Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) (22 page)

I jumped twenty yards to the side, and just in time, too, as huge black spikes stuck out of the monster's sides, and he started spinning in place like an urchin out of some nightmare. The hunters continued pelting the boss from a safe distance, each arrow plunging into the target with a sickening crunch, while Ylsan kept topping off Lirrak's health as he continued tanking. As for me and the other legionnaires, we simply stood by and watched. Lirrak's lizard, having taken too long to move away, was also nearby, panting and licking its side, ripped open by the spikes. Its health bar had dropped to half, but the mount would be as good as new soon enough. Finally, sprouting arrows like a porcupine, the beast collapsed on the ground, wheezing in agony.

Obviously, I didn't get any experience for the kill since I hadn't been invited to any raid. And in order to get the experience in this scenario, I would need to deal the most damage to the boss. Alas! My first real battle didn't bring me any experience or loot. But truthfully, I wasn't upset at all. In fact, I was happy to have gone through it. What did concern me slightly was the fact that I had seemed to have lost my head there for a while, succumbing to adrenaline rage. I had never experienced anything like that before.

A sudden wave of weariness came over me.
Why does everything hurt?!
I grimaced and sat on the ground. I glanced at my HP bar—it was over two thirds full. When did I manage to get hit? Swearing through my teeth, I reached for a healing potion, but Ylsan preempted me. A cool wave of freshness washed over me, lifting the pain and the fatigue. I got back up to my feet, grabbing onto the offered hand.

"Sure you're a mage, Krian?" the healer regarded me musingly, shaking his head. "You don't look like a light one either. The way you blocked the pain... Though I did read that we're not the only ones who can do that."

Blocked? Uh huh. It was my 33% to toughness, but it wasn't like I could explain it to an NPC. But it did illustrate that losing one third of your life for an extended period of time was entirely bearable. In fact, I didn't even really notice it while in combat. What was the limit, I wondered? And what would happen when that limit was reached? Would I convulse in a pain shock or simply pass out? I wasn't looking forward to it—I never was a masochist and I didn't feel like experimenting now.

"What do you mean by 'blocking the pain?'" I asked the mage. I had to say something—he was clearly expecting an answer.

"Just like a hartoga that got its paw broken. The creature isolates the paw from the rest of its nervous system while it heals. You weren't in our party, and I didn't see that you needed heals. But you fought through the pain and made it. Well done."

I didn't know what a hartoga was, but I got the gist of what he was saying. Could that be the reason why I had fought with such abandon, and not my toughness? Nah, doubtful.

I looked around. The legionnaires were chatting quietly while looting. The hunters were deftly skinning the red-eyed wolf. Those who had never witnessed such a spectacle would never understand why it nearly turned me inside out. An animal carcass being worked by men with knives and elbows deep in blood! Like proper residents of the Medieval Times: caught, killed, and skinned. We weren't expected to eat the wolf meat, were we? At least worgen couldn't be skinned, otherwise I would surely lose my dinner. And there was another weird thing: relieving oneself wasn't allowed, but puking—sure, knock yourself out. I thanked the mage and started toward my wagon, away from the hunters and their wretched smells. I slipped on somebody's entrails, and nearly retched for the umpteenth time. I pulled out my flask and took a hearty swig. Phew, much better...

Upon making it to the wagon, I shoved the dead half-wolf out and retook my former spot, trying to avoid the blood on the floor that had nearly dried. Thankfully, there weren't any mirrors around—I could only imagine what I looked like. No matter, the clothes and the armor would self-clean in eight hours.

That particular feature I'd learned from experience, after accidentally spilling wine on my shirt sleeve on the first day of our journey. By morning the stain was gone, and the shirt was as good as new. This must have been somehow connected to the vanishing of discarded items. At some point, this principle had been introduced to keep the littering in the game in check.

The coachmen came back ten minutes later, engaged in a lively discussion. If their task had to be done in the real world, it probably would have taken them half the day. But they made for quite a sight just the same.

"Where else am I going to earn twenty gold for half an hour's work?" Rioh bent over the worgen carcass I had thrown out of the wagon. "Another silver!" he tossed the coin and caught it.

"You're still young," Harn wiped his hands—still stained with the pack leader's blood—on his pants and looked around for his whip. "It was a miracle they didn't rip us apart. Who needs gold when your guts are spilling out of you?" Having finally found his whip, he shouted at the yaks to move back, giving some room to the anterior wagon.

"Why do you need this one's hide?" I pointed at the skinned carcass.

"It will sell for about fifty coins—either to some merchant or to Master Rius, one of the court's mages. Whether they turn it into a scarecrow or whatever, I don't know, and it's none of our business really. But they will pay for it."

Obeying Lirrak's command, Harn guided the wagon to the middle of the road.

The caravan's commander pulled up to us on his two-legged croc and handed me some gold.

"Twenty one coins," he said to me, "your share of the loot. Thanks for your help."

I nodded and accepted the money. I couldn't well refuse the first gold I'd actually earned, now could I?!

"What is that structure we're heading to?"

"An inn, by the looks of it. The kind that's often placed along roads. We'll know for sure when we get closer," he said and set his lizard toward the head wagon.

We were joined by one of the legionnaires—the one whose horse ended up being torn to pieces.

"Ser, how much do you get paid per service contract?" Rioh asked him without preamble.

"My name is Zaran," he smacked the boy on the shoulder. "One silver per day when on the road, and twenty five copper in between assignments. All in all, almost two gold per month. Plus your fair share of the loot. How much did you and your father make today? Thought so!" he smiled.

"Moving out!" Lirrak shouted, and the wagons began picking up speed, moaning and groaning their way toward the solitary structure ahead.

"What are you thinking, son?" Harn asked sternly, without turning around.

"Come on, pop, how much did we make all of last year? Especially with all the undead crawling around the village lately?"

"And when some beast separates your head from your body, how will all that gold help you?"

"I've been with Lirrak for fifteen years, and we've never come across anything like today," the legionnaire stepped in for the boy. "Our squad hasn't lost a man in all those years. The guy you're replacing has moved out west to his family. He now works as Prince Shiren's steward."

"Let him explain that to his mother," Harn waved dismissively at his son and turned around.

It took us an hour to roll up to the structure, fenced off by a ten-foot-tall palisade. The scouts returned to report that the inn was empty, and the caravan began to slowly pull into the gate, the doors of which were lying on the ground nearby. I hopped off the cart while the soldiers and coachmen unsaddled the horses and yaks, hanging bags of grain to their muzzles. Behind the palisade was a spacious stables, two wells and a smithy some fifty feet away from the main buildings, evidently for fire safety considerations. A moat ran along the perimeter, filled with stagnant water and overgrown with reddish-brown seaweed. Standing on the inside of the wall were several wooden dais for archers. The main building was growing decrepit, its size roughly that of Kort's inn.

"Where did all this come from?" I asked the mage as he examined carefully one of the gate's doors.

"Ask me something easier," he shrugged. "It's my first time in a rift."

"What's this?" Lirrak walked up to us, having dismounted his lizard.

"Not clear. The doors are intact, but someone was clearly trying to break in," the mage motioned at the deep furrows in the wood. "And it wasn't our friend either," he added, evidently alluding to the slain pack leader, "but someone larger. I can't tell when it happened, there's a strange magical veil here," he cocked his head and looked at me. I shrugged, sensing no magic whatsoever. Isolated threads of power here and there, but no more. "The gate wasn't broken, but restoring it is going to be tough. See, the doors are all crooked, and the bindings have been removed," he finished.

"We're not going to bother with that. We've got enough people to hold out, if need be," the commander dismissed the idea. "We'll sleep in the main hall; I doubt there's going to be any more trouble."

The front door screeched, and I followed Ylsan inside. My throat began to tickle almost instantly from the raised billows of dust. The mage swore softly and uttered something, and the dust clouds were instantly blown out the window by a gust of wind. It was now possible to breathe.

I looked around the place. It was completely deserted, with rickety and seemingly worthless furnishings. Several tables overturned, the staircase to the second floor crumbling, the bar of light brown wood stained with something black. Hanging lopsidedly off a single nail on the wall was a rural painting.

True to the scouts' report, the place was empty of anyone living. And of anyone dead, thankfully. The legionnaires that had gotten here before us were hastily dragging the tables and staircase debris to the corners of the hall. One of the coachmen was starting up the fireplace with all the scattered fragments.

"Zaran, Ghejt, check upstairs. Ylsan, cover them, just in case," Lirrak was the last to come inside. "You," he stuck a finger at the coachmen, "board up the windows."

"There's a basement here," a soldier appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, gesturing behind him.

"Let's check it out," the commander nodded.

I still couldn't shake the foul taste of dust in my mouth. Feeling completely useless, I skirted Zaran as he aimed to hook a rope to the ceiling, and moved deeper into the dining hall. Everything seemed to be fine, except for the strange almond-like smell that stirred a feeling of unease.

Oddly enough, nobody was rushing to sleep. The soldiers were spreading their beddings on the floor without any fuss. Back from the cellar with a small keg of something, Lirrak assigned night shifts and announced dinner. Ylsan appeared upstairs and, avoiding the hassle of climbing down the rope, simply teleported and reported that the second floor was all clear.

"What's in the cellar?" he asked the commander.

"Empty. A few split-open kegs and a pile of rotten vegetables. This," the demon patted on the keg he was carrying, "is all that's left."

"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.