by G. Akella
"Got it. I'll set up some signal traps outside," he declared. "Leave some of that goodness for me."
"Better hurry, then," Lirrak grinned. "Or you might miss the party."
"Can I come along?" I asked the mage.
He looked at the commander, and only after the other nodded did he shrug his answer.
"Suit yourself."
The weather had turned rotten, with the crescent now hiding behind the clouds and a sharp gusty wind blowing from the direction of the woods. The dark blotch of trees massaged by the wind, visible through the gap in the gate, resembled some ancient monster. Shivering, I followed after the mage who, rounding the building along a perimeter, paused for a little while outside of every boarded-up window and whispered something, his hands moving ever so slightly, making irregular circles that flashed green on the ground and faded. That was all I saw, but it was clear that we were now under some kind of protection.
Coming back inside, I dined with everyone and then took up a spot by the wall farthest from the windows, just in case something ended up crawling through there after all. The legionnaires would handle it just fine whereas I might just get one-shot. This way I'd still have a chance. Without a bedding of my own, I wrapped myself up in Kort's cloak and tried to fall asleep.
In the books I'd read, many protagonists that ended up in some magic or parallel world would invariably exert a maniacal tenacity to try and get back home. You would think that they all had a wife and kids waiting by the door, but no! More often than not, the protagonist was a loser in his former life—and still, having become a great mage, king or dark lord, sitting up on his throne, surrounded by faithful brothers-in-arms and beautiful wives, he languished for his distant home. Inexplicably homesick, he embarked on new quests, challenged even tougher enemies, and all to find that sacred key that unlocked the door back home. The authors clearly lacked the imagination to give their heroes a more suitable role. At the end of such a book, the protagonist should naturally realize that this was his new home, and never leave it. Only I never bothered finishing such hogwash.
I asked myself if I wanted to go back, and didn't hesitate for a second with the answer—no. I had goals here to achieve, and the throne and the wives could wait—I wasn't pressed for time in the slightest. I needed to get out of Demon Grounds first, then worry about the rest. And with those thoughts, I succumbed to sleep.
I woke up from a nagging pain in my left foot. Before even fully opening my eyes, I already remembered where I was: at an inn in some misty rift, with the caravan. The firelight and several magic lanterns illuminated the shapes of my sleeping companions. But what was up with the pain in my leg? Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed movement, and froze perfectly still. I could swear that I wasn't sleeping, and that this was all happening for real. I saw a young woman floating five feet up in the air, her arms splayed wide and palms turned upward. Barefoot, in streaming clothes, with long hair and a comely face, she was looking up at the ceiling. A soft greenish glow coated her figure.
Still peering up at the floating woman, I noticed the two sentries behind her—sitting by the door in unnatural poses, watching the strange woman in a glassy-eyed stupor. Their weapons lying at their feet, their mouths were twisted into rapt, imbecilic smiles. I glanced at my feet and froze again, this time with dread. Having pierced a hole in my metallic greave with its proboscis, a nasty-looking thing was gnawing on my leg—four to five feet tall and squirmy, like a May bug larva. My HP bar had already been cut by a third. Another specimen was several yards to my side, stirring soundlessly next to a sleeping Rioh.
Blood rushed to my head.
"Alarm!" I bawled, jumping up to my feet. I bared my sword and dealt two blows to the worm's body—Ice Blade followed by Tongue of Flame—simultaneously registering that the bloodsucker was level 81.
Though I started out from an awkward position, my sword ended up breaking the beast's whitish, pimply skin. Greenish ooze burst from the wound, and the mob's health bar dropped by a quarter. The worm jerked its stinger out of my foot, and slammed its black head into my chest, returning me to a supine position. But I was back on my feet the next instant, choking with rage and revulsion, and still screaming "Alarm!" at the top of my lungs. A hailstorm of blows rained down on the monster, alternating between Ice Blade and Tongue of Flame. The eighth strike proved to be the last—upon death the mob deflated like a popped balloon, leaving behind only its now-gray skin and a puddle of fetid goo.
You've accessed the quest: Rescuing Companions.
Quest type: unique.
Destroy the skhiarta and her larvae before they devour Lirrak's caravan of demons.
Reward: experience, Band of Dancing Grass.
Attention! If all the demons stay alive, you will receive a bonus reward.
I popped a healing potion, buffed myself with Shield of the Elements, and took a look around. Six more worms were sucking on my sleeping companions. The woman floating in the air had turned her head unnaturally and was peering at me with inhuman eyes. Level 240 and two million hit points! Nearly as much as the leader of the pack that had attacked us.
Despite all my shouting, not a single demon rose to his feet. They were all alive, for now, but immersed in some kind of a weird dream. So why did I wake up? Must be my mental magic resistance, the thought flashed through my head as I was unleashing a Tongue of Flame at the worm siphoning life out of Rioh. The monster's health dropped to half. Ice Blade, another Tongue of Flame, dodge the head butt, another blade... Another one down!
After nearly slipping on the ooze spreading across the floor, I pounced on the next one. Tongue of Flame, Ice Blade—freeze procced. Four consecutive strikes at the frozen carcass and the worm croaked before it could even remove the stinger from the sleeping Ylsan. I kicked the mage's body in an attempt to wake him, but to no avail—the tifling wasn't moving, as if totally paralyzed. Another teleport and a Tongue of Flame at the fourth mob.
Suddenly everything changed. As I was beating up on the fourth, the remaining three broke away from their feasts and crawled rapidly in my direction. Finishing off my opponent hastily, I had no time to turn around before a powerful blow to my side knocked me several yards back. Tripping over one of the sleeping bodies, I fell to the floor, my HP bar decreasing by a third. I jumped back to my feet and ran to the right lest I get surrounded. What to do? I wasn't going to survive against three...
Idiot! I had a shield! I ripped it off my back and charged the nearest foe. The sword sliced through the gruesome mug's black chitin with a squelch—a crit! The slime sprayed my cheek, burning the skin with. The squealing beast responded with its standard attack, which I blocked with a shield. After executing another blow, I jumped aside to avoid another worm getting at me from the left. Tripping on another sleeping body, I managed to maintain my balance and Jumped toward the windows and piled-up tables and benches. The figure floating above the floor didn't look like a woman anymore, as if it had been stripped of its human aspect. Instead, a seven-foot-tall brown caterpillar now hung in the air, flapping a set of translucent, dragonfly-like wings and staring at me with huge facet eyes. Its very appearance evoked foulness, as if crawling upon my consciousness with its slimy underbelly. At least the beast was just hanging there; if it were to join the battle, I wouldn't last a second. That was probably the script: the mother paralyzed the prey while its brood fed. At least I hoped that was the case.
I struck at the same larva, then hurled a bench at the other two, both with full health, as they crawled toward me. Their hit points dipped just barely as I Jumped back to my primary target. Two more blows and only two opponents remained.
You have gained a level! Current level: 71.
You have 1 stat 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 points to allocate.
I kited them for a while, waiting for my HP to recover.
Then, selecting one of the remaining worms, I attacked with Ice Blade. The worms struck back almost simultaneously. I blocked both attacks and landed two of my own. My energy running low, I had to pop another green bottle to restore it. I dodged an attack, blocked the next with my shield, then quickly countered with a one-two combo, deliberately targeting the same worm. The beast needed just a few more hits, but my own health bar had also dipped below half—I was feeling this very acutely, even in battle. My temples throbbed, my whole body ached from the pain that was washing over me.
I Jumped back toward the piles of furniture. Gulping down my last medium healing potion, I threw the tables on the ground behind me and bolted to the far end of the hall. I still had one potion of greater healing in reserve, but it was too early to use it. I didn't count the other one in my bag—there was no time to rummage in there.
After biding time for the cooldown to refresh, I Jumped again and finished off another larva. At last, it was one against one. Back to the standard rotation: two attacks, block, two more attacks, freeze procced—and four more swings with my blade to dispose of the last beast.
And there I was—covered from head to toe in green slime—standing opposite the skhiarta. Was it leaving now or what? No, the caterpillar just kept hanging there, boring me with its eyes. I had barely over half my health left, but there was no point in wasting a potion of greater healing. Sure, it was painful, but the sensation of pain was somehow distant. Swearing through clenched teeth, I opened my inventory and drank the last of my medium healing potions. It was the moment of truth. If the nightmarish insect attacked with anything other than mental magic, I was done for. Suddenly I felt my blood starting to boil with rage. What the hell was this winged abomination? What cesspit had it crawled out of and how dared it infringe on my life?! I charged the monster and executed a few attacks... The blade left two marks on the chitin armor, but the boss didn't react in any way. So, only mental magic. Excellent, I might just live another day.
I kept hacking away at the caterpillar frozen in the air, alternating my special skills as usual. Whenever my energy ran out, I switched to regular attacks; when the vigor bar refilled, I switched back to special skills. Using Shaartakh's Venom seemed pointless—I wasn't going to deal two million damage to this dragonfly creature in the span of ten minutes. So I kept beating it like a mannequin. After a little over eight hours, the skhiarta crackled and crumbled to the floor. With a heavy sigh, I lowered myself next to its remains.
You have gained a level! Current level: 72.
You have 2 talent points 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 6 stat points to allocate.
You have gained a level! Current level: 73.
You have 3 talent points 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 9 stat points to allocate.
Even after a grueling ordeal like that, I didn't feel particularly fatigued. The small deficit in HP—less than ten percent—was restored rather quickly. With the fight being over, I was back to naturally regenerating health based on my spirit attribute, and this was only possible out of combat. And though my rate of regeneration was fairly low at less than one percent per tick, I was in no position to complain.
And now for the loot. I reached out and touched the insect's remains. There was the clang of gold, as three hundred fifty one coins passed into my ownership. Four level 200+ items, twenty vials of skhiarta blood and six eye fragments—all of them rare. Another letdown. The gold was a nice haul, but the items did nothing for me. I got out my flask and took three sips. Each larva also had a pair of eye fragments and five vials of blood. I couldn't begin to fathom what all those ghastly things could be used for, but wiki would have all the info. Later.
How long would the caravaners keep up the slumberous act, I wondered? Maybe I should pour water over them? I rubbed my cheek contemplatively—it was still burning from the larva blood that had gotten through the open visor. There were two wells outside, but I didn't feel like trekking there on my own. Something might still be out there, and I could inadvertently set off Ylsan's traps. There had to be water around here somewhere.
But then, finally, there was movement from Lirrak. The commander propped himself up on his elbow with a grimace and looked around. Upon seeing the scene, he jumped to his feet but barely held his balance, reeling. He looked at me with murky eyes, then at the skhiarta's remains, and wheezed:
"Is that what I think it is?"
"I don't know what you think, but if it's a flying caterpillar with a ravenous brood, then yes," I nodded at him.
Your reputation has increased. The caravan commander Captain Lirrak relates to you with respect.
"Thank you, mage," Lirrak nodded as he looked around the hall. "No casualties," he proclaimed. "How did you manage to resist its charms?"
"I had good buffs up, so when one of the worms started feeding on me, I woke up. Do you know how to wake the others?"
"I know how to wake Ylsan, and he'll figure out the rest," the demon walked over to the lifeless tifling, leaned over him and poured something down his throat.
Nothing happened at first, but then the tailed demon's body jerked. His eyes opened and he sat up abruptly, convulsing as he puked. Lirrak had prudently moved away in time, and was now observing his assistant's torment with a kind of eerie contentment. Well, he is a demon, I chuckled mentally.
"What the Hart is happening to me..." the tifling squeezed out of himself.
"All good now," Lirrak grunted, having fully recovered his senses. "But we were nearly devoured by a skhiarta's brood. Get yourself together, the boys need waking."
"A moment," a vial with a bluish fluid appeared in Ylsan's hand. He upended the whole thing into his mouth, grimaced and rubbed his eyes for some reason, then finally looked around the hall.
Your reputation has increased. Mage Raey Dar Ylsan relates to you with respect.
"Shit... Is this your doing, light one?" he looked at me intently. "Who buffed you like that?! And how did you even survive? Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that you did... But it's kind of hard to believe!"
"Don't pester him. Look, he's pale as a ghost," Lirrak chortled, his friendly smile—framed with protruding fangs—resembling a wolf's scowl. A fellow of considerable bravery out for a stroll late in the day wouldn't hesitate to cross the street at the sight of such fangs. Everyone else was guaranteed a visit to a psychiatrist—in the best case scenario. "Here, a gift of gratitude from me and my people," he put a ring of silvery metal into my hand.
"And this one's from me personally," the mage smiled. The ring was joined by a gold trinket shaped like a silvery crescent.
You've completed the quest: Rescuing Companions.
You have gained a level! Current level: 74.
You received: Band of Dancing Grass.
You received: Earring of the School of Restoration.
You have 4 talent points 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 12 stat points to allocate.
You have gained a level! Current level: 75.
You have 5 talent points 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 15 stat points to allocate.
Band of Dancing Grass.
Accessory; ring.
Durability: 470/470.
Rare item.
Minimum level to equip: 70.
+60 to agility.
+40 to constitution.
+1% to critical hit chance with a physical attack.
Weight: .01 lbs.
Earring of the School of Restoration.
Accessory; earring.
Durability: 450/450.
Rare item.
Minimum level to equip: 70.
+50 to spirit.
+50 to intellect.
+1% to health regeneration.
Weight: .005 lbs.
There, my first truly earned levels. My leveling speed was just incredible! Say what you will, but spending some time in high-level zones certainly had its uses.
All of a sudden there was a flash, and everything in reality changed. The inn's walls disappeared, there was a lapping of water, and we found ourselves mired in a swampy lowland, at the edge of the same ravine, forty or so yards off the road. The bog squelched nastily underfoot, ankle-high in the place where the demons were sleeping; the wheels of wagons parked twenty yards away were mostly submerged.
There was a string of cussing all around, as the shift in reality quickly brought everyone to their senses. I couldn't hold back a chuckle watching a legionnaire—and one of the two night sentries—shaking water out of his helm while spitting whatever filth had gotten into his mouth. The animals were reacting far more tolerably to the change of environment: yaks and horses simply lowered their heads to the water, and only the land-loving croc was kicking up a fuss, spraying mud and water all around as it rushed to its owner and butted him in the side. Lirrak patted the creature's muzzle and gave him some kind of treat. How was he not terrified, I wondered. I wouldn't have the stomach for the risk—give a beast like that a tasty morsel, and it could easily bite off your entire arm!
There were squeals of awed delight from the direction of the road, as a dozen legionnaires riding by outright roared with laughter looking at us. And who could blame them? Here we were—a bunch of grimy, bewildered caravaners trying to find our bearings, our wagons nearly floating on the water. All signs pointed to a wild party the night before. Lirrak shouted something mild at them, provoking yet another fit of raucous laughter.