***
"Can you hear me? What's wrong with you?" Master Prant kept asking me in distress.
I was standing, gripping the tabletop, my breath short and shallow. It took me several seconds to realize the vision was over. No more plague carriers, no more Agents of Death. What have I done to deserve this… I sighed mentally, then said to Prant:
"I'm all right, master. Just got dizzy for a bit, is all."
"You need a medic, young man," the demon shook his head. "You were standing there with your eyes closed for a good five minutes. I didn't know what to do with you."
"At least it wasn't a few hours," I chuckled. "I will definitely take your advice. But for now, I must take my leave." I nodded goodbye to him. Then, lurching slightly, I left the premises.
I was sitting in the shade of a small tree by the pond, next to the library, gazing at the calm water and gradually recovering my senses. The clock was showing close to noon; there was a ton of time till dinner at Ylsan's, so I wasn't in any hurry. In essence, I already knew what needed to be done, but I didn't want to change my plans. New information certainly wouldn't hurt, nor a chat with the healer's father.
So, what did I find out? That Craedia was a barbarian princedom spanning two provinces, and that it was cursed by Ahriman. Some answers, but a boatload more questions as well.
First of all, barbarians weren't supposed to have princedoms; they lived in clans or tribes. That much I knew, and I didn't feel like looking up barbarian culture on wiki. Could Prant have been wrong? No, NPCs couldn't err—if he didn't know the answer, he would have simply kept quiet. Fine, let's just accept it as a given that barbarians had decided to found a princedom—what the hell did I care?
Secondly, why would Ahriman bother cursing a fairly large territory like that? I had no doubt that he was capable of it—after all, he was on par with gods here—but what was the point? He'd already driven out the light army, so why curse the land? Even if he had somehow learned that the light forces were hiding somewhere, it still didn't make sense since the curse wouldn't affect them. Maybe the reason had to do with the actions of the local lord whom the Foxes and Altus' mages had put to rest? There was something about the renounced and cursed gods… The second version seemed more probable, but it didn't really matter—I wouldn't know anything anyway until I got to the archives. Unless Ylsan's father had something to say on the matter.
Thirdly, I now knew the cause of the explosion and fire in the west wing, and the journey through those two floors was shaping up to be rather interesting. I wasn't worried about encountering anything truly scary—according to Prant, the area had already been cleared by mages when extracting the equipment. I was close to the ruined section of the palace, and had the time to at least walk over and sneak a peek.
It took me about ten minutes to get there. I'd passed a small lovely park with a fountain and several sculptural formations, rounded the barracks and ended up in the desired place. There wasn't anyone around save for a few gardeners a hundred yards away cutting the lawns. I didn't see any desolation around me, but only a long one-story extension with a solitary door. Even to the untrained eye it was obvious that this structure used to be at least several stories higher—it was simply too much of an eye sore amid the general architectural style.
I stopped near a large metal door leading to a level 80-85 instance, and sighed mentally—getting answers in the near future wasn't in the cards. Maybe there were games out there where a character could solo a dungeon ten levels above their level, but I sure as hell didn't know any. Considering that mobs in instances were roughly twice stronger than regular ones and usually came in packs of three to five, I'd need to be at least 100 before attempting this venture, and even that was optimistic. What was it Gerid had said? Small stuff: mice, rats, pups and the like… Maybe he didn't need to worry, but me… I shivered at the mental image of a level 85 mouse, then shrugged and, with a sigh of disappointment, set out to look for the healer's house.
In order to find the residence of my demon acquaintance, I had to skirt the entire territory of the Temple of All Gods. Passing by those white brick walls I realized it wouldn't hurt to have a peek inside the actual temple. In a world where gods were a real force, visiting a place in which you could address such a force directly could certainly prove useful. Besides, I'd already managed to gain the favor of one goddess. It was settled, then—after visiting Ylsan I would return to the temple and donate some money to Setara. What if something might come my way eventually as a result?
Once past the temple enclosure, I was finally on the right street. The large three-story house of the healer's family stood deep in the garden, barely visible from the main street. I pushed the creaking gate and proceeded along a narrow gravel road. Everything around me spoke of a woman's touch: the neatly pruned lilac bushes, the beds of daffodils and tulips set elegantly atop decorative stone, the small pool on the lawn, and the marble statue of a woman with a pitcher peeking through the fruit trees.
An elderly demoness in a white apron opened the door.
"You must be Krian. Young master said you were coming," she squinted at me nearsightedly. When I nodded affirmatively, she stood aside to let me through. "I'm going to call him. Please wait here," she gestured at the leather sofa just past the front door.
I thanked the woman, took a seat and waited, examining the fantastical potted plants.
"You're Krian?" a young girl stood on the steps of the staircase to the second floor, holding the rail. She wore a dress of pale pink, with a matching ribbon adorning the tip of her tail.
"I am, my lady," I rose from the couch and bowed my head slightly in a greeting.
The girl ran down the stairs and walked right up to me. She curtsied, then blatantly sized me down. She couldn't have been older than fourteen years of age, and her eyes burned with curiosity.
"I'm Velda, Raey's sister. And what's a 'lady'? Is that how you address women where you come from? Will you tell me what life is like up there?""
"Raey?" I echoed.
"Yes, Raey Dar Ylsan, my brother. Thank you for saving him, by the way."
"Got it," I smiled. "You're right, 'my lady' is the proper way to address a woman. And life up there is pretty similar to here, actually."
"Don't embarrass our guest, Velda," came a soft voice that belonged to a demoness around forty, wearing a house dress of dyed linen. Ylsan was standing right behind her, smiling.
"Daressa Ylsan," she introduced herself, extending her hand. "As you've probably realized, I am the mother of this young man, and I am very grateful to you for his safe return."
"Don't mention it, really," I was feeling awkward.
"Do you have children, Krian?"
"No," I said, and thought somberly that I probably would never have them. Then again, who knew with RP-17? Perhaps it had or would eventually manage to implement even this function…
"When you get them, you'll understand," she smiled. "My husband will be here in time for dinner. The table will be set in half an hour, so don't be late. Children, won't you show our guest the garden?" She gave her daughter a stern look for some reason, nodded at me and took her leave.
"Come," the mage beckoned me. He wore a pair of black silk pants and an orange tunic untucked.
"So, your name is Raey?" I asked him when we stepped outside.
"Uh huh," he grunted. "But out in the field I've gotten used to being called by my surname. If this grass here doesn't interest you," he motioned toward the flowerbeds, "let's go straight to the gazebo instead."
"I'll tell mom you called her flowers 'grass,'" Velda wagged her finger menacingly at her brother.
"I'm not scared," said the mage, then added, pointing at his sister. "Velda is on vacation, and she's working hard to help mother cultivate a wide variety of the local flora. Naturally, I'm using the words 'working hard' rather loosely, but mother is of the opinion that cultivating flowers is a suitable hobby for a young woman."
"Please, like you've never plan
ted flowers yourself!" Velda countered sardonically, sticking her tongue out at her brother.
"There was a time," Raey didn't argue.
"Krian, what is a skhiarta like?" asked the tiflingess as soon as we sat down on the benches inside a gazebo amid a small grove of fruit trees.
"Yes, tell us," her brother echoed. "I only saw what was left of it after the fact."
"A young woman in dark clothes," I confided. "She floated in the air with her arms spread wide. I thought it was all a dream at first."
"The corpse didn't look very much like a woman," the mage frowned.
"It became that way after several of its larvae had died."
"Fascinating," the girl whispered in awe. "A monster from the Gray Frontier…"
"Her brother was nearly eaten alive, and she's fascinated," the tifling snorted.
"But he wasn't," his sister parried, matching his tone.
"Listen, Raey, where can you buy a suit of armor around here? I'm due to outgrow this one soon."
"At least you removed the helm," he smiled, remembering the comical sight of me trying to equip his gift earring. "For armor, your best bet is Krayon. You must order in advance, but you won't find a better master in the entire city," said the mage. "He also doesn't accept orders from just anyone, but it doesn't hurt to try. Give me your map, I'll mark down his shop. I'd go with you," the tifling sighed, marking the right location, "but I've got important business out of town. I'm leaving tonight, for a week."
"Important business by the name Itala," Velda outed her brother, then winked at me. "Business with pretty brown eyes and long chestnut hair."
"You traitor!" exclaimed the indignant mage, glowering at his sister as she blinked her innocence.
I couldn't hold back and burst out laughing, and was joined by the brother and sister moments later.
Kyle Dar Ylsan looked nothing like the obsessed alchemist I had pictured before meeting him. Broad-shouldered and long of hair, the tifling wore an austere dark blue camisole and shoes with golden buckles, reminding me of Captain Blood—the legendary pirate from a popular book written way back in the XX century.
We dined in silence in a hall with large folding windows on the house's second floor. Two young demonesses served us, doing their job quickly and without drawing any attention. After dinner, the master of the house invited Raey and myself into his office for a talk. Seeing his daughter's imploring stare, he sighed and granted her permission to be present for it. The girl was clearly daddy's little girl, and, as is often the case in such circumstances, he was putty in her hands. I thanked my hosts for the delicious dinner and followed everyone upstairs.
Located on the third floor of the house, Raey's father's office was rather large and tastefully furnished. Filled bookcases stood along the walls; a large oval mirror hung over the marble fireplace; the wooden floor, darkened with age, was covered with ornate rugs. At the heart of the office was a massive writing desk standing by the window that opened into the garden. In the corner was a small table with a bunch of different tubes and vials—a mobile lab by the look of it. Dar invited us to sit in armchairs around an oval wooden table. Noticing my glance at the sword and shield hanging on the wall, he clarified:
"I had to serve in my youth, like everyone else from our clan," as he spoke, the tifling produced from a wall drawer an oddly shaped bottle and three glasses. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but Raey has three brothers. The oldest is done with his service and now manages our country estate. The other two are currently serving in the First Legion."
The pleasant aroma of aged wine filled the air of the office. I took a sip from my glass—it reminded me of Chablis, but there was something special about the flavor.
"From our own vineyard," Raey commented.
"Wonderful flavor," I praised the wine, which I genuinely liked.
"Venerable Kyle Dar Ylsan, I wanted to—"
"Come now, Krian, we're all friends here," the master of the house smiled warmly. "Let's forget the formalities, shall we? Call me Kyle."
I nodded my consent. Then I took out the remaining vials with skhiarta eye fragments and laid them out on the table.
"I want you to have these. Raey said they are sought-after alchemical ingredients."
"You're my son's friend all right," the tifling shook his head. "How much do you think these are worth? The last recorded skhiarta kill took place fifty years ago. Forgive me, but I cannot accept such a gift. I will buy several vials from you; the rest I recommend taking to the research center—they will pay you well for them."
"Kyle, you said it yourself: we're all friends here," I put my unfinished glass on the table, fell back in my chair and crossed my arms. I had removed my armor before coming to dinner—it would have felt awkward to dine socially in full plate, and the clothes gifted by Treis looked no worse than the garb worn by tiflings I'd seen around town, all of whom were noble by default. Therefore, I wasn't the least bit concerned with my appearance. "The value of these," I nodded at the eighteen vials on the table, "is a relative thing. For me, they're worthless, but for you they may be worth a small fortune. But tell me this—what value would you put on your friendship?"
"My friendship is valuable indeed, but you've already earned it. Just as you've earned the fondness of everyone in this family. You can count on my assistance in any event, even without all this," the stubborn tifling nodded at the vials.
"Dad, Krian said that he needs a set of armor," said Velda from her chair, who had been sitting quietly all this time. "And you know Master Krayon."
"That's a whole other matter," her father smiled. "The old dwarf will charge an arm and a leg for his labor, and that's if he even agrees to do it. Having said that, his craft is worth every penny. Consider it done, Krian. A note from me to the master should do the trick—he owes me a favor. It won't get you a set for free, but you can expect to pay half the standard price."
"A dwarf?" I leaned forward, incredulous. "There are dwarves here?"
"You know the origin story of our race," the tifling shrugged. "The light gods' army included representatives of all the realm's intelligent races. At this point many of the external qualities have been erased, but you've walked around the city—haven't you noticed certain similarities between the demons and the other races of Arkon? Master Krayon is just one example. He looks just like a dwarf, and even wears his beard long for emphasis. Although, it is strange… I've never seen dwarves first-hand, though I've read a lot about your plane."
"What's strange?" I asked.
"The dwarf race excels in craftsmanship—no one can match their skill in mining, smithing or jewelry making, right?" The tifling paused, waiting for my affirmation. I nodded, unaware as to where he was going with it. "Let's consider the issue logically. Metal must be mined, smelted and so forth. Correct me if my line of reasoning is erroneous. But have you ever been inside a smelting shop, Krian?" I shook my head. "It's hot. Very hot. In light of that, could you explain to me the logic of growing a waist-long beard? Any errant piece of coal or drop of incandescent metal and half your beard is gone in an instant. One glance at the sorry state of Master Krayon's beard confirms my suspicions. But I digress. Have you already learned anything about your matter of interest?"
I relayed to Kyle my conversation with the archivist, and shared my desire to get inside the old archives. The tifling was silent for a while, mulling over my words.
"Krian, what do you know of the Twice Cursed?"
"Virtually nothing," I shrugged my ignorance.
"Vill and Syrat are two dark gods. Vill is the God of Torment and Torturous Death, and Syrat is the God of Hatred. When Velial's army invaded Karn from the direction of Darkaan, it marched on Valdarra, razing human counties along the way. The first battle took place near Fertan, a town in the Daar Princedom. The opposition amounted to several light gods and the united army of orcs and humans who had put aside their enmity in the face of this deadly threat. On that day, the armies of Vill and Syrat attacked the light forces
in the rear. The heavy cavalry of human princes and the light orc cavalry were the sole survivors of that battle of Fertan. It wasn't until later, in the Battle of Saakum, that the armies of these two gods fled the field of battle, leaving a flank of the Netherworld forces defenseless." The tifling looked at me. "I suppose there's no need to explain now why Vill and Syrat are universally reviled?"
"Were they cursed once by the light races, and then by Velial?" asked Velda, cozying up in her chair.
"You could say that," Kyle sipped from his glass. "The gods don't often favor us with their presence, so those two don't have much to worry about. You've already met the karriga and the skhiarta, but there are tons of other monsters like them, spawned by the Twice Cursed, that infiltrate our plane from the Gray Frontier. But my point is about something else," the tifling put his glass on the table and fell back in his chair. "In Craedia Princedom, Ahriman's army had found piles of evidence that the local supposedly free Lord Erisjat was the henchman of one of the Twice Cursed, if not both. Tell me, what ruler in his right mind would exterminate his own subjects? And in a way that horrified even the overlord's hardened punishers?"
"You mean, Ahriman didn't know about the attack from Karn? It was actually Erisjat that his army was marching to destroy?" I articulated the theory that had occurred to me long ago.
"No, Ahriman doesn't give a damn about the barbarians or their self-styled lords. They can beat up on each other all they want, and he won't lift a finger. But who wants dark gods hanging around their border and hatching up schemes? I think that the overlord simply wanted to neutralize a potential threat, so he cursed the princedom to keep others from loitering around. And the light armies were simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Then again, these are just my theories," the tifling shrugged.
"And who is this Hart that everybody keeps mentioning?" I finally asked the question that had been bugging me. Wiki didn't mention a single word about any Hart.
"The God of Deceit and Trickery. He's called Bel up where you're from."
Logical enough. Back in the ancient times we had Zeus and Jupiter, Mars and Aries—the same gods but sporting different names.
"By the way, Krian, I have a proposition for you. You're heading out to the old archives anyway, right?" I nodded affirmatively, and Kyle continued. "There's a lab right near the archives; here, I'll mark it on your map. There should be an old distilling tank inside. It's fairly useless these days—science had progressed far since then. But the tank was made by one of our ancestors, and I would like to preserve it. I will be glad to reward you with an enchantment for your shield. Do we have a deal?"
You've accessed the quest: Returning a Family Relic.
Quest type: normal.
Bring Kyle Dar Ylsan the distilling tank made by his ancestor.
Reward: experience, enchantment scroll of Medium Elemental Protection for the shield.
Exactly what I needed! I was sorely lacking resistances. The enchantment wouldn't solve the problem entirely, but it was better than nothing.
"How will I recognize this object?" I asked after accepting the quest.
"It is a small cube of light metal," Kyle showed the dimensions with his hands. "There's only one like it, so you won't miss it. It was left behind because the salvage crews deemed it trash. Though I can't really argue otherwise," the tifling sighed sorrowfully.
We spoke for a little while longer, and then I hastened to take my leave. I still wanted to drop by the temple, deliver the message to the head of the traders' guild, and, with a little luck, maybe even make it to the blacksmith and order some armor. I waited for Kyle to write the letter to the master, then bid a warm goodbye to him and Velda with a promise to not be a stranger. Raey walked me to the gate, lamenting yet again his impending departure. I advised him not to sweat it and to enjoy his travels. We shook hands, and I left his friendly and hospitable house.
After thinking about it, I decided to postpone my visit to the temple until tomorrow. My other business was more pressing. I looked at the map—the traders' guild building was situated between the market and the river harbor. It was time to pay a visit to the venerable Yldiz—even if I didn't find him, I should be able to submit the quest to somebody else since the instructions didn't mention "private and confidential."
The travel took about forty minutes. I could have gotten there faster, but I felt like a tourist in Paris for the first time, stopping often to take in the sights. And there was certainly plenty to take in. Strangely, back when I played a warrior, I never felt inclined to just roam the streets of Valdarra, even though Erantia's capital was one of Arkon's most beautiful cities.
Man, these merchants were living large! I admired the four-story building, its walls adorned with sculptures and ornaments, rippling gold in the rays of the setting sun. The pediment bore Helcas the god of trade, his right hand clutching an abacus as he flew about his business. Two demons at the entrance—garbed in sapphire liveries with countless gilded buttons and matching aiguillettes—gave me a wary look but didn't say anything as I entered the building.
I wasn't allowed to see the guild leader, which didn't surprise me one bit. But I did manage to see his secretary who accepted the package and promised to relay it. The quest gave decent experience, but not enough to level up. I also had to wait for about half an hour for my rightly earned two gold coins. Naturally, the more money someone's got, the harder it is to get it, I thought to myself as I signed some kind of receipt. With nothing else holding me here, I was relieved to finally leave the guild's premises.
Next stop—Master Krayon's shop. I checked the map and picked the shortest route that passed through the residential sector: only four blocks straight ahead, then right until my destination. I really hoped that the dwarf was up to the task of forging me a set of rare armor. Every major city in Arkon had masters who could sell or, as was the case here, be commissioned to craft rare equipment. Of course, they typically charged an arm and a leg and were therefore unaffordable for most players. The same equipment cost two to three times less when buying from other players or at an auction, but where was the nearest auction house? I probably wouldn't get to one for quite a while. And trying to outfit myself from mob drops wasn't an option. Well, it was technically, but not a good one. Mobs around my level would only drop gear in the 60-75 level range. The drop rate of a rare item from a regular mob was roughly one in a thousand; the chances of that item being plate were even less. Bosses dropped rare equipment most of the time, but, alas, there was no way I could handle even the weakest one around my level—I'd need a group. Never mind the fact that even getting the shot at a boss was no easy thing—they didn't exactly travel in packs. I'd gotten incredibly lucky with the skhiarta—even as much as 75% mental magic resistance would have gotten me dispatched back to that graveyard by Lamorna.
With those musings, I turned from a fairly busy street into a small alley, stretching roughly one hundred yards and framed on either side by tall fences of residential houses. The fences featured vibrant street art that belied the routine and boring materials they typically guarded, like metal or lumber.
Suddenly my whole body spasmed, and I began to slowly double over. Someone grabbed me roughly from behind and started twisting my arms behind my back.
"Sssteady…" a voice hissed into my ear.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw two more demons running up from behind. On pure instinct I casted Step through Darkness and ended up behind the nearest fence. The paralysis abated, and I lost my balance, falling into a vegetable patch. Jumping right back to my feet, I bolted in the direction opposite from the ill-fated alley.
"Stop!" a voice yelled from the direction of the fence.
Yeah, right! Some fat demoness with a wooden tub squealed from her porch as I ran past, but I paid her no mind. Running up to the gate, I threw off the bolt and dove into a parallel alley just as somebody's ugly mug appeared over the fence way behind me. There were shouts and whistling. Is this what the local cops entertain th
emselves with? I thought while making a right, waiting for the cooldown to reset. Another Step through a fence, and a dash across somebody's backyard.
"Daddy, look, that strange man is—"
I didn't get to hear what the "strange man" was up to. With a wink at the boy sticking a finger in my direction, I ran up to the gate, opened the bolt, pushed through and found myself in an empty yard of a three-story construction. Taking a moment to admire the sizes of certain articles of women's underwear drying on clotheslines, I rounded the house and glimpsed a fairly wide street through the rods of the metal enclosure, which forced me to slow down. Easy now, if I keep running I'll just attract unwanted attention, I thought to myself. I took a second to catch my breath and walked out onto the street at a steady gait. There was whistling now from all directions, but I felt not at all inclined to turn myself in to the local authorities.
Why were they after me, anyway? I was wearing a courier's badge! Or was paralysis not considered an attack? I wasn't technically hurt, after all. How did all this work, anyway? The message on the badge said that couriers could not be attacked first—that seemed to be the law. Were the courier to break the law first, however, that probably changed things. Only what law had I broken?
I needed to find a safe place urgently and lay low for a while. Having never dealt with the local law enforcement, I didn't know what to expect—they could easily be the kind to polish your clock first and ask questions later. And I seem to have really pissed them off somehow. If there was an upside, it was the I was being hounded by ordinary guards—my tricks wouldn't have worked against punishers.
The whistling was getting closer. I looked around on the go and noticed a big three-story house with white columns framing the entrance hiding behind branching trees some fifty yards off the road. Forest Violet, I thought at once. It had to be the local den of debauchery that Rioh had spoken of. With precious few other alternatives and whistling that kept getting closer, I didn't hesitate for more than a few moments.
I hustled to close the distance between me and the house, ran up the marble steps and turned the carved wooden knob. A bell rang melodiously, and I found myself inside a spacious empty hall. The walls—finished in soft pastel tones—were decorated with gilded engraved panels, casting dazzling reflections off the hall's many mirrors and adding even more volume to the space. A few beige sofas stood beside squat coffee tables on cambered legs. The quiet of the room was disturbed only by the barely audible murmur of a small decorative fountain.
I stopped in the doorway, hesitating. Where were all the inhabitants? Just then the curtains rustled softly aside, and a comely demoness around my age sauntered into the hall. She fixed me with an incredulous look, her green vertical eyelids unblinking. Her assets—of which I counted many—were nicely accentuated by a formfitting blue dress.
"Hello! I was just passing by and decided to drop in."
There was no answer. The young woman continued to examine me like some exotic zoo animal. It was beginning to get to me.
"Are you deaf?" I asked empathetically. "Or do you see your future on my forehead? Or maybe I walked into a library and not a brothel?" I nodded at the few books lining the coffee tables.
"This is a salon," the demoness spoke in a throaty, pleasant voice, a playful sparkle in her eye. "That's what this establishment is called here. I apologize, but we're closed today."
"That's a shame," I said. I had zero desire to go back outside.
"Was that you they were whistling at outside?"
"Yes," there was no sense in lying. "But I didn't break any laws, and I'm in no mood to deal with those gentlemen."
"You don't look like a criminal, light one," she mused. "But do you really think that your pursuers will simply pass by our little establishment? Or do you expect me to hide you from the city guard?"
"You got me," I grunted. "Obviously, I won't be able to avoid this headache today. Goodbye." I spun around and took a step toward the door.
"Wait!"
I stopped and shot back, without turning around:
"What now?"
"If you promise to come see me another day, I will help you."
"Do I have to sign my name in blood?"
"Very funny."
"I'm sorry. You have a deal."
"Come," she took my hand and led me into another room, then motioned at a small sofa. "Have a seat. Care for a drink?"
"Just water, please."
What did she want with me? The demoness left and returned almost right away, holding two glasses. At that same moment there was a knock on the door. With a finger to her lips, the woman put the glasses on a coffee table and went to answer the door.
She was gone for about five minutes, and I took the opportunity to look around. The room was the exact copy of the other one, only without a fountain. A mirror caught my eye. There appeared to be some imperceptible change in my appearance… Had my hair gotten a shade darker? No, it must be the lighting playing tricks. But the eyes! My eyelids had changed shape—they weren't like a demon's just yet, but something in between a demon and a human. The iris around the lid had grown yellowish. I ran my hand through my hair and sighed with relief—no sign of horns just yet.
"When you're done admiring yourself, let's sit and talk," a voice sounded behind me, dripping with irony. "I'm Dara, by the way."
I straightened my shirt. I'd forgotten to put on my armor, though perhaps that was for the best.
"Krian," I nodded, turning around.
"Have a seat, Krian," she gestured at the sofa across from her. "Don't worry, I don't bite," the demoness arched her back, cat-like. "They're gone. No man in his right mind will cross the threshold of this place on this day," she smirked. "Right mind being the operative term."
"Far be it from me to argue. Now, I've got a few questions myself. What's so special about today? And why do you want me to come back another day? Are you a succubus?" I sat across from her, picking my glass off of the coffee table and taking a sip. The water was flavored with lemon.
"Many of us are called succubi," she smiled and threw back her fair-colored hair in a fluid elegant motion. "Yes, the true blood does course through my veins. As for today, it is the seventh day of the second summer month—the day of Orik's Remembrance. On this day, a man and a woman had better not find themselves sharing a bed if they are not husband and wife. Lata is a woman, after all, and you know how resourceful we women can get if vengeance is in order. If you've got the time and the desire to hear the long and sorrowful story of how the goddess lost her beloved, I'll be happy to tell you."
"Thanks, but no thanks," I shook my head. It was clear enough that today was a day of abstinence, and the gods certainly weren't to be trifled with. "And why do you want to see me again? Love at first sight, is it?"
"Fie, how crude!" the demoness pulled a grimace. But she couldn't hold back a giggle just the same. "Tell me, Krian, how many of my girlfriends have slept with a light one? Hmm?"
"Do you think the light races are special somehow? I've never slept with a succubus either—so what?"
"We are many, but you are one. Do you see now? As to whether or not you're special, I don't give a damn either way. I'll tell my girlfriends whatever I want." She licked her lips emphatically, then sighed for some reason and continued. "But you shouldn't expect anything special either. You're strange, very strange."
"How am I strange?"
"You're acting like an elder demon—our charms are practically useless against them. But you're surely not an elder, at least not yet," she shrugged.
I didn't tell her about my resistance to mental magic—why bother? Besides, the situation was so absurd I still couldn't make heads or tails of it. OK, so I was the cretin who had decided to hide from the guards in a house of ill repute. But why did she…
"So you risked everything just to add to your collection?"
"I didn't risk much," she smiled. "Even if you come clean about where you hid, nobody is going to come after me. As for everythi
ng else, it is beyond your understanding, so don't bother trying. The true blood changes us, endowing us with certain abilities unique to us alone. For instance, I know for a fact that She who will be your shadow will reward me someday for not allowing you to leave here today."
"What are you talking about?" I was getting increasingly confused.
"I'm sorry, I've already said too much." Dara climbed up on the sofa and made herself comfortable in the corner. "Tell me about yourself, light one."
I got to the hotel a little after midnight. The demoness bade me farewell around half past eleven, claiming it would be best not to tempt certain goddesses who were particularly despondent on that day. I pondered her words for a while on my way back, but failed to reach any conclusion and dismissed the matter altogether. There weren't that many people out in the streets, and I made my way to The Learned Troll, trying to avoid the attention of the patrols. Once I was in, I looked the half-full hall over and proceeded toward the bar. I wasn't hungry—Dara had fed me with sweets of some sort—but I could really do with a cold pint.
Gerid was standing behind the bar. Upon seeing me, he leaned in and said in a low voice, without removing the pipe from his teeth:
"What have you gotten yourself into?"
"Depends on what you mean," I shrugged. "I'd really like a beer—today was hectic as hell."
"Your acquaintance is waiting for you at the table in the far corner," the demon nodded in the direction of the table in question. "He said he only came to talk, but I advise you to be careful in your dealings with him. I looked where he pointed and swore quietly. Speak of the devil… Dar Annat was sitting at the far table, his arms crossed over his chest and his back against the wall. The tifling was pretending to study the glass of wine before him, but I was totally sure that he had already noticed me. On the plus side, no one was grabbing me or dragging me anywhere.
I sighed, took my beer from the bar, and headed for the far corner. The tifling only looked at me once I sat down in front of him.
"Greetings to you, Dar Annat. It's a good thing you turned up—I was planning to visit you tomorrow." I decided offense was the best defense in my case. "I was attacked by unknown assailants in the city today. They had whistles, too… Musicians?"
"Asses, more likely," the tifling snorted. "But you keep surprising me, Krian. That was a magnificent escape from a paralysis spell! The agents expected you to Jump forward or backward, but they didn't know you could Step through Darkness."
"What was their reason for trying to apprehend me? What did I do for the esteemed guardsmen to spend half an hour whistling to each other all across the city?"
"What was the letter that you gave to Pront, the secretary of Venerable Yldiz?"
"A sales report from Jarus Province. Is anything wrong?"
"Who gave you the letter in Laketa?" the tifling ignored my question.
"What's Laketa? What is this… an interrogation?"
"No, just a conversation so far."
I kept looking at Annat, and a thought crossed my mind for a moment, vanishing without a trace, yet leaving me with a distinct feeling that I was overlooking something.
"Laketa is the central city of Jarus Province," said the visitor in the meantime.
"Oh, so that's what this is about! Unfortunately, I've never been to Laketa—I picked the letter from the corpse of a demon who had been devoured by some of the less friendly representatives of the local fauna."
There was no point in lying, so I told Annat the whole story the way it happened.
"Can you prove it?" the tifling pressed on.
"I can swear on your artifact," I shrugged, then thought for a moment. "If you wait here for five minutes, I can bring you evidence. Will the late courier's cloak be satisfactory?"
"Quite so."
"I'll bring it in a moment. Believe me, I don't intend to disappear—I just need to visit my room."
"I'm fairly certain you won't. Incidentally, are you aware how great a risk it was for you to visit The Forest Violet?
"You know that, too?"
"Young man, please give us some credit—we aren't complete idiots. The fact that you managed to evade two guard patrols doesn't mean we couldn't find you by your tag. I told you we didn't have that many light ones in our town."
"All right, wait here," I sighed. "I'll bring down the cloak."
I went up to my room, retrieved the cloak of the hapless courier from storage, and returned to the hall.
"Can I take this?" Annat asked, having studied the cloak thoroughly.
I didn't know what he found there, but whatever it was, he looked satisfied.
"Sure, go ahead," I waved my hand. "Do you have any more questions?"
"What else did you find among the dead courier's possessions?"
"A letter for Lady Janam and a few coins."
I saw the tifling tense up, as though preparing to pounce.
"Do you have the letter on you?"
"Sure, here it is," I produced the scroll from my bag. "The lady is away on a trip, so I could not deliver it today."
"Interesting," the tifling carefully examined the scroll that sparkled with magic.
"It must be delivered personally," I shrugged. "You can take it if you want," I offered him the scroll. "You can do the delivery yourself."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Annat shied away from the scroll as if I were offering him a venomous snake. "You found it, you deliver it," he said. The end of the phrase had a detached sound to it, as though the Dar was pondering something at the moment. I shrugged and returned the scroll to my bag.
"That's it—I have no further questions for you," the tifling rose from the table. "Should anything else happen, you know where to find me, Krian. Goodbye."
"Dar Annat," I rose from my seat. "Why did they tried to arrest me today?"
"Pront, the secretary of Venerable Yldiz, the recipient of your letter, was arrested today on charges of high treason."
The tifling nodded to me and started to walk toward the exit.
I watched him go, thinking there was definitely something I was missing…
"How much?!"
"Two thousand gold coins—and that's a special offer to a light one. Otherwise I wouldn't even talk to you," Master Kryon, who indeed looked a lot like a horned red-faced dwarf with a singed stubby beard, stuck his finger into his ear, as if actually expecting to find something inside. "You folks from up there must be thinkin' Kryon will work for you for ten coppers, eh?" The dwarf took his finger out and examined it with slight regret. Then he returned to reality and glared at me. "Well, you won't get squat from me for ten coppers!" he shouted, apparently including the entire population of Karn into "you lot."
I drew a heavy sigh. Why did game devs and writers always try to represent dwarves in this manner—as loud, quarrelsome louts? Even when these dwarves happened to be demons. I took out the letter from Raey's father and handed it to the smith.
"I need gold, not kindling paper," Kryon grunted, but did take the letter.
"Duh, now he's at it, too!" said the smith gruffly. "What did you do, cut off Vill's balls and give them to him for his experiments?" he inquired, though the hostility was gone from his voice.
Your reputation has increased. Kryon the Master Smith relates to you with respect.
"Eight hundred gold and not a single coin less. You and that tailed bastard will drive me to bankruptcy." Un-freaking-believable! Eighty thousand bucks for a suit of armor. And that was with a 60% discount. On the other hand, a suit of armor in this world was much more important than an SUV in the other one.
"Might you be interested in this, master?" I produced a vial of skhiarta's blood from my bag.
Kryan took the vial and examined it.
"How many do you have?" asked the smith in an indifferent voice, trying to look calm.
"About ten," I shrugged. I knew how this game was played!
"I'll take eighty off," grunted the master smith, hiding his eyes.
"Don't ta
ke me for an idiot! The last skhiarta was killed fifty years ago," I recollected Kyle's words. "It's an extremely rare ingredient." I had forgotten to look up the value of the reagent in the wiki, but the rare class of the vials told me some bargaining was definitely in order. "Half the price!"
"Are you out of your mind?" Kryon made a grand gesture with his hands, addressing the smirking apprentices who stood in the corner of the smithy, as if calling onto them to bear witness to my madness. "You must have hit the cobblestones with your head when you fell from your plane to ours!" He gestured downward with his hand, describing my alleged arrival and head injury. "One hundred and sixty, and not a copper more!"
"Really, Master, it's not like I'm trying to pawn off ten vials of gopher blood or some such. That thing came from the Gray Frontier! Three hundred, and it's a deal!"
"Two hundred for ten vials is my final price."
"All right, it's a deal," I was tired of bargaining, and I was actually fine with the price. "I suddenly remembered I had forty of them. Such a lucky coincidence, isn't it, Master Smith?"
"My gramps told me not to have any dealings with light ones—he said all of you were dodgy," Kryon muttered. However, he didn't look particularly disappointed. "So what is it that you need?"
"This set here," I pointed at a pair of greaves from a level 100 set of armor.
"But you won't be able to wear them," the demon was surprised.
"I think I will, in about a month," I reassured him. "A shield would be nice, too," I said while looking around the smithy. "Actually, I recall that I have another fifteen vials on me…"
I don't know whether my inner hamster was disappointed by my overpaying or rejoicing at the fact that its master would receive an amazing rare set of armor in three weeks, but I was approaching the Temple of All Gods in a good mood. Actually, there wasn't much to be that happy about—a suit of armor of this sort could be purchased at the game auction for about 300-400 gold pieces, given the price gap between the auction and similar craftsmen. But I must reiterate that auction house access was a long way off, and the suit of armor had cost me nothing, since I didn't intend to level my alchemy or blacksmithing skills.
Initial levels of professions could be learned in starting cities. The local starting city was Iskhart, but I had no wish to travel all the way there. I had enough money for the time being—over nine thousand, which should last me a while. My only problem was my main weapon—I could probably make it to level 100 with what I had, but I'd definitely need an upgrade once I got there. Unfortunately, Kryon was only a master armorer—he did have a few swords for sale, but nothing above the unusual class, which wouldn't be much better than what I had equipped at the moment. Oddly enough, there were no good weaponsmiths in Nittal, and Kryon suggested that I inspect the shops and look for weapons personally. I didn't feel like doing anything of the sort, so I decided to head to the Temple, then pay a visit to Dara in the evening, and set off for Urcahnta tomorrow morning.
If you asked an Ancient Greek who their god was, the reply would be instant—something along the following lines: "We have many gods, but the main ones are those sitting on Mount Olympus." There was no equivalent of Olympus in the realm of Arkon, nor were there any dramatic legends of how Zeus gave birth to Athena, who came out of her daddy's head clad in a full suit of armor and wielding a spear (how was it she didn't emerge mounted?!). Arkon's gods just existed, and that was that. The copy that accompanied the patch mentioned gods' plans of some sort—I knew nothing of them, and had no wish to find out for as long as they didn't affect me personally.
The attitude to religion within the game could best be described as one of philosophical resignation. Similarly to their Ancient Greek counterparts, each god had a limited area of specialty. Gods could help you raise your reputation; they could also give you quests and either provide perks or hit you with debuffs. However, you could not get any decisive advantage within the game even if you were some god's favorite—after all, any game must maintain a certain balance. At least, that was the case before the latest patch.
There must be as many gods here as there were in the Ancient Greece—you could hardly keep all their names in mind. However, if one of them marked you with their attention, you should probably remind them of yourself periodically—who knew what perks that might give you? Therefore, the fact that the Goddess of Justice favored me and even gave me a one-time ability could be considered very fortunate—there were around twenty million players in Arkon at the moment, and barely fifty deities. The ability received from the goddess was very much like the Shield of Faith, a skill used by the paladin class. The knights of light used their shields to reduce their sustained damage to one third; however, the skill only worked once a day, if my memory was correct. But beggars can't be choosers—and indeed, maybe Setara's shield would someday prove the very thing that would protect me from some kind of trouble?
Those were my thoughts as I approached the Temple of All Gods—an enormous building whose design was copied from the Pantheon in Rome by the devs (only they made the Temple four times bigger). Drawing was much easier than actual construction work—you never know, maybe in a few thousand years the demons would admire the skill of the ancient builders the way we used to admire the skill of those who'd built the Egyptian Pyramids back on Earth. Hot damn! A thought came to mind that stopped me in my tracks. What if Earth, in turn, had been drawn by someone at some point in time? Then again, it didn't really concern me much at the moment.
It was lunchtime, and the Temple grounds were pretty crowded. All sorts of petitioners and visitors were either moving toward the entrance of the temple, like myself, or simply walking along the paths paved with white tiles between the numerous marble statues standing on the temple grounds. Oddly enough, I didn't notice any beggars—back in Valdarra, for instance, there were crowds of them. Temple acolytes could be told apart by their beige cassocks with symbols of different colors upon them. I had no idea about the meaning of those symbols and whether they were associated with gods or represented the temple hierarchy. Wiki contained no relevant information.
The pediment of the Temple bore the legend, "The Gods see us all and reward us by our deeds." I shrugged and entered, passing between the massive stone pillars of the portico. What I really loved about virtual reality was that you could create miracles like this one here—the temple was twilit inside; the rotunda, or the temple's main room, was cylinder-shaped and over a hundred and fifty feet in diameter. Entrances to gods' shrines were located alongside its wall. The numerous pillars, statues, ornaments and frescoes appeared lit from the inside with some surreal magic luminescence. The hemispherical dome looked like a starlit sky and had a mesmerizing effect on whoever looked at it. There were plenty of people around me, but I still got the impression of being alone in the Temple.
"You shouldn't gaze at the dome for too long, light one—it may give you a splitting headache," a calm and soft voice behind me made me turn around. There was a young demoness there, clad in a beige cassock with her hood up, and the intent gaze of her green eyes made me feel a bit timid.
"You don't seem surprised at all. Do the likes of me visit the Temple every day?"
"Even gods visit our temples sometimes, so there is no reason for me to be surprised about your arrival. The prophesies of Maeliss dar Karis say that by the end of the fourteenth century the boundaries between our planes will disappear. I have no reason to distrust this information." She took off the hood with a light gesture. "My name is Sister Arsa. Can I be of assistance to you, light one?"
"Krian. I'd be really grateful if you could show me the way to Setara's shrine." There were lots of arches in the circular wall. I could have tried each shrine, but I didn't feel like lingering too long.
"Of course, Krian," she pointed toward one of the entrances. "This is the shrine of Setara the Winged—to the left of the shrine of Hart."
The entrance to the shrine was a marble arch with a pair of open wings, one to either side. I went through th
e narrow corridor, past the walls decorated with bas-reliefs and mosaics, and ended up in a spacious chamber with an altar (a large block of marble). Above the altar stood a ten-foot statue of the goddess. The majestic and beautiful woman with clothes ruffled by the wind was armed with a sword and shield, and her posture suggested unstoppable motion forward. The open wings on her back made the illusion of flight complete. I admired the statue for a while, and then nodded, as though greeting the goddess, and joined the line to the altar.
There were just five demons standing in line, so I didn't have to wait long. I put my hand into a special niche, put ten gold coins into the bowl that stood here, and whispered words of gratitude. Nothing happened, so I nodded the statue goodbye and headed for the exit without undue haste. At some point, I felt a calm examining gaze directed at my back. I decided against turning around, and the sensation of a stare was gone as soon as it appeared. I shrugged, thinking that I must have imagined it—either that, or that was the effect of the surroundings.
After some contemplation, I decided to visit Hart's shrine, too. I was wondering about the appearance of the god whose name I heard the most often over the last couple of days. I didn't have to search the entrance too long—the developers in their irony placed the shrine of the God of Thieves right next to that of the Goddess of Justice.
In a minute I was standing in complete silence, looking at the statue of an old man sitting on a chair above the altar with his body leaning forward and his palms resting on his knees. Hart was giving the visitors an appraising ironic look. I stood there for a minute, admiring the designers' skill, and then did the same as in Setara's shrine—I put my right hand in the niche upon the altar and gave the God of Thieves a gold coin, since it somehow didn't seem right to leave just like that. I nodded Hart's statue goodbye, for one had got to be careful in such places, and left the temple quickly.
I wonder what would happen if one player put his hand upon the altar, and another one threw the money into the bowl—which one of them would get the credit for the donation? That's what I thought to myself on my way to the local alchemist's shop. All the donations in the shrines of the realm of Arkon followed the same pattern, though I didn't quite understand why. Most likely, the AIs responsible for the entity that received the sacrifices must read the data of the player who made the sacrifice. However, if that was the case, I could put my hand on the altar while someone else threw the money in the bowl, the deity involved would probably consider these coins to be my offering. I shrugged and decided I didn't care enough either way. And then I saw a familiar sign up ahead.
I cited pressing business to decline the offers of tea, mulled wine, and something called kava, gave Master Regus the rest of the money, and collected forty magenta vials with the ability elixir. I pondered for a while, and then bought some more health and stamina restoration potions, twenty vials each. Then I bade my farewell to the companionable old man, having promised to buy potions and elixirs from no one else while in Nittal. He must have been starved for company, but I needed to wrap up my business here without undue delay and set off for Urcahnta.
I dropped by a tavern with the sign of a rooster with its tail fluffed out upon it, and ordered myself a meal. I sat down by the window in an empty hall and tucked into my lunch in peace.
"Phew, good thing I managed to catch up with you," a young dark-haired demon in plain gray garb flopped down at my table right across from me.
"How can I be of service?" I pushed the empty plate away and eyed the interloper inquisitively. There was nothing special about him: level 51, hair tied in a neat ponytail, large brown eyes with a hint of mischief, and a square earring made of some white metal in his left ear.
"I'm Leeque," the young man introduced himself. "And you must be the notorious wizard Krian."
"I am indeed Krian, but whence the notoriety?"
"Ooh, a modest one, too," the young demon smiled. "Few here could boast of your achievements."
Could he be referring to Shaartakh?
"If that's all you have to say, I guess I'll get going," I rose. "Got a lot of stuff to do."
I really resented characters of this sort. He looked like a regular guy, but there was something about him that defied understanding, and one should keep well away from anything one doesn't understand in a magical world such as this.
"Hold on! I completely forgot—I was following you and saw you drop something, quite by accident, so I picked it up and ran after you to hand it back. Here you go."
The guy placed a well familiar signet ring on the table.
The Champion of the Order of the Red Flame's Signet Ring! But how could this be? It was a quest item—it could not be lost or sold! I grabbed the ring and stared at the young demon in front of me, completely baffled.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
"Master said you'd be a bit surprised," Leeque chuckled. A bit surprised?! I'd just witnessed a violation of one of the game's fundamental laws!
"What master? As a matter of fact, who are you and what do you want from me?" I said in as cold a voice as I could muster. "You've just told me you followed me and saw me drop a ring. How could any 'master' know about it? Also, you have been running after me too long—I managed to finish my meal in the meantime."
"You should stop quibbling, really," Leeque shrugged. "And don't get so stressed, your mental health is too important… The look in your eyes tells me that you suspect yours truly of having stolen the ring from you."
"You mean you haven't?" I made my countenance even gruffer, but the demon just smiled in response.
"No one stole your signet ring. What I've just given you was a simple copy that vanished as soon as you put it in your bag." The young demon raised his hands, as if to say that his every word was true. "Please consider everything that has transpired an innocent practical joke—I needed something to catch the interest of someone as extraordinary as yourself, didn't I?"
Indeed, even if he didn't steal the ring, how did he see it in order to copy it? Insofar as I knew, quest items from a player's inventory were invisible to others.
"Then let me reiterate—who are you, and what do you want from me?"
"One shouldn't conduct serious business when one's throat is dry!" Leeque called the waitress and ordered a jug of wine.
While the elderly demoness was collecting the empty plates and bringing what Leeque had ordered, I studied him carefully, trying to fathom what I'd gotten myself into this time. The demon's level 51 didn't intimidate me in the least, but who could this mysterious master be, and what could he know about the ring and my quest?
"I think that my identity matters not one bit," Leeque took a sip from his glass and narrowed his eyes in visible delight. "What does matter is what I can do to help you."
"So, what is it you can do to help me?" I said slowly.
I wasn't going to drink with this shady character, so I was just sitting at the table, waiting for what would happen next.
"Krian, you want to make your way up there, don't you?" the young demon sighed and studied the ceiling dispassionately.
"So?" I tried not to let my agitation show in any way.
Leeque shifted his gaze to the fingers of his left hand as though he were examining his manicure for defects.
"If you do me a small favor, I'll share some useful information with you." The demon finally stopped contemplating his hand and raised his eyes to look at me. "I'll also throw in a present that will come in very handy in the future."
"What is it that I'm supposed to do?"
"A trifle, really. A while ago, a certain…" Leeque wavered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Well, let's call him a master. So, this master sent one of his apprentices into the house of a rather dubious individual—we can call him a necromancer." The demon took another sip of wine and continued. "The apprentice was supposed to borrow a certain object from this necromancer's collection, but he never managed it… mm-hmm." Leeque shook his head, apparently recollecting something. "Well, t
his necromancer did a rather rotten thing to his apprentice—he placed his soul inside the very object that the master had needed. So…" Leeque crossed his arms on his chest, looked me in the eye, and uttered very distinctly: "The master wants you to retrieve this object."
You've accessed the quest: Restoring Justice.
Quest type: unique.
Bring the Star of Hittara to Leeque.
Reward: experience, unknown.
I accepted the quest without thinking twice. I didn't care about understanding anything about the whole matter—it might be my only lead to getting to the other plane, after all. It would be folly or worse to reject such a gift. I produced a pipe from my pocket, which I had already filled with tobacco, lit up, and asked the most logical thing in this situation:
"Why me? Is there no one else in Nittal who could retrieve this object? Believe me, I harbor no illusions about my current abilities—to tell you the truth, that lady over there is three times more powerful," I pointed toward the old waitress, level 120, who was observing the dining hall from her chair next to the entrance.
"Is this what I hear from the slayer of the Netherworld's Elder Demon?" Leeque chuckled.
"I have had nearly nothing to do with the vanquishing of that demon."
The demon clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back on the bench, contemplating something. Then he appeared to have reached a decision and turned his gaze toward me once again.
"Your modesty does you credit, two-lived, but believe me—there's no one else but you who could handle this quest."
"What was that?!"
"Duh, stop trying to pretend you're something you're not!" the demon made a dismissive gesture. There was an imperceptible change in his gaze, which suddenly became coldly calculating. "If some are ignorant of a certain fact, it doesn't mean everybody else is. Up there," he pointed toward the ceiling, "there are lots of those like you. But none of them can do what you can. Moreover, there is absolutely no one else but you who can actually tackle this task."
"Have you been up there? How? Who are you?"
"I believe we have already reached an agreement upon this: business first, information later," the demon replied coldly.
"All right, all right," I poured myself a glass of wine from the jug, downed it at once, took a few deep drags from the pipe, and asked in a quieter tone, "So what is it that makes me unique?"
"The fact that you don't exist," my companion grunted.
I nearly choked on the smoke upon hearing this.
"How's that supposed to work?" I barely managed to utter those words without coughing.
"Hard to say," Leeque shrugged. You're a human being and a demon at the same time, which is absolutely impossible, but there you are, so that's why I offer you this deal."
"Is it you or your master who needs the Star? Where am I supposed to find it? And how can I retrieve it without sharing the fate of that apprentice? The last thing I want is for my soul to be transferred into some object."
"Does it really matter who needs it? Retrieve it, and you'll get the information you seek. As for the rest of it, you're headed for Urcahnta anyway, so you'll end up sticking your nose into the Ghorazm Ruins, right?"
"I have no idea what's happening over there, so I can make no assumptions yet."
"Oh, please," Leeque waved dismissively. "You can handle whatever they throw at you there. If you really want to help the locals get out of the mess they've found themselves in courtesy of that very, uh, necromancer, for want of a better word, you'll have to take a walk through the ruins. You'll find a portal there." The demon placed a vial with a powder of some sort onto the table. "Dump this into the portal window before you go in yourself. Please don't forget, or you'll simply stop being two-lived and become, how do I put it, someone who dies very frequently."
"What's going to happen once I dump the powder into the portal?" I wanted to get all the details to avoid having an explosion of some sort send me to the graveyard.
"The powder will reorient the portal, which will take you where you need to go."
"Could you tell me more?"
"My, aren't we thorough," Leeque smiled. "The portal will take you to a place that's close to the necromancer's dwelling—it's only about half a mile away."
"All right, but how do I collect the Star?" I didn't really think the owner was likely to bring it out on a tray and to give me a basket of warm pastries to keep me from hunger on my way back. "And how do I recognize what I'm looking for, anyway?"
"A relative of mine will help you there. Believe me, light one, I have no illusions about your abilities, either. All you need to do is enter the vault and take what's needed."
"What relative and how is he supposed to help me?"
"Well, this relative of mine also has a bone to pick with the necromancer. His wife's diadem is in the same vault as Hittara's Star. We shall simply surprise the necromancer a bit," The demon smiled, winked at me and placed three more objects on the table—a rock fragment of some sort, a scroll and a small black box. "Once you go through the portal, draw the symbol from the scroll on the ground, place the rock in the center, and dump the contents of this box on top of it. Nothing too complex, right?"
"Won't you tell me anything about the identity of this relative?" I realized I'd subscribe to this cryptic quest anyway, so I tried to get as many details as I could.
"Curiosity doesn't become you, Krian. Once you do everything as per my instructions, you'll see everything for yourself, so why ask? Oh yeah, that relative of mine… He's a bit, you know…" Leeque made a gesture with his hand, trying to find the right words. "This guy's got a short fuse, so try to explain to him right away why you summoned him."
"Why don't you come along and explain everything yourself? You'll most likely find it much easier to converse with your kinsman."
"I would go, of course, but can't you see I can't even get through the ruins. Also," the demon made a despondent face, "there's a dispute of, uh, a theological nature between yours truly and the kinsman in question. So it's best for the two of us to avoid seeing each other presently. As for you, just tell him you can get his diadem, and he'll do the rest. You'll be able to sense where the vault is from a long way off."
"How do I find you afterwards?" I could see I wouldn't learn anything else.
"Just drop the Star into the bowl on Hart's altar in the Temple of All Gods," Leeque stared right into my eyes, and suddenly a ripple ran over everything I could see.
A stone box of a room, brown walls with dark stains, and a cage with a chained skeleton clad in filthy rags. In the center there was a table, covered in blood and nicked countless times, with the remnants of someone who had once been human chained to it. Presently it was a scalped corpse, with every bone in its limbs smashed and its stomach ripped open. The room was lit very sparsely, with every object shrouded in darkness, so the silhouette by the table seemed to be woven from primordial darkness itself.
A black cassock with a raised hood… The stranger was holding an amulet in his hand—a red stone set in a light metal that emitted a barely visible glow.
"I can feel your presence, brother," the stranger's voice was like the hissing of an enormous snake, "but you're a bit late. Your apprentice has pleased me—he died the right way, and it took him a long time. So you must find this stone even more valuable now, am I right?" The stranger's hand moved swiftly, and the amulet disappeared. "Well then, come and get it. I'd love to see you try, anyway. How are you going to claim something that lies behind the seals of the Nameless?"
I breathed in sharply, barely holding back retching spasms, and took a look around me. I saw the tavern, a jug of wine standing right before me, and a glass. The smoking pipe was right in my hand, but Leeque was nowhere to be seen. Those visions again. I'd be all right with them if it didn't take me a while to return to my senses. I felt as though my clothes were soaked in the stench of blood and death. I took a few deep drags to relax, and gestured the waitress to come over.
&n
bsp; "Has the young demon gone?" I asked the demoness as she approached the table and looked at me questioningly.
"What demon?"
"The one who sat at the table with me—he ordered this jug," I nodded at the vessel standing on the table. Was she senile or what?
The demoness pondered this for a moment, shifted the cloth she was wiping the tables with from her right hand to her left, and replied with concern in her eyes:
"Master, you should probably stop drinking. You ordered this jug yourself half an hour ago, and you were alone at the table the whole time."
"Of course, of course," I nodded to her.
The quest titled Restoring Justice in my log testified to the fact that I could keep on drinking if I wanted to, but I had no such desire whatsoever. I checked the inventory for the Champion of the Order of the Red Flame's Signet Ring, just in case, then rose, nodded the waitress goodbye and started toward the exit.
As I was leaving the inn, I heard a barely audible chuckle at my back. Obviously, I didn't turn around. But I did wonder what I had gotten myself into this time…