Survival Quest (The Way of the Shaman: Book #1) (5 page)

Wake-up call?

Chapter 3

The Pryke Mine. Day one

"T
OO-OO-OO! BAM!

I sprang from the bed, looking around in a panic: what, who, where, how? A fire! I have to run! My ears were ringing from the horn that came out of nowhere and my feet were giving way under me. All I knew was that I had to do something to save myself and so started to dart around the bed. Strange, my brain seemed to be working fine, but my body was moving all of its own accord. So that's what Panic is like! Even my eyes were failing me. The other prisoners continued to dress themselves calmly, seemingly oblivious to this terrible ringing.

"Sit down, close your eyes and try to relax. It will pass," I heard a voice next to me say. "They probably forgot to warn you about our alarm clock. It only affects the newcomers. Once you learn to wake up at the right time, you'll stop hearing it. For now try to calm down - the more agitated you are the worse you'll feel."

'So here they are - the undocumented details of my imprisonment! No need to mention them; leave a surprise for the prisoners instead,' I thought angrily, then sat on the bed, closed my eyes and tried to relax. I didn't make a good job of it — I was still very tense, my head was splitting and the ringing in my ears could rival a bell tower in volume.

'I need to distract myself in order to relax,' I thought. This means I have to force my brain to work. What was the first thing I needed to do? I had to create a plan of action for the next day, week and year. So then, if any planning is to be done, it should be serious and long-term.

Let's think. Today I will need:

1.                 
   To get acquainted with the local customs and people.
   
2.                
   To determine my capabilities as a Shaman.
   
3.                
   To be certain to achieve the daily quota.
   
4.                
   Optional: try to exceed the daily quota even a little and assess money-earning possibilities.
   

I think that’s enough for today. Next comes the plan for the week:

1.                 
   Evaluate the prospects of improving my capabilities and understand how quickly these will develop.
   
2.                
   Find a change for my striped clothing.
   
3.                
   Earn 20 silver coins in order to unlock the Jewelcraft trade.
   

Then there is the plan for the year. This is simple:

1.                 
   Survive and don’t go crazy.
   
2.                
   Find a Precious Stone.
   
3.                
   Optional: leave the mine for the main gameworld.
   

Having made a plan of action for the near future and put my thoughts in order, I opened my eyes and saw another prisoner sitting on the bed next to mine and looking at me intently. The human — and it was definitely a human or I understood nothing of races — had a remarkable resemblance to a dwarf: he wasn't tall, was of a stocky build and had bright, penetrating eyes. And, as I noted to myself again, there was no aggression in these eyes. There was an interest, some sympathy — anything but aggression.

'Something is wrong with the prisoners here,’ I thought to myself, ‘Maybe they're digging up the wrong sort of ore.'

"Have you recovered?" he asked and from his voice I understood that he was the one that helped me deal with the local alarm clock. "Get dressed, we should go and get the food." You won't be much of a worker if you don't eat. And take your pick and bag too, you'll not be back here until the evening.”

"Th-thank you, Kartalonius," I said with some effort as I read the man's name, which was glowing faintly above the player. I quickly dressed in a clean robe (it seems imprisonment had at least some advantages - the clothes cleaned themselves; nice!), grabbed the pick and followed after Kartalonius.

"Just call me Kart," he laughed, looking back and slowing to my pace. "A bit of a chore to say this tongue-twister every time, so Kart will do. I've gotten used to it now — after all, it's my eleventh year here... And I still have four more to go..." he added sadly, after a brief pause. "Well then, let's not dwell on the negatives... We'll have to live side by side, so let's get off on the right foot from the start. You're not too excitable, I hope? You were racing around the bed so much first thing this morning you'd think you've been hitting your feet repeatedly with your pick. You were screaming too: 'Fire! Save yourselves!'"

I felt my face begin to color involuntarily. Had I actually been screaming too? From outside, my darting around must have looked stupid. With a heartfelt curse at the smart asses who thought up such a wake-up call, I had a look at Kart. So the "little guy" was far from simple. You don't get fifteen years for nothing — you would have had to try really hard to be given that.

"You shouldn't worry so much," smiled Kart, seeing my reaction. "This is a unique mine, where they don't send just anyone. Here we mostly have fraudsters and embezzlers, we even have one kidnapper. But we have no violent sorts here. At least - so far. Did the governor tell you what happens when you break the rules?"

I shook my head, ticking 'the NPCs in the mine are real bastards' box in my mind.

"The rule is quite simple." As soon as you cause anyone intentional damage, irrespective of what you use - a hand, a pick or a stone, your Energy quickly falls to zero and you hit the floor, totally drained. At zero Energy you lose 1 Hit Point every 5 seconds, all this while no Energy regeneration takes place. So if you are not immediately given some water to drink, in a couple of minutes - you're dead. And I can tell you right away - death is a very unpleasant experience, especially since on death you lose all the skill levels that you managed to acquire. So this is what's special about our mine. For many residents this is worse than death, because crafting at a low level of skill is a tedious undertaking. Also levelling up costs quite a lot."

Crafting? What's he on about?

"It’s just as well this is the case. I myself stick to the rule that if no-one bothers me, I don't bother anyone. But tell me, why I haven't met a single hostile gaze at the mine so far?" I asked, pointing to a gnome who walked past us and cheerfully winked at Kart. "You get the feeling that the people here are not criminals, but ordinary workers, who have been hired to do a job and soon would be going home to sit in a comfy sofa, take out some cold beer and... Blast! Daydreaming aloud here. But in any case, things don't normally work this way! This might be virtual reality, but the people here are real and every last one of them a criminal, and they look at you like dancers at a ball — with interest, almost enthusiasm. I've not seen such looks in real life, while this is prison, whichever way you look at it. So, what's the secret?"

"Well done, got to the heart of things right away!" noted Kart, standing at the end of a queue, lining up for the food.

"Look here, this is Altarionus, or simply Alt," he slapped the man in front of us on the shoulder. "Hi, Alt, have you managed to buy some green paint for the canvas?"

Despite such an unceremonious greeting, Alt turned around and instead of starting an argument smiled in greeting.

"Oh, hi Kart! No, I haven't bought it yet. The darn thing costs almost five gold, but I have just over three. Here, you can work as hard as you like, but you won’t earn more than ten silver coins in a day. So the governor will only get his new painting in a couple of weeks. Hells, my hands are already itching to complete it. I'll be climbing the walls if I don't finish the work soon! And I tried to approach Rine this way and that — tried to get him to gift it to me or give me a discount, to appeal to his softer side by saying that I only have ten percent to go to level five Artist, but the dwarf is stubborn. It's true when they say: it’s easier to bargain with a wall than a dwarf. And you, young man, what is your profession?"

And then it finally hit me. The luxurious interiors of the administration office, the absence of hostile looks from other prisoners (creative people cannot look at others like that) and Kart's words that "this is a unique mine, where they don't send just anyone": I had ended up in a mine for master craftsmen: those who were given a profession when their sentence was passed. This is why it's so quiet here and why Kart is quite friendly with me and why Alt is readily talkative. If you've spent the past ten years in creative crafting work, you'll lose your negative attitude sooner or later. So you get some sort of a zone for prisoner rehabilitation and re-education instead of a mine. What a place to land in!

"I'm a Jeweler," I muttered, somewhat at a loss, now seeing other prisoners in a different light. The mine contained about a couple of hundred living souls - humans, gnomes, dwarves and even one orc. As Rine said, there were Sculptors, Glaziers and even a Woodcutter here. The Woodcutter was most probably the orc that stood not far down in the queue and was turning around some piece of wood in his hands.

"Oh! You have quite a rare profession!" Kart exclaimed enthusiastically. "We've not had any Jewelers in my time here! A piece of advice for you, lad (and don't look at me so suspiciously, I won’t give you any bad advice): pull yourself up by your bootstraps, forget tiredness and exceed your quota. Your aim is to earn money and unlock your main profession. And when you level up in that profession then... But no, I'll not tell you – you’ll see for yourself. By the way, the more you make of something, the more money you get, and more money means an easier life here. Ain't that true, Alt?"

Alt nodded in agreement.

"And what are you? What’s your specialization?" I asked Kart, already figuring him for a Sculptor.

To my surprise Kart remained silent and grew gloomy, then turned away altogether and started to examine some distant mountain top in the distance.

"Did he spot a dragon there suddenly? Or did I ask an unpleasant question?"

"Our law-enforcers played a cruel trick on Kart. His profession is even more rare than yours; he's an Informant," Alt replied for him. "Kart didn't tell you, but I will. You see, the higher the level of the main profession, the more we get — how shall I put it? — pleasure, if you like. Satisfaction. This is why everyone at the mine tries to level up. Everyone except for Kart. In order to level up he has to inform on us to the camp governor. If you take into account that in ten years of imprisonment Kart's level of Informer is still zero, you can see how often he engages in that activity. When you increase your Jewelcraft at least to level 1, you'll understand what he's been deprived of."

"I'm sorry Kart, I didn't know," I mumbled, somewhat lost.

"That's all right, I'm used to it now. But then I'm level eighteen in Chattiness: there is such a stat, would you believe it. That's what keeps me going. By the way, from our talking today, I increased it by 0.5 percent, and we didn't even talk properly yet. So in the near future, you'll find it hard to get rid of me."

Now I got the reason for Kart's interest in me. And I had been so naive and thought that it was all pure goodness and mutual help. Far from it — it's all totally mercenary, give and take relations.

As we talked we didn't notice how the queue arrived at the place where food was handed out. I failed to see it yesterday, located as it was right behind the smithy, by one of the entries to the mine. And the food place could hardly be called a place; all it contained was a meter-high vat standing on the ground, from which one of the guards was ladling food out to the prisoners. That's all there was to the "place". No fires, tents, shelters or anything else. Clean plates were lying in a large pile right on the ground in front of the cauldron and the prisoners took one and came up for their portion. Spoons were attached to each plate by a string. Like a child's rattle of some sort. And where did the dirty dishes go? There was no collection point in sight. All right, I'll see what Kart would do with his and copy him.

When I was given my plate of food, my first thought upon seeing it was 'No way will I be eating THIS. Not going to happen.' You just could not call what the overseer handed me 'food' under any circumstances. It was a muddy homogeneous mass of pale-green color, with bubbles slowly floating to the surface. Although the food looked liquid, it did not flow, but froze in an ugly mass on the plate. It was a good thing that it completely lacked any smell, or I would have thrown up there and then.

"Take it and shove off," said the overseer with a smirk, seeing my long face. "It's no resort here: you eat the porridge or starve to death. Well?" he thrust the plate at me once again.

I took it, walked away and glanced back. To my surprise the prisoners were all calmly eating it, taking no notice of the appearance of the food. 'Either they've gotten used to this out of hopelessness or I simply don't get it,' I thought, perplexed. So that's what choice is like — to lock your sense of revulsion into some distant corner and eat THIS, or enjoy the unforgettable pleasure of your own stomach eating itself. Those developers were some bastards!

The strange thing was: when I played as a Hunter I never noticed that the character started to feel bad without food. If you didn't eat for a long time, you gradually became sluggish, less mobile, you gain experience more slowly, but there were no catastrophic consequences. And not even in my worst nightmare could I imagine the stomach digesting itself. Another undocumented feature of imprisonment? Or do normal players play under simplified settings, while here you end up with extreme version of hardcore? Or perhaps everything I've been told was a bluff and nothing will happen to me? My head started to ache from this avalanche of thoughts. Now I had the chance to regret not checking out this detail when I was preparing for imprisonment.