Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) (19 page)

An unbearable pain shot through my entire body; the world in my eyes turned bloody red, as I was knocked ten feet back. My body spun in midair, and the landing knocked the wind out of me as I slid five-six feet through the road dust. Glancing at my HP bar, I automatically used a healing potion and rose back to my feet through the pain. It was all over. Bound with invisible rope, the karriga filled the vicinity with an odious howl, echoed by all the local fauna.

"You all right?" Kort asked me as I walked up to the demons, having removed my helm and spitting out the dust that had filled my mouth entirely. The damned beast still wouldn't stop wailing. "Shut it up, will you?" he yelled to Alsuil, then swung and rammed his steel boot into the revolting mouth cavity. There was a crack in its teeth, and the creature choked on bloody froth, with its health bar dropping by about 10%.

"I'm fine," I said, thinking that it if weren't for his wife's sandwich, I would have been knocked unconscious for sure. A single blow—and one blocked by the shield besides—had still brought me down past 30% HP.

At last, the mage cast some spell over the karriga that shut it up—Silence, evidently. Its mouth with broken teeth still gaping, the beast looked like a beached fish.

"Thank you, friend," the demon patted me on the shoulder. "Here's something to remember us by, Treis sewed it herself." He handed me a bundle.

You've completed the quest: Trap for a Karriga II.
             

You have gained a level! Current level: 69.

You have 1 talent 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.

You have gained a level! Current level: 70.

You have 2 stat 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 received: Kort's Cloak.

I unfolded the cloak—brown with a beige pattern embroidered along the edges—ran my palm along the soft fabric and equipped it immediately.

Kort's Cloak.

Cloth. Durability: 450/450.

Rare item.

Minimum level to equip: 70.

Armor: 80.

+70 to agility.

+30 to constitution.

Weight: 5 lbs.

"Thank you, Kort. You've been spoiling me with presents," I grinned in return. "And what about this one? I thought it was supposed to die," I nodded at the karriga that the legionnaires were simply wrapping up in runecloth.

"Oh, it will definitely die," the innkeeper frowned. "But its death will be as long and agonizing as can be. Let the people that had perished by the fiend's hand delight in the Ashen Lands. You come come and watch, if you like."

"No, thanks," I shook my head. "I'm sure you will do what needs to be done. I've got to hit the road tomorrow, so I should get some rest."

"Agreed," Kort nodded. "See you in the morning, then. And thanks again."

I shook the demon's hand, bid farewell to everyone and started toward the inn. I was thinking that a hero of good alignment might have said something about torture being inherently bad, and that even a despicable monster's death ought to be humane. Evidently, I wasn't your typical hero, 'cause if need be I would grab a pair of tongs myself and readily go to town on a beast that was feasting on the lives of women and children, and squeal with delight as I ripped the bastard to shreds. Perhaps it was the effect of recent developments, or maybe I was gradually becoming more and more like a proper demon.

"When you get to Nittal, go see Gerid first. After that, feel free to decide your next move," Kort reminded me for the umpteenth time.

"Don't worry, I remember. I'll visit your former colleague, if only 'cause I don't know anyone else. At least he can offer a place to stay the night, and perhaps some advice."

"And don't forget to eat. Kort told me about your flying down the road," Treis butted in. "You mages ought to eat more."

"For sure. Next time you see me, you won't recognize me—I'll be like that merchant over there," I gestured over at the corpulent trader who was presently overseeing his people—whether guards or workers—loading crates into one of the wagons.

The total weight of provisions that Treis had loaded me with despite my pitiable protests exceeded seventy pounds. It was a good thing food didn't spoil, because the supplies would last at least a month.

"We move out in one minute!" shouted Lirrak, the caravan's leader, drowning out all other noise.

"Well, you take care now," Kort gave me a tight squeeze goodbye. "And don't forget your promise."

"As soon as I learn how to make portals, I'll be right back here," I smiled.

Treis pecked me on the cheek, then wrapped her arms around her husband and looked up at him.

"Oh, and we've got a name for our firstborn," she smiled at me. "So you had better come visit your namesake."

They say that one ought to leave without turning around, but as I sat there in the wagon of the moving caravan, I found myself unable to tear a wistful gaze away from the diminishing Lamorna.

Chapter 4

In my past life I liked taking road trips, especially around America. Don't get me wrong, I still loved my homeland, but after the hell that was Moscow traffic, San Francisco felt like automotive paradise. In the very first days here I'd experienced a profound shock. It was as if someone had waved a magic wand, removing all the intersections, traffic lights and potholes, allowing millions of vehicles to move at a high speed, taking their drivers wherever they needed to go and without getting in anyone else's way.

And so I often took advantage of my weekends, tossing my road bag into the trunk, picking up this dame or that, and hitting the open road toward a destination I hadn't yet been to, spending nights in roadside motels. Traveling was always fun, but the sweetest road was always the one leading me home.
When you've got a home to go back to,
I thought gloomily, looking out on the boundless forest-steppe connecting one horizon line to another. My mood somber, I fished a flask out of my inventory, took a sip and grimaced. I shifted on the poor excuse for a bench I was sitting on and continued examining my surroundings. The local swill tasted kind of like tequila, only it wasn't clear what it was made from since I'd yet to see any cacti around.

The injection of alcohol did its job, and my mood began to even out. The so-called caravan had been trudging along through the lands of the dominion's central province for three days now. We had reached its border five hours after departing from Lamorna, and the mighty yaks continued drawing the half-empty wagons at a pace of roughly forty miles per day. If this were happening in the real world, I doubted we would have traversed even a third of that distance.

Everything was different here. The animals didn't get tired, the wagons didn't break down, and the road was practically flat. I was also happy to see the zone levels decreasing as we kept moving. According my calculations, by the time we reached Nittal I should be in a zone more suitable for my development.

Caravan routes in Arkon had been introduced to help players explore new territories. Independently, a player could travel only from his starting city to the starting city of a friendly race; furthermore, a player could create a portal only to a location he'd been to before. Therefore, to travel quickly between locations a player had to either be able to create portals to a location he'd personally visited, or be grouped with someone who met these requirements.

The game also had a tremendous amount of quests from various NPCs that forced you to explore these new locations to complete said quests.

The remaining modes of transportation were either your own two feet or a mount, which was a luxury few could afford.

And so caravans were introduced that connected the capital cities of every race to capital cities of territorial factions, moving along routes according to a set schedule. The player needed only to pay for passage and be logged in for five hours a day—that was how long the journey took.

Lirrak's caravan had three open wagons, with tents that were pulled over them only in the event of rain. Guarding all this goodness were ten armed demons on horseback, their average level around 210. There were also two coachmen per wagon, which turned into ranged fighters in the event of danger.

Also traveling with the caravan was a mage by the name Dar Ylsan—a wiry demon with fine symmetrical features in a blue robe. His long, pitch-black hair was styled in a pony tail; his horns, matching the hair in color, bore silvery glyphs. Oh, and he also had a tail! Roughly three feet long and dark gray in color, ending in a bone wart shaped like an irregular triangle.

"Never seen a tifling before, light one?" he asked me during a rest stop, noticing my incredulous look.

"No, Dar Ylsan, I'm new here," I said, getting ready to tell the fable of my appearance in Alcmehn.

"No need for titles, we're all equal here. Just Ylsan is fine.

As our ensuing conversation showed, the mage was of noble extraction, or a "tifling." The title "Dar" was roughly the same as a knight in the Middle Ages—the lowest title of nobility, either hereditary or awarded by the powers that be for certain achievements. As I gathered, Ylsan wasn't his family's firstborn, which meant inheritance wasn't in the cards. For this reason, he'd decided to pursue a military career. And caravans in Arkon were considered military detachments, a type of mobile troop.

A tail on a demon designated nobility. Like a third hand, it turned into a powerful weapon when activated in combat mode. To be frank, I still wasn't sure how exactly one acquired a tail when ordained into this higher social class, but I decided not to lose sleep over it—the game's administration moved in mysterious ways. Ylsan was second in command in the caravan after Lirrak as a level 225 healing specialist.

This morning all passengers except me disembarked near a small town where, as I'd gathered, a local fair was starting. No one else boarded, so I was left without any traveling companions. I gazed upon the scenery, languishing with boredom.

Immersed in my own thoughts, I cast another glance at the coachmen, engaged in their own conversation, and suddenly realized that I had absolutely no plan. Sure, it was great that I had Kort's letter to his old mate, but the latter was probably too out of the loop at this point to advise anything useful. I needed a plan of action: what to do, and in what order?

Above all else, I had to find my sister and Max—the two closest people I had who were currently with the dark elves somewhere. I had no doubt that Max was already in the game—for as long as I'd known him, he was never the type to throw words to the wind. But I was in Demon Grounds while they were in Karn, and dark elves were hostile to me. I just hoped that Alyona and Max were relatively safe.

It was stupid of us to not have arranged some sort of communication. We could have sent messages to one another through a third party, someone like my aunt. But I'd been in too much of a shock when speaking with Max and didn't think of it; for his part, Max was probably a nervous wreck, anxious about migrating into the game. I could only imagine what he felt after seeing what had happened to my sister. Knowing Max, he probably didn't sleep all night, agonizing over the decision, and when it was finally made, his thoughts were focused solely on the execution. I sighed heavily. I must've dialed my aunt a dozen times, but her number never answered. Knowing her religiosity, she could have turned it off for fear of someone calling her "from the other side," God forbid. Well, I would keep trying to reach her. I bet that Max had already realized our shared mistake, and was also trying to get in touch with her.

I gazed pensively at a herd of antelope-like creatures grazing some twenty yards off the road, and took another sip from my flask.
Enough of that
, I reprimanded myself,
booze doesn't help the thinking process.

Meanwhile, the road had wound in the direction of a narrow passage between two small hills that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. On Lirrak's order, two horsemen separated from the caravan to scout ahead. I couldn't imagine what might threaten a dozen and a half level 200+ humanoids in a level 120ish zone, but what business was it of mine? They could all go scouting for all I cared!

Now, where was I? Oh yes, the first step to finding my people was getting out of here; secondly, I had to raise my reputation with the dark elves. By the time I found a way out, humans would probably already map a route to Ellorian, and I could simply use a portal to get there. Wait, why did I automatically assume that I would end up in human territory? Not that it mattered now anyway—finding a way came first, everything else after.

Then there was Cheney. That scumbag was going to pay for all the pain, fear and indignities I'd suffered. Someone once said that hatred and desire for vengeance were bad qualities, and he who planned revenge should dig two graves instead of one, but this wasn't true in my case. These feelings sustained me through all the hardships. I was going to find that son of a bitch and destroy him, whatever it took. And yes, I was aware how ridiculous these thoughts were in my current situation. But I had lots of time at my disposal, and a great desire driving me. What did I know? Somewhere in Arkon there was a zone that was somehow isolated from RP-17. I had designed the zone myself, and I had an approximate idea where it could be, give or take five hundred miles or so. But I knew nothing of the methods used to isolate it, nor of what awaited me there.