Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon)

by G. Akella

  It took about an hour to push the wagons out of the mud. We then grabbed a quick bite to eat before the caravan got back on the road. Driving our wagon was a pensive and uncharacteristically taciturn Rioh. Harn was sleeping in the corner, letting out the occasional loud exhale and bristling his mustache in a rather amusing way. Ylsan, who had decided to ride with us, was sitting across from me, reading some book. His forehead was always creasing, and he would occasionally mouth phrases soundlessly—a veritable first-grader who had picked up a primer for the first time.

  I decided to wait until I got to my private room to allocate stat and talent points. The scenery didn't particularly interest me, so I immersed myself fully into reading the wiki.

  A skhiarta was a creature from the Gray Frontier whose larvae first drained their victims' life force, and then devoured the corpse. The larva's proboscis could penetrate even the thickest armor without damaging it, assuming the armor didn't have special protection. Hmm, it had seemed to me that the worm had pierced right through my boot. I examined my bootleg—no, not a scratch. A portion of the life force siphoned from the victim was transferred to the mother, and each larva had to devour at least fifty victims in order to develop into a full-fledged skhiarta. I seethed at the thought that we were merely a light snack for those fiends. The monster's blood was an ingredient for blacksmiths, leatherworkers and tailors to boost the durability of their crafts. The eyes could be used by alchemists.

  I didn't find out anything new about misty rifts. Not a word about what they were, where they came from or when they appeared. In fact, information on Demon Grounds on the whole was extremely scarce—a few pages' worth at the most. Chronicles on the other planes were inaccessible to me, save for the bestiary in which I looked up the monster that had nearly dined on us. Almost everything else was useless nonsense, with the exception of the talent tree and talent calculators. From the side it looked like I was lounging on a bench, reading a book in a black binding. A small icon toward the bottom of the page caught my eye. I focused on the sign underneath the icon: Add to Chronicles. Interesting. I tapped it, and a standard entry field popped up: time, location, subject and so on. Below that was a message that I might receive some experience for the added information. I took out a quill affixed to the back of the book and got to writing. It wasn't like I had anything better to do. I described the misty rift, then moved on to the bestiary, adding all the information on the karriga and the skhiarta. The letters and words were coming out in crisp and beautiful calligraphy without any blots, as though I were typing on a computer.

  This was how I spent the next several hours—fueled by a trailblazer's zeal, eager to pass essential information on to the posterity. Upon saving my oeuvre for the final time and closing wiki, I noticed that my experience bar had increased only slightly. Apparently, the art of writing wasn't very much appreciated in this world, but at least I'd managed to kill some time. What else was there to do? Ah, there we go. I removed the action bar for want of necessity: I wasn't playing behind the computer anymore, so I didn't need to mash those buttons.

  Take a boxer in a ring, imagine he's got access to an action bar with eight buttons. He's not going to be thinking, "OK, next I need to throw a right uppercut, that's this button, pressing..." His movements are almost automatic, and the same was true in this case. The skills you put out on the action bar became second nature. It was no guarantee that you would execute them perfectly and in a timely fashion every time, but activating them happened automatically, without scrambling as to which buttons to push.

  Now I could see my HP, energy and mana out of the corner of my eye.

  I also needed to figure out my next moves. The first stop was obviously Gerid, Kort's old mate, who apparently had his own inn. It made sense to stay there while I got my bearings. From there, to the traders' guild and the lord's second wife, whatever her name was. Finally, I needed to find out the location of the secret door behind which the knights and mages awaited their awakening from slumber. Of course, finding the actual door was on me, but I wanted to narrow down the search area to no more than a few square miles... Ugh, my idiocy never ceased to amaze. There was a fount of knowledge sitting right across!

  The landscape around us had already changed, as the road had led the caravan to a large lake, which we were presently rounding along a steep bank. I could smell the moisture and slightly rotting weeds coming from our left. The picturesque view of the lake was complemented by a castle of gray stone looming from the opposite shore, and several fishing villages.

  "Listen, Ylsan, I'm looking for some information. Can you help?"

  "Sure thing," the mage put away his book, threw back his hair with a fluid motion of the head, and looked at me. "What do you want to know?"

  "Well, you see," I began. "Three hundred years ago, in a castle around here somewhere, give or take a thousand miles, one of the lords was opening portals to our lands. His minions drove humans here by the thousands, cutting them down like cattle as part of some ritual." I paused for a moment, wondering how to weave Ahriman into the story. "Long story short, the king of Erantia—that's the human realm—sent an army here that destroyed the lord and all those who took part in the ritual. Then Ahriman turned up and attacked the humans. I don't know how it all ended, but I'd like to locate where it happened." And, preempting any further questions from Ylsan, I added, "Someone close to me was part of that battle." Let him think it was some grand ancestor of mine.

  For a while the mage kept a pensive silence.

  "Is this somehow connected to why you're here, Krian? Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be nosy," he shook his head, "but simply trying to understand. After all, traveling between our respective realms is far from simple—only gods and those close to them are capable of such a feat. And you don't strike me as either. Ancestral memory is sacred and all, but..." The demon's face was awash with doubt.

  I sighed and looked at him, noting to myself that I was no longer surprised by the horns, the vertical eyelids or the reddish skin.

  "This isn't about ancestral memory. I fell asleep near that temple," I stuck my finger upward, "and woke up here," I repeated the legend. "Then I had a vision..." I complimented myself mentally on the fib—was I really a monk at heart? "The events I told you about, they were shown to me in that vision. I realized then that it was somehow connected to my ancestor, and that therein lies the key to my returning home."

  It wasn't that I liked lying, but I'd worked enough in sales to make it look natural. And in this magical realm, filled with gods, demons and a netherworld, it was rather a useful skill.

  "It sure is a strange story. I'd like to help, but history is not my forte," he said sheepishly. "I took a history course once, but at the time I had a thing with Itala and, well..." completely abashed now, the mage fell quiet.

  "Sure, I'd cut history for a girl," I echoed my support. "But maybe you know someone who can help?"

  The wagon jumped on a pothole, and I nearly bit my tongue.

  "Warn us next time, will you?" Ylsan griped to Rioh, rubbing a bruised hip.

  "The sun is in my eye, I can't see for Hart," the coachman mumbled apologetically.

  Only Harn kept sleeping peacefully, without moving an inch—so clean was the demon's conscience.

  "My father would definitely know, but he's, um," Ylsan drew an ambiguous gesture in the air, "one of a kind. He rarely crawls out of his lab. Even his food is brought there most of the time. Occasionally my mother loses patience and drags him out, but it doesn't last long. He leads a normal life for one week at the most, then holes up in the lab again. He's an alchemist. With his lifestyle, it's a marvel he's had time to have a single kid, let alone three—I've also got a brother and a sister," the tifling laughed cheerily. "We're arriving tomorrow, you should stop by the day after. I should be able to drag him out, but the only one who can bother him in his lab is mother. For the rest of us there are all sorts of booby traps to keep us out. They're mostly harmless, but one time my brother and
I mustered up the courage to sneak inside to see what he was up to. And, well..." Ylsan grabbed the end of his tail, as if demonstrating it. "My tail turned green. Some kind of stupid hex, my father didn't even remember how to remove it. I had to hide my disgrace under a cloak for a month before it went away on its own."

  "Think maybe this will catch his interest?" after laughing at his cautionary tale, I fished out a vial with the skhiarta's eye from my bag.

  "Oh!" the tifling's eyes grew round. "Do you have more? I'd buy a few myself... if you're selling, that is. I've got to brew a complex potion to get my degree, and this is one of the ingredients," his tail grazed the side of his neck—an unusual variation on a customary gesture.

  "It's yours," I smiled.

  The mage didn't bother with false modesty, taking the vials, then holding them up against the light. With a contented grunt, he put them away in his bag.

  Your reputation has increased. Mage Raey Dar Ylsan considers you a friend.

  "Why didn't you put on the earring? It will dull the pain if you're wounded."

  "I forgot, give me a sec."

  I went into my bag, opened the character menu and tried putting the earring into the proper slot. For some reason it wouldn't equip, although I appeared to meet all the requirements. I glanced at Ylsan and saw him rolling with laughter. Reacting to his glee, Rioh turned and spread his mouth into a grin.

  "Take off your helmet, man. You're not a soldier like Lirrak," the tifling said through the laughter. "I'm sure he doesn't take his off even when he's with a woman, but we mages are a refined breed."

  That was the problem! In the game a helm didn't hinder eyesight, so I'd completely forgotten about it. I'd even slept with it back at the inn. And when I was trying to equip the earring into the slot, my hands were making the motions of actually putting it on in real life—a comical sight if ever there was one. Laughing along, I took off my helm and put it away into the inventory, then tried equipping the earring again.

  "Give it here," the tifling reached for the item, "you need to make a hole there." He took the accessory and deftly slid it through my left ear lobe. I felt a slight prick. What the hell? Removing my helm AND punching a hole in my ear? Both those things were new. And strange. At least I could still equip armor the old fashioned way—otherwise I'd need to travel with a full-time squire.

  "So, what about those ingredients? Will your father be interested?"

  "You bet. Come by tomorrow around dinnertime. We live in the upper city. Have you got a map? Give it, I'll mark the location."

  Chapter 5

  That same evening I felt that we were getting close to the capital. Castles and villages became more frequent, alternating with plowed fields and cultivated gardens. And the road itself was becoming much more crowded. I marveled at the extravagance of design—Medieval with a dash of magic. As the dusk gathered, we rode past a huge guard fortress and stopped near a large inn. We didn't go inside, but dined and slept right in our wagons. Ylsan explained that the inn likely didn't have space for nineteen people; besides, paying one gold per man for only six hours of sleep fifteen miles away from Nittal would be beyond foolish.

  Come morning, we had a quick breakfast and set out, aiming to make it to the city by lunch. Initially the road stretched uphill, toward a mountain upon which loomed another guard fortress—a squarish gray structure with twenty-foot-tall walls and towers on all the corners. Same as the other fortress, this one stood right on the road, blocking the way. As we were passing through the stronghold, I gazed respectfully at the thick walls and the countless vertical gates. Having undertaken the burden of being my guide, Ylsan explained that the fortress quartered roughly two hundred legionnaires, all of whom were replaced every two weeks, and that there were six such fortresses in all—two on each road leading into the city. When I retorted with the reasonable question, "Why bother with these defenses when the enemy host can attack the city via a portal?", he gave me an incredulous look, then remembered who I was and clarified that all the inner space between Nittal and the aforementioned guard fortresses was more or less protected from this type of invasion. Except perhaps for the overlord's army, which was quite capable of executing such a maneuver, but no sane demon would even entertain the thought of squabbling with him. As for the rest... Sure, technically the enemy might build a portal here, but the operation would require such tremendous reserves of power that the attacking army's mages would quickly turn into useless puppets for the battle following their emergence from the portal.

  The only thing I understood from that explanation was that any army advancing on Nittal would have to resort to the old-fashioned, sword-swinging and ladder-climbing means of capturing the fortresses.

  We pulled out of the gates and rounded a small hill, whereupon I froze in complete awe.

  The hilltop offered a spectacular view of Nittal, which sprawled a few miles below. Fields and gardens seemed to occupy every inch from here to the city. Shielded by massive white walls and mighty towers, Nittal abutted a giant river to the east. A grand citadel stood in the center of the city, built with white stone and girdled by tall walls—the last line of defense. Several more large structures struck the eye: a racetrack ringed with marble columns, and the Temple of All Gods that Ylsan had told me about in our travels, stood on either side of the citadel. The dominion's capital city had a radical layout, with the main square, shaped like an equilateral triangle, branching outward with myriad avenues.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" the tifling grinned.

  "No words," I said with total honesty, lauding mentally the design team that had toiled on Demon Grounds.

  "Our house is there," the mage pointed in the direction of the temple. "Tomorrow, dinner. Don't forget."

  "I'll be there. By the way, do you know a hotel called The Learned Troll?"

  The mage thought for a moment.

  "The Learned Troll? Wait, do you mean The Candle? That's near the trade district. Head toward the the harbor once past the gates. When you get there, ask any guard and he'll show you."

  "I will escort you there, master," said Rioh, having been relieved from his shift.

  "Mighty kind of you to volunteer!" Harn chortled from the coachbox, tugging at his mustache. "And I think I know why!"

  "Shame on you! Master Krian saved all our lives—how could I not help in return?" the young demon scowled.

  "Help all you want, just leave the money with me. Keep only a few gold, otherwise you won't come home for a week again. And your mother will nag me to death." Harn turned to me and clarified, "There's an establishment nearby called The White Lily. They provide a rather, um, specific type of service. I can see Master Ylsan knows all about it," Harn nodded at the tifling who was smiling sheepishly. "And no wonder, a young demon like him. Anyway, that's why my son is so eager to help."

  "Come on, pop, I'll be back in a jiffy, I swear," Rioh tried changing the slippery subject.

  "Best be sure that your 'jiffy' means tomorrow night at the latest. Or I will marry you off, just you watch. Now hand over the dough."

  They're pretty strict with their young, I thought to myself, watching the frowning coachman hand over his gold to his father.

  In the meantime, the caravan had reached the square city gates. There wasn't any commotion or traffic, and we entered the city without a problem. The guards on the outside—four level 200 legionnaires—followed us with indifferent eyes. Once inside, the wagons rode into a kind of settling basin to the right of the entrance. Lirrak dismounted and said something to the sergeant of the guard that walked over. Two legionnaires walked past the wagons—customs inspection. Well, inspection might be too strong a word—all that happened was that one of them kicked the wheel rim of the second wagon and suggested that the coachman replace it.

  "Go over to that desk," Ylsan said to me, "and register. It won't take long. I'll see you tomorrow," he offered me his hand.

  I shook it, then bid my goodbyes to Harn who reminded me about my promise to visit them in U
rcahnta, nodded at Rioh who promised to wait for me at the exit, and went over to the registration desk, nodding my farewells to the legionnaires and the coachmen with whom I'd spent the past four days.

  "Krian," Lirrak intercepted me on the way. "Look for me if you need anything. Go to the city guard barracks and ask for the caravanners' section. Once there, every dog knows my name. I'll be in the city for two whole weeks, then I'm back on the road. Take care now, light one," the captain smiled at me with his signature orc smile and gave my hand a hard squeeze farewell.

  The passport control office was right outside, in the shade of the customs building. A young hook-nosed demon was behind the wide desk. A mage judging by his mantle—blue with embroidered silver pattern—he sprawled in his chair, chewing lazily on something. Standing at his side was a tall and scrawny level 300 tifling with slightly diverging horns, giving me a sour look with arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked to be about forty, with a long melancholic face, dark hair combed back, and slightly pointed ears. The names of both were hidden from me—strange, I thought that only players with VIP accounts could activate that setting. Next to the tifling was the sergeant of the guard that Lirrak was speaking to not five minutes ago, reporting in hushed tones.

  "I was told to register here," I said.

  The nose moved closer to the desk, threw open the thick registration log and picked up a quill.

  "Name?" he asked in a rasping voice.

  "Krian."

  "Purpose of visit?"

  "Pleasure," I blurted out customarily. Seeing the other's bemused look, I clarified, "I'm traveling."

  The mage pushed a peculiar construction my way. It resembled an azure hemisphere, convex side up, attached to a black stone stand.

  "Put your hand on it and answer my questions."