by G. Akella
No, I wasn't brave enough to go to Ahriman just yet. Instead, I would arrive in Nittal, go see Kort's friend and ask him about the events of two hundred eighty years ago. Even if he didn't know, perhaps he could point me to a library or some other repository of wisdom in Nittal. All the while I would seek out every opportunity to level my own handsome self.
Speaking of! I opened the Options menu and threw my two available talent points into Ice Blade, maxing it out. The stat points went into constitution. Now, where was I? Right, time to stock up on all the quests available to me and grind, grind, grind like a Korean farmer. Because my level 70 was looking rather feeble for my grandiose plans of reprisal against the game's heavy hitters. I was yet to get my hands on the world map, but for some reason I thought that Demon Grounds stretched beneath Arkon's mainland.
I was also carrying two letters to Nittal, one of which was addressed to Janam, the overlord's second wife. Maybe I could try my questions with her? Doubtful she'd be willing to converse with a common courier. But anyway. First, I needed to rescue Altus' people, and I'd take it from there.
As was usual after making a firm decision, I suddenly felt a lot better.
In the meantime, the caravan had passed through the narrow passage and was back rolling through wide-open space. The scenery, however, changed drastically, which sometimes happened when crossing the border between two zones. The forest-steppe became a rocky semi-desert—a mostly even flatland dotted with rocks of all shapes and sizes. About a hundred yards off the road loomed five massive shapes of stone—local idols, perhaps? There were traces of a giant bonfire, with piles of large animal bones scattered all around. A bit further off I spotted a huge feline stretched out on a boulder, basking in the sun—at level 110, it didn't pose any threat to us. Nor did it care much for us, what with bountiful choices of solitary and small clusters of camel-like creatures wandering all around. I couldn't see from here what they were chewing, only that they were chewing for sure, the way they were lowering their heads to the ground. A few miles off the road was a ravine with a fairly large river flowing along the bottom, its shores lush with vegetation that made the waterway look like a giant green snake.
"So, like I said, they're going to move us closer to the capital, just you watch," declared the robust black-haired fellow in the coachbox. Fixing his leather strap, he gave a sigh so heavy that the ends of his long mustache swung like a pendulum. "Ask Peotius if you don't believe me."
"Come on, pop, what's with you?" the other coachman sitting on the bench across from me—a scrawny kid with small horns and joints protruding from under his skin—replied and scratched his head. "They don't give a hoot about us to move us anywhere. And that Peotius of yours is too obsessed with his scrolls and rituals to see what's in front of his nose. Watch, they'll send over some legionnaires to clean up the mess as soon as they're done with the northern provinces."
"You feeling OK, son? Did you suffer a sunstroke?" the older demon smiled indulgently.
"What's so funny?" Rioh took offense. "That's what Vren told me—and he apprentices for Master Anrad. He's got a friend in the Second Legion. The information comes from his friend: first the north, then everything else."
"Mind your manners, arguing with your father!" the senior frowned; if I remembered correctly, his name was Harn. "Young people nowadays! How would a simple legionnaire know anything about anything? Do you think the legate reports his plans to your friend? At least the punishers sent their people to keep the monsters in check."
"Right, the same punishers that cleaned up around the village but don't dare venture outside in such small numbers. Sure, they're defending the village, made an outpost and are even paying silver for tails, but what's the use? Where are we supposed to graze cattle? There's not even a single mage for miles. Take you, Krian, as an example," the boy had noticed that I was listening in on their exchange and turned to me. "Would you be willing to do a good deed? For a fee, of course."
"What are we talking about?" I entered the conversation.
"Back home in Urcahnta, we've got undead crawling out of the Ghorazm Ruins, wreaking all kinds of havoc," Rioh rattled off. "For years things were quiet and peaceful, but suddenly it's like all hell broke loose. They're preying on all things living: cattle, people... The villagers are afraid to take a step outside the palisade. Crops and pastures are deserted—nobody dares to work them. Seems like only the road to Nittal is still free. How are we supposed to last the winter? There are no supplies, no firewood..."
"Hold on!" I put both of my hands up, desperate to stem the torrent of words. "Start from the beginning. What is Urcahnta and where is it located?"
"Hush, you windbag," Harn lashed the wagon's side with his whip. "How many times did I teach you to think before you talk, and speak plainly," he let out a heavy sigh. "The esteemed mage hasn't been to Nittal once—he said so back when he first got on. How is he supposed to know about our hole of a town? Don't mind him, he's still young and clueless. He'll wise up once I marry him off."
"Marriage, uh huh," Rioh muttered under his nose, leaning back. "Can't wait. Can't you see my excitement?"
"I'm going to have to do some serious convincing!" Harn snapped at his son's grumbling. "No way Master Kern will accept a marriage proposal with your lousy reputation. And what's wrong with Karissa as a wife? Better her than flushing money down the toilet and staring at succubi all day."
"At least all their lady parts are where they should be," the boy scoffed and turned away grumpily.
"And? Will you marry a succubus, too? You want your wife hiking up her skirt for the whole damned village? Idiot!" the father pressed on. "Listen, no one's saying you can't occasionally... you know," he twirled his whip in the air. "But don't even think of living with one!"
"Gentlemen," I interrupted this universal opposition between fathers and sons. "Please, tell me about your village."
"Apologies, master mage, it's just that I wish him well. He's my son, after all," Harn looked at the sulking Rioh. "Are you married yourself?"
"No," I said and, realizing that the conversation may now shift toward youth nowadays being irresponsible, quickly corrected myself, "but I am betrothed. She's waiting for me to finish my schooling. It's strict where I come from—no marriage until you get an education."
"You see! Krian is a responsible person, he understands you've got to have a family," the demon held me up as an example. "Anyway, we'll continue this conversation when we get home. Now, where was I..." he looked back at me. "Our village is close to Nittal, four miles or so from the northern gates. But that's over farmland—if you take the road, it's closer to twelve. As soon as you cross the bridge, there it is. And we've got ancient ruins a few miles to the northwest. Our village mage—Peotius, a highly educated man—says that the Ghorazm Ruins still remember the Exodus War. But nothing ever really happened there; my friends and I used to hang out nearby all the time, and they were just your regular ruins.
"And then, three months ago something happened, and all kinds of undead started pouring out. Most look like pigs, only with real scary mugs. Our mage Peotius says it must be one of the cursed ones' handiwork. We rushed right to the city to complain. But they've got other things to worry about, what with two northern provinces revolting. The city did send ten punishers who went and cleansed the area in the vicinity of the village from the darkspawn, but they're not willing to even try with the ruins. Useless with so few of them, they say," Harn gave another sigh.
The rocky road was now behind us, as the caravan pulled into the ravine. The river emanated a pleasant freshness. The road wounded alongside a sloping rocky ravine wall which, dotted with twisting saplings, blocked us from the setting sun.
"It's not just pigs," Rioh crinkled his brow, letting go off his grievance. "My buddies and I made it almost all the way to the ruins. It's teeming with the living dead. There was a graveyard not too far away—something must have disturbed their rest."
"Who did you go with? Sart and his good-f
or-nothing pal?" Harn blew up. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from them? How many times have they gotten you in trouble? Well? I've lost count already!"
"The punishers are paying half a silver for every pig's tail. And they're no trouble—sometimes one good shot is all you need," his son waved dismissively. "We're not idiots, you know. We keep to the outside, away from the real danger."
"I'll deal with you yet," Harn shook a fist at the son, then looked at me. "Well, master mage, would you be willing to help our village? Down in the city they're promising a mighty big reward to whoever eradicates the undead scourge."
I shrugged. Going by the real world's logic, the two of them—level 200+ hunters—should be able to exterminate all the undead with little effort, seeing as their village was probably in a sub level 80 zone. But the game's laws superseded real world logic. The developers must have designed the quest in a way that the local NPCs were unable to complete it themselves.
"I will try," I nodded. "Let me find my bearings in the city first, then I'll come visit you in Urcahnta."
You've accessed the quest: Trouble in Urcahnta I.
Quest type: normal, chain.
Find Gilim the Elder in Urcahnta and listen to his request.
Reward: experience.
Harn and his son gave a collective sigh of relief.
"For an experienced mage, it'll be a walk in the park." The older demon fished a voluminous bottle from his bag and offered it to me. "Have a taste of our cider. Made it myself—the apple harvest came out real good this year."
I nodded politely, accepted the bottle and took a few swigs of the apple wine, which tasted more like juice, then gave it back.
"By the way, you mentioned something about succubi?" I raised a question that interested me. "Are there many of them in Nittal?" Sooner or later I was going to have to broach the question of male-female relations in this world, so why not do a little research first?
Harn guffawed in response.
"Don't you know? What we call succubi are the women who have only a dollop of the blood of true demons of delusion and seduction. The real ones down in the Netherworld," Harn stuck his right thumb downward, "aren't many at all. A pure-blooded succubus can only be spawned by a Netherworld's Elder Demon, and only if said demon or demoness had decided to make a child with a true demon of seduction. Down there, succubi are female, and incubi are male." Harn adjusted his belt and continued. "So, yeah, in our lands we don't really get any incubi being born, but only the females. And the way it happens is usually this: on a very rare occasion that a male half-breed finds himself in the area, he usually covers several villages in a short time. And the local broads can't resist him," he shook his head bitterly. "That's how we get girls that are a quarter or an eighth succubus. They say real succubi sometimes come up to the surface from the Netherworld as well, but I think it's just rumors. I never saw one myself, and thank Hart for that."
"Yeah..." Rioh echoed dreamily, seemingly evoking a pleasant memory. "The girls aren't bad at all. Sure, they put out, that is they're promiscuous, but as far as everything else..." he let out another rapt sigh.
"What do you know?" Harn frowned. "That's their blood talking. To us they seem promiscuous—and even then far from all of them—but they need it like oxygen. So says Peotius, and he knows what he's talking about. And Hart forbid a man ever meets a pure-blooded one. That's certain death for our kind, albeit a pleasant one," he coughed into his fist. "Not even tiflings could resist, let alone us common folk!"
"Master Ylsan seems concerned about something," Rioh pointed at the wagon in front of us, which carried the caravan mage who didn't seem to want to bother with horseback. There appeared to be something moving in there. "I've got a bad feeling about this," the younger demon looked alarmingly at his father.
Suddenly the sky grew dark, and everything around us changed. Just a moment ago we were driving in the shade of the ravine wall, enjoying the fresh river breeze, but now both the river and the ravine were gone. To our left sprawled an endless steppe with tall grass that swayed gently, massaged by the wind, all the way to the ice-capped mountains on the horizon line. Some five hundred feet to the right loomed an ancient woods, vast and glum. Eternal dusk reigned beneath the crowns of its mighty trees, their trunks concealed by impenetrable fog. The setting sun above had been replaced by a massive lunar crescent, its sharp edges skewering the night sky.
"What the hell..." I couldn't help blurting out as I looked around incredulously until my eyes fell on Harn's darkened face.
"Put on your armor and helms! Get in defensive formation!" the commander's shout wrested everyone from their stupor. "Keep moving ahead. There's a large structure by the roadside. We'll stop there."
"No one's going to believe me," Rioh mumbled in astonishment. "That's the misty rift, blast it! I didn't believe it existed. Pop, isn't this the crossroads where the Ancients' treasure was buried? They say there are untold riches..."
"Did you hear Master Lirrak? Forget treasure and focus on your helm and armor instead!" Harn barked at him. "If you want to survive this, that is."
"On the double!" one of the legionnaires that had been riding behind us hopped into our wagon. "We've got a little over two miles to go," he added, tying his horse to the side. Two of his comrades were now riding on either side of the wagon, covering both flanks.
The zone's level, in the meantime, had jumped all the way to 180. God, I was such a cretin! Why didn't I rebind somewhere along the way? If I died here, in addition to the usual penalty like losing my level, I would respawn back at the graveyard outside of Lamorna. Lending me hope was the fact that the caravaners were all well above level 180.
"Where are we?" I turned to the legionnaire as he was settling in.
"Nobody knows," he was peering grimly in the direction of the woods. "The old-timers say these things happen sometimes. You ride and ride, and suddenly the environment changes. Your options are either to wait it out or keep moving forward. Those who have passed through the rift tell all kinds of stories. For some, the journey was uneventful. Others barely escaped with their lives. It's all about your luck," he shrugged. "And another thing—no rift is never the same, each is one of a kind."
"The stories about treasure are true as well," interjected the legionnaire riding on our left. "One hundred years ago, the rebel Prince Vallan acquired his Khaveng in such a rift. It's a sword, a poisonous one," he clarified in response to my quizzical gaze, then stroked his horse's withers and continued. "If not for that sword, he wouldn't have remained a prince. Nor would he have conquered his neighbors' lands."
"Jaw off the floor," Harn snarled at his son who was hanging on the legionnaires' every word.
"Nobody knows how many people perished in these rifts."
"Careful here," Lirrak rode up to us. At six and a half feet tall and clad in plate, I would have mistaken the demon for an orc if I didn't know where I was, even with the closed visor hiding the ferocity of his features and the small fangs sticking out from his lower lip. He was the only one riding a lizard—the same kind as from Altus' memories. The chainmail covering the reptile's body was the same that covered the horses of regular legionnaires, except of course for the cut.
The beast of a mount looked in my direction with unlinking eyes, drool dripping from its maw, filled with rows of yellowed four-inch teeth. It made for an impressive sight.
"We're moving toward that structure," the demon indicated the destination looming ahead. "Assuming it's safe, we'll hole up and wait for this blasted thing to pass. Rumor says it shouldn't be more than a day, and we've got enough supplies to last... Get ready for battle!" he roared suddenly, and began transforming literally before our eyes, his already massive body blowing up to almost twice the size, with the metal armor growing in parallel with its owner. His knees and elbows sprouted brown eight-inch spikes; his eyes flared bright yellow behind the slits of his visor.
I followed his eyes. Alas, there was no way to avoid the welcoming committee.
Emerging from the woods and advancing toward us with short quick leaps were around thirty humanoid creatures with wolf's faces. Worgen, I recalled the name from the bestiary. Their lean, wiry bodies were covered in leather armor; their yellow eyes shone menacingly in the dusk. The half-wolves were moving on all fours and in total silence. In the front was the pack leader—a huge-ass level 240 wolf with blood-red slits for eyes that glowed in the darkness. Rather an eerie sight, let me tell you.
In my time I'd read many fantasy books—why else would I develop the hobby of drawing fantastic landscapes? The fantasy authors tend to gripe that when their protagonist encounters yet another monster in their invented parallel universe, the readers, having grown up with graphic horror movies, are too desensitized to be impressed. But from where I was standing, I would readily switch places with any of those authors. Or with all of them at once—let them be brave all they want. It's one thing to lounge in a cozy armchair, staring at a screen while munching on popcorn; it's quite another to be sitting in a wooden trough while a pack of yellow-eyed freaks headed by an eight-foot-tall wolf was leading a totally silent assault against your caravan. Thankfully, the game hadn't yet introduced the concept of relieving bodily needs, because I honestly wouldn't trust myself at that moment.
My brain was telling me that our squad was fully equipped to deal with two and half dozen half-wolves. Ten legionnaires, a commander, a mage, six coachmen-turned-hunters, and myself. On second thought, I shouldn't even be counted for want of any use to this group. Still, eighteen level 200+ NPCs, and Lirrak whose level was only ten below the pack leader's. But my brain was my brain, whereas my eyes were screaming bloody murder at the sight of the cute doggie bearing down on us.