by G. Akella
I felt that I'd learned all that I needed to know, except for one final question that needed clarifying.
"Listen, Kort, the soldiers at the gates sent me to see Vellakh the elder. But when I addressed him as such, he gave me a sour look and said that he was no elder. What am I missing here?"
Kort chuckled.
"At the Barley Festival last year he'd had a few too many—or maybe more than a few—picked up the elder's daughter, and the two had themselves a fun time in the hayloft. The girl was only too happy—it was her first time, ain't exactly a beauty queen. So one of his legionnaires blabs, 'Check it, our commander has got his sights on an elder's post!' And it took off from there..."
The smithy was located near the western gates, which I would soon need to take out of the village to get to Mirana's hut. The guards at the gate were hardly enthused by their neighbor, but their opinion mattered little. Snorri the blacksmith—a stocky, broad-shouldered demon, looking like a beardless dwarf—was shaping a blank on an anvil that another demon, apparently his apprentice, was holding down with a pair of tongs.
I waited a few moments to draw their attention. When that didn't happen, I walked up closer and shouted, trying to make myself heard over the clanging of metal.
"Are you Master Snorri?"
I had to wait another minute or so for the blacksmith to put aside the hammer and come out to me from under the tent.
"Why are you yelling, scaring my apprentice?" he asked dourly, shooting me a quizzical look. It didn't get any more dwarf than that! The heavy look made me ill at ease, but I fought through the discomfort.
"Kort sent me. He said you're the best blacksmith around." I handed him the note.
"And what do you want?" barked the blacksmith, completely ignoring my attempt at flattery. He scanned the note and stuffed it in his apron pocket.
"A suit of armor. A full one. For me." I replied.
"When?"
"Either now or later, but sometime today," I shrugged. "I'm setting out to Nittal tomorrow with the caravan."
"Would you like me to forge you a djerngir while I'm at it? It's no bother—five minutes is all I need," Snorri looked at me as if I were either mad or an idiot.
"No, no djerngir necessary," I said, having zero clue as to what that even was. "Just armor, eight pieces of it," I repaid him with the exact same look. "And you don't need to forge anything, I'm looking to buy. Kort said you've got plenty of wares for sale."
"Like he knows," the master groused. "I ain't got anything at the moment. "I promised the last set to that merchant, Torius." He motioned at the anvil behind him, "just finishing up the greaves now."
"What if I beat his price?" I wasn't happy with the prospect of traveling without armor. No one knew what awaited us on the road, and I doubted we'd be traveling through zones where I could solo even one mob. If anything, a suit of armor increased my chances of survival.
"No," drawled the dwarf, err, demon. "I've got, whatchamacallit..." he twirled his index finger through the air, "professional ethic, right. Esteemed Torius promised me thirty five 'yellows,'" Snorri looked at me askance, gauging my reaction. "Do you expect me to let him down?"
With a sigh, I counted off fifty coins and weighed them in my hand.
"There's fifty here," I shrugged. "But if your professional ethic forbids you from accepting it, I have no choice but—"
"We'll bring the set to the inn in two hours," the blacksmith cut me off, reaching out his hand. "As for the, uh, professional ethic," Snorri puckered his brow, recalling the difficult term, "I find the notion rather ambiguous. Now go and stop getting in the way," he waved me away and rejoined his waiting apprentice.
Mirana's house was a half an hour's walk from Lamorna, nestled in a small grove off the side of the road, and I managed to get there without trouble. Indeed, the trouble began only on my approach. The house looked entirely ordinary—nothing sinister or macabre, like owls, skeletal decorations, black cats or bloodsucking bats. It was your typical log cabin with a green roof and a serpent for a weather-vane. The trouble came in the form of a huge Doberman—or a creature the size of a pony resembling one—that appeared out of nowhere and snarled at me as I froze with fear, then took a seat right across. Its black tongue was sticking out of its mouth, a thin thread of slobber running down the muzzle.
I liked dogs, generally speaking, but when you find yourself standing opposite one that's level 180 and staring at you with hungry eyes, you can't help but feel ill at ease. So it went on: me standing there, afraid to exhale, trying to mutter something pacifying, and the Doberman, looking suspiciously like the beasts that had torn the courier to shreds, dribbling as it examined me. The canine's patience gave out first, as it leaped up to all fours and barked. The hut's door creaked, and an old demoness in a plain dress crawled out, leaning on a walking stick. Squinting at the sun near-sightedly, she croaked.
"Who goes there, Hart take you?" she said, then continued incredulously. "A light one? What hole did you crawl out of? Get back and don't get in the way, Khron," the last part was for the dog, who turned right around and vanished behind the hut.
"Did you go deaf with fear?" the old woman turned back to me. "Speak your business."
Interesting horns, I thought. Unlike with others, they didn't stick outward but ran as if alongside the skull.
"Why don't you invite me in first, feed my hunger and quench my thirst, before pelting me with questions?" I countered.
"Shall I draw you a bath and make a bed for the night, too? Gee, I'd like that!" The woman licked her wrinkled lips suggestively, making me shudder.
"That's not why I'm here," I shot back hastily. "And I'm really not that hungry."
Mirana chuckled and motioned toward the house.
"You're already here, might as well come inside," and she headed inside first.
I followed her in and took a look around. The interior of the house was prototypical: bunches of herbs and dried mushrooms hanging off the ceiling, vessels of yellowy substance on the windowsill. There was also a black cat—sleeping soundly on the bench who didn't even bother moving to acknowledge my visit.
"Well, light one, speak," the old woman sat at a table and peered at me intently.
"I need to track a karriga, so I've come to..." I briefed her on what had been happening in the village.
"A karriga, eh," the crone muttered. "A vile beast, that one. I will help you. But it won't be free. Do me a service, and you'll get what you need."
"What service?" I inquired warily.
"Bring me herbs from a nearby cave. And the slime of a speckled toad—they roam nearby. Come back when you're done, and I'll teach you how to draw out the beast."
You've accessed the quest: Ingredients for Mirana.
Quest type: normal.
Bring Mirana 10 tufts of Winterberry and 5 vials of Speckled Toad Slime.
Reward: experience, Potion of Two Moons.
I was in no hurry to accept. The zone was level 170+, which meant the toads were that level as well. Even if the herbs grew right there on the path, somehow I doubted the speckled toads would welcome my attempts at scrubbing the slime off them. Nor did I have any vessels, which meant the toads had to be killed. And only a complete noob would try to solo a mob one hundred levels higher than him. Those toads would dispense with me in a couple of bites. Even if I wore a full epic set, I wouldn't survive more than three minutes against a level 170 mob. The level difference was simply too much.
A decently equipped player might be able to handle a mob within ten levels of him. With excellent equipment, up to about thirty levels. And even then he would need a lot of things to go right.
Therefore, my chances against the toads were nil. Now, I could always go back and get Kort, but I would hate to lose his respect. Shaartakh's slayer chickening out of a fight with toads? No, that wouldn't do. I rejected the quest.
"Madam, I'm in a hurry. Besides, I'm for the ethical treatment of animals," I began a heartfelt speech. "Is there ano
ther way to repay you?"
"You are truly shameless," the witch clicked her tongue incredulously. "My great-grandma used to say that light ones chased after every skirt, but I didn't believe her. Oh, if not for your defenses, you'd be seeing me the way I was fifty years ago. I don't know who put them up, but clearly it was a great master."
"Wait, Mirana!" I put my hands up hastily. "I happen to have something that will take those fifty years right off!" I put the bottle with the Netherworld's beast's liver extract on the table. The liver extract was one of the main ingredients for a Potion of Rejuvenation. Even back at the inn I was thinking that no woman would possibly refuse it. And I was right."
Mirana stared at the vial for a bit, then shifted her eyes to me.
"There's more to you than meets the eye, light one, oh yes!" the witch shook her head. "You wish to trade this for the means of detecting a karriga?"
"If you throw in some healing and stamina potions, I certainly won't argue."
Your reputation has increased. Mirana relates to you with respect.
The demoness nodded and got up, opened a nearby cupboard and laid eleven bottles on the table before me. Five were pink—healing potions that restored two thousand hit points over ten seconds. Five were light-green—medium potions of vigor that instantly restored five hundred energy. And one bottle with a violet mixture—Potion of Two Moons.
"Take that," she stuck a yellow finger at the violet vial, "pour it onto a chunk of meat and throw it on the ground, preferably at night. The effective radius is two hundred yards, so if the beast is around it won't be long in coming. The potion is consumed upon use, and the effect wears off after an hour. Now go. I need to think."
When I was already outside and heading back to the road, Mirana called after me.
"Come back in a week, light one, and you won't recognize me. Who knows what might happen then. I can't say I'm not curious about your kind," she winked at me.
I smiled and waved goodbye, thinking to myself that a week from now I would be far away, and wished for her to find somebody else to satisfy her curiosity.
There were several dozen people in the dining hall, and it was noisy. I walked up to the bar, smiled at Treis and nodded at Kort.
"Did you get it?"
"Here it is," I showed him the potion. "Pour it on a chunk of meat, and toss the meat on the ground at night."
Kort nodded, pulled out a sheathed sword from behind the bar and handed it to me.
You've completed the quest: Trap for a Karriga I.
You received: Kort's Lightsword.
I didn't level this time, but hey, you can't win 'em all. I unsheathed the sword and examined it. A double-edged steel blade about two and a half feet long.
Kort's Lightsword.
Sword: one-handed weapon.
Durability: 500/500.
Rare.
Minimum level: 65.
Damage: 120-160.
+100 strength.
+3% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.
Weight: 7 lbs.
"Take good care of it," Kort said, "and it will serve you well."
"It is a fine sword. Thank you!"
So, what now?
You've accessed the quest: Trap for a Karriga II.
Quest type: normal, chain.
Help Kort catch and kill the karriga.
Reward: experience, Kort's Cloak.
"Come down to the dining hall closer to midnight. I will gather a few people to make sure the beast doesn't escape. And another thing," Kort handed me a bag, "Snorri came by with an armor and shield. Said the shield is a gift. I shudder to think how badly you must've overpaid him," he scoffed.
Upon getting up to my room, I hastily changed into plate and equipped the sword. The armor set was called Legionnaire's Light Plate, comprising eight pieces, all of unusual class: helm, shoulder pads, cuirass, vambraces, gauntlets, belt, greaves and boots. Each piece added 35 points to strength and 30 to constitution. The set bonus was an additional 50 hit points. The shield was triangular and blocked 60% damage (any attack repelled by the shield let through only 40% damage), added 10 to strength and 55 to constitution. All items had a minimum level of 65, which meant I could easily wear them through level 80-85 or so. I checked out my new stats. Not bad—590 strength and 394 constitution added almost 120% to damage and 4000 to health.
And now for the enchanting. I put the skill on the action bar and selected the sword.
Attention! By using Personal Weapon Enchanting with the Power of the Elements V on Kort's Lightsword, the item will be bound to you. Are you sure you want to proceed?
Shivers ran down my body, as a small translucent clot of power was released from my hand. For a moment, the sword radiated like the rainbow. When the spell ended, I was surprised to discover that the sword in my hand now had a completely different name:
Krian's Lightsword.
Sword: one-handed weapon.
Durability: 500/500.
Bound item.
Rare.
Minimum level: 65.
Damage: 183-244.
+100 strength.
+3% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.
Weight: 7 lbs.
Something didn't add up. The average damage should have been buffed by 50%, but it grew to 52.5%. Oh, right, I was Altus' apprentice! I examined my damage output. My strongest attack was Tongue of Flame at an average of 1200 damage per second against an armorless opponent, taking into account my racial bonus to swords and the boost for slaying Shaartakh. And my own armor, buffed by Shield of the Elements, absorbed 62% of physical damage. Awesome! My belt slots increased as well to eight. I decided to keep Shaartakh's Breath and Venom, and one more Potion of Greater Healing—just in case. I added three more healing potions and two vigor ones. Now I was ready for action.
The armor felt as comfortable as a tracksuit. I was glad at least that hadn't been changed with the new patch. Then again, thinking logically, I had enough strength to carry over a ton of weight.
I practiced a few attacks with Tongue of Flame—the room was large enough, thankfully. As the sword made its arc, it flared up and left a pretty red trail through the air. I walked up to the mirror and checked out my reflection, trying to look as menacing as possible.
Looking back at myself was... me. I hadn't tried to change my appearance during character creation. No Hollywood-style perfectly symmetrical mug, no brutal-looking trappings. Six feet tall, athletic build, short dark hair, gray eyes. Wearing a full plate armor with an open visor. My attempts at a warlike demeanor suddenly looked so silly that I smiled.
"Mage-knight wannabe!"
After running all the numbers, acquiring the gear and even getting level 68, it just occurred to me that I still hadn't yet played the actual game. Everything thus far had been just theory. And I probably wouldn't do much tonight either. Then again, I was in no rush—better to wait for opponents equal to me in strength.
With those thoughts, I set an alarm for half past eleven. Without bothering to remove my armor, I got into bed, which gave an offended creak, and fell asleep.
Nights in the realm of Arkon were incredibly alluring. And this one was no different—quiet and blissfully serene. Somewhere to the side clucked roused chickens, while tired cattle lowed sleepily from the barn. The street was well-illumed with moonlight. I felt absolutely no anxiety about the upcoming event, and not at all because I'd finally gotten some gear and a weapon. My confidence was rooted in the fact that besides myself and Kort, the night's hunt for the mysterious fiend would be joined by a squad of legionnaires led by Vellakh and the local mage with the unusual name Alsuil.
The Genteel Legionnaire's dining hall this close to midnight was about two-thirds full. It was smoky and stuffy—the air was pungent with the aromas of roast meat, stewed cabbage and cheap beer. Treis was working the bar, filling up the mugs of peasants and legionnaires that kept trickling in.
The weird thing was, I didn't hear any drunken arguing or bra
wling that one might expect in such an atmosphere. Everything was calm and peaceful, as though we were at a religious service or a funeral.
I looked around for Kort.
"Krian," Treis waved at me from behind the bar. "Kort and the guys are out back." She handed me a giant sandwich. "Do you know how to get there?"
I nodded, thanked her for the treat, and headed for the back door.
"And there's Krian," Kort announced loudly when I walked out into the backyard, chewing on the sandwich that seemed to boost all my stats by ten. There were fourteen in all, including myself. Ten level 200+ legionnaires, Krian, Vellakh and the mage that I'd seen conversing with the innkeeper earlier.
"Greetings, light one," he held out his hand for a handshake. "Thank you for Treis, and for tonight's hunt as well. I doubt that I would have been able to get that old pepper-box to pony up the Potion of Two Moons." He chuckled bitterly. "Even regular broads become unbearable as they grow old—witches all the more so. How did you manage it?"
"You can expect her disposition to improve," I grunted. "I gave her an ingredient for rejuvenation."
"The liver extract?" the mage gave me a look of shock. "But where did you... Oh, right, Kort told me. So you went and..." And Alsuil burst into raucous laughter.
Everybody looked in our direction. I simply shrugged, none the wiser. When the mage was finally done laughing, he pointed at me and explained.
"This character slipped Mirana a rejuvenation potion, or rather the main ingredient for one. With her skill in alchemy, she'll get plenty of use from it," he winked at me. "It's a good thing you're leaving for Nittal in the morning, 'cause all the local women will soon hate your guts."
I looked in stupor at the grinning Kort, then at the legionnaires and their dreamy smiles, then turned back to the mage.