the center.
"Relax..." Kort took me by the shoulders and turned me toward him, then put his palm on my forehead. A wave of goosebumps rushed over me.
You've completed the quest: Healing the Sick.
You have gained a level! Current level: 68.
You've learned a unique skill: Step through Darkness.
You have 1 talent point to allocate.
Racial bonus: +1% to resistance to dark magic, +1% resistance to light magic.
Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.
You have 3 stat point
s to allocate.
You've learned the spell: Step through Darkness I.
Instant cast.
Mana cost: 100 points.
Cooldown: 25 seconds.
You vanish from view and teleport to a set point within a 20 yard radius. Stepping through darkness removes all stun and movement-impairing effects.
Very similar to Jump, but somewhat cooler. With Jump, I remained visible and the spell required line of sight. Rogues had a similar skill called Step through Shadows, which also required line of sight. But this spell didn't, as long as there was space to teleport to.
I could even step into the royal treasury, I thought with a chuckle. I wasn't serious, of course—any decent treasury would be well protected against any such tricks. Besides, thieving was not my style. I quickly leveled my Ice Blade to three and threw three points into constitution.
"I wasn't always an innkeeper, you know, but only for the past three years, after retiring. Before then, I was a punisher for half a decade, working for Tiranus. Quit grinning—show me that you understand." He pointed to the far end of the yard. "Step over there."
I added the skill to my action bar, looked to where Kort was pointing, and activated it. I felt cold for an instant, then found myself standing by the far wall.
"Good enough," said the innkeeper. "Now jump back and let's go talk. You don't need to see where you're jumping—this here ain't like your magic tricks. Simply set the direction and distance in your head. As long as there's open space where you want to go, it'll work. With time you will learn to feel instinctively at any given moment where you can step to."
I waited for the skill to refresh and stepped back. There would be time to practice later. Unfortunately, I also noticed that Step shared a cooldown with Jump, so I couldn't use one right after the other.
The hall had about a dozen people by the time we got back: the same group of peasants boozing at the same table, the same merchant with his guards, and a pair of soldiers at the corner table. Manning the bar was a comely demoness with small horns that stuck out impishly from her raven-black hair braided with a leather string. With a friendly smile, she walked out from behind the bar and offered her hand.
"Treis," she nodded when I gave her fingers a light squeeze. "Thank you, for both of us," she rubbed her tummy and gave another, different kind of smile.
"And thank you for these beautiful clothes," I repaid in kind.
"Have a seat, I've fixed you something to eat. You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach," she pecked her husband's cheek and went back to the bar.
"Something to eat" apparently meant a royal feast. Where did they even find the time?! While I ate, Kort was was gazing at me contemplatively; he didn't even touch his food.
"How did you end up here, Krian?" he asked when he saw that I couldn't possibly stuff anything else into my mouth hole. "I've heard of light races coming around occasionally, but I've never actually seen your kind myself."
"So you did notice! And the mage you were with seemed to as well. But why didn't anyone else?" I answered his question with a question; poor manners, sure, but I wanted to understand the situation before continuing our dialog.
"Master Alsuil is a mage, and I've undergone special training," Kort shrugged. "So, where did you come from?"
"To be honest, I don't remember anything aside from the fact that I'm human. I came to just outside of Lamorna, wearing those rags. I helped an old man slay a big bad monster not far from here. Then I came here. I've got letters in my bags to deliver to Nittal," I shrugged in return. "After that, I wouldn't mind returning to the land of humans. I've got a sister back there, and some debts to repay."
"What old man and what monster?" Kort gave me an intent look, and his face took on an expression of utter shock. "You've killed Shaartakh!" he exhaled, incredulous. "But how?! Not even Ahriman's finest trackers had been able to find the beast! And, forgive me for saying it, but you don't strike me as a great sorcerer. Slaying Shaartakh... there are few lords I can think of that would be up to the task."
"The old man was the great sorcerer, I just hung out on the sidelines," I replied humbly. "But I'd rather not talk about him."
"Very well, I won't ask. The caravan to Nittal will only come tomorrow morning. What are your plans for the day?"
"I'll drop by the local blacksmith and alchemist if you point me in the right direction. I've got money, but no equipment or weapon. After that, no plans. Got any suggestions?"
"Aye, and I think you're up for it," Kort puckered his brow. "You see, Treis' illness was no accident. A karriga has taken up residence in our village. Seeing my quizzical expression, he clarified. "A karriga is a lifeless creature spawned by the God Syrat, and it feeds on the life force of women and children. Pregnant women are the sweetest prey, and my Treis happened to be with child," he glanced at his wife working the bar. "It's enough for the fiend to gaze at a living creature for them to start withering away. And the stronger the karriga, the more rapid the process," Kort let out a heavy sigh and continued. "There are currently about twenty people in the village who aren't from here: three merchants with guards and servants who are also waiting to join the caravan, seeking safety in numbers, and another ten from Vellakh's squad as reinforcements."
I noted mechanically that Kort said "twenty people," as if he were talking about humans. Indeed, the locals seemed to regard themselves as people despite being well aware of their differences from real humans.
"The beast must be killed for its sorcery to be lifted. But finding it is extremely difficult as it camouflages extremely well. For the most part, only a skilled necromancer will tell it apart from a living creature. This is where you come in."
"But I'm no necromancer," I objected in surprise.
"I know that!" Kort waved dismissively. "There's an old with living nearby named Mirana. In her youth she dabbled in all sorts of... methods. I bet she's got a remedy, only she's such a nasty hag that you can't help but want to smash her face in. I feel awkward approaching her," Kort frowned, seemingly remembering some episode from his complicated relationship with the local witch. "But you should be able to convince her. I will give you my sword as a token of my gratitude. It should fit your hand perfectly. I've been saving it for my son, so I hope you appreciate the gesture."
You've accessed the quest: Trap for a Karriga I.
Quest type: normal, chain.
Procure a means of detecting a karriga from Mirana the witch.
Reward: experience; Kort's Lightsword.
"So, she will just give me what we need?" I asked Kort after accepting the quest.
"I doubt it will be that easy," he shook his head. "But it occurs to me that the man who had vanquished Shaartakh will find the arguments needed to convince the old hag."
"What arguments would those be?" I asked, though a curious thought had already sprang up in my mind.
"A clever mage like you will figure it out," Kort grinned. "Your lot is quite skilled at persuading women to, you know... Maybe you could—" he stopped short, giving me a dubious look, then shook his head. "Scratch that, there's not enough swill in our whole village; besides, you couldn't handle the volume. Play it by ear—that's my advice. But if you decide to beat it out of her, don't hit too hard, all right? She does prove useful on occasion—a very rare occasion," the innkeeper burst out laughing.
"Where does she even live? And where do I find the local blacksmith and alchemist?" I asked.
"Give me your map, I'll mark their locations."
While Kort was drawing on the map and writing a note for the blacksmith, I ran up to my room to pick up fifty gold and another vial.
"Here, take this to Snorri. Otherwise that wily ferret will fleece you for all you've got."
I accepted the note.
"Mirana is the finest alchemist around, and she's got plenty of goodies for sale. I will also write a letter to my old commander in the city; he will help you with some advice about returning back there," he stuck his thumb behind him, apparently
talking about Erantia.
"Kort, tell me briefly about these lands," I asked him, realizing that I might not get another chance to learn about where I was for quite a while.
According to Kort, Demon Grounds were nearly identical to any other nation in Arkon, only about twice as large. The nation of Alcmehn comprised seventeen dominions, sixteen of which were subject to the central and (by popular opinion) only civilized one in Balliose. The capital was Iskhart, which the developers had designed as a starting city, and it was ruled by Ahriman the Overlord. The collective might of Balliose was roughly ten times greater than the strongest of their subject dominions. It also contained the sealed passage to the Netherworld, though its exact location was unknown to the masses.
At the head of each dominion was a lord to whom all the princes—masters of the provinces—swore fealty. Satraps—another type of hereditary nobility—swore fealty to both the lord and to the princes, depending on whose land their estate was situated on.
To the south, the demon state bordered barbarian lands. Barbarians were demons that lacked a centralized government; led by small councils of elders, they occasionally crossed the border into Alcmehn to raid and pillage. Sometimes the lords reacted in kind. But for the most part, the lords and the barbarians engaged in endemic warfare.
Jarus Province where I ended up was ruled by Prince Ar-Iraz. Lamorna Village was situated practically on the border with the central province of Ashtar Dominion, serving as a transit point. It was the hub where several trading routes came together, used by caravans to travel to Nittal and other towns in the neighboring provinces, and back. For this reason, fifty legionnaires were permanently stationed here. Though Ashtar shared its southern border with barbarians, the latter almost never bothered the dominion. Most of the danger came from the tense relations with the neighboring dominions of Rualt and Lakia, spilling over into some kind of armed conflict every ten-twenty years. Sometimes those were contained to minor border skirmishes; other times whole provinces passed from one dominion to another.