Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) (20 page)

Let's assume that Cheney and his crew set themselves up to no less than level 300. They also had at their disposal a huge citadel and I could only guess how many guards. I knew the weak points of the stronghold, having drawn it myself; after all, the citadel was designed to be more decorative than anything. Yes, there was a chance it might have been beefed up in light of the latest changes, but there were still holes that simply couldn't be patched. In short, I needed to find a way to get to Karn, locate this zone, and gather enough allies to help me resolve this problem. It all sounded surreal from here, but even an epic journey across a thousand leagues begins with the first step. And I had already taken the first step by surviving, which meant I was strong enough to see it through to the end.

Lastly, there was the archmage's quest, which might also be my ticket off Demon Grounds and into human lands. I doubted that a hundred Foxes and mages would want to remain here forever. The problem was, I didn't know where to look for the castle the vault of which held all those people in a state of magical anabiosis. All I knew was that it was somewhere nearby, and that two hundred and eighty years had passed since those events.

There must be some records or chronicles—some kind of evidence with clues. The simplest way was probably to show up before the overlord and ask. I even cracked a smile at the thought, to which Rioh—the younger of the two coachmen—responded with a suspicious glance in my direction. I didn't blame him—it was three days now with the peculiar taciturn fellow who had been hitting the flask pretty heavily, and had now suddenly started smiling.

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-for-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.