Unknown (28 page)

Quest failure alert! You've failed the unique quest: Knowledge Breeds Sadness III: Temple Restoration.

Before I could tell them where to stuff it, another message popped up.

Warning! Casting the Great Spell results in a magic cooldown. You won't be able to use magic for the next 5 min. You won't be able to cast this spell again for the duration of 24 hrs.

Bastards. Couldn't they have told me earlier? Not that I was in a hurry, anyway. I turned to the Liches. One by one, they noiselessly rose, gave me a silent bow and disappeared in flashes of black light.

Aquilum turned his frightening frame to me. "Thank you, Dark brother. Is there anything I can do for you?"

As I sought for an answer, my inner greedy pig perked up and began jotting down a quick wish list.

"Think fast," the Magister said. "I only have a few seconds left in this world. My magic powers have been depleted by the rite. All I can give you is information."

"The First Temple. Do you know where I can find it?" I blurted out.

Aquilum nodded, showing me I'd asked him the right thing. "The Dead Lands. The Valley of Fear. You'll make it. The crown will help you, and so will the altar fragment. Fare thee well! We will not see each other again in this world."

In this world? Did he say
 
this world
? As if we could get to the other one.

Or could we?

The eternal void swallowed the Liches. I stood alone in the enormous dungeon. Grunting like an old man, I scraped myself off the floor, brushed off the little stones biting into my hands and had a good look around. It wasn't often you found yourself in such a large, deserted and perfectly safe space. If I could talk Grym into giving me the keys or if I could find another entrance, this could be a perfect secret camp site.

I walked over to the pedestal. The fragment still lay on it, dull and lonesome, decimated in size. Sorry, dude. It's not easy to say "no" to nine Liches. I peered into the stone.

Medium Fragment of the Dark Altar

Item class: Rare

Can be used to make a Big Raid Altar

Requires level 50

Effect 1: 25% bonus to all Dark spells (Blood, Death, Hatred, Shamanism, etc.)

Effect
 
2: 25% resistance to all spells of Light

Yes! I cautiously reached out and picked it up. It worked. Excellent. I was sure I could use it at some point. Not the next day or even the day after, but I knew it would come in very handy.

I wasn't in a hurry any more, so I decided to explore the catacombs. It took me three hours to get into all the nooks and crannies and tap all the walls, and then to break open all the chests, jugs and boxes I'd discovered. I found four money stashes, a basket with a decent choice of elixirs and any amount of vegetable matter like mushrooms, moss, mold and some pale-looking herbs. My herbal skill had hit the 150 points limit long ago. If I wanted to level it further, I had to go back to the guild masters for my craftsman status.

That was it. I could go home. I walked back up to the first level and knocked on the door. As if! I tapped a fancy rhythm to let Grym know it was me and not some intruding monster. Still he didn't open. Apparently, this place had only two exits: either by teleporter or feet first.

I turned around and walked back thinking how on earth I'd gotten myself into this mess. I could probably invest one of the still-available talent points into a group teleport. That way I could take the panther back with me. Still, I already knew it wasn't very clever, arriving in the city with a zombie in tow. Once bitten, twice shy. It was a crying shame to leave kitty in the catacombs but there was no other option, really.

My absent-mindedness nearly cost me. Deep in thought, I stumbled on something and went flying across the hard floor. In an attempt to stay on my feet, I grabbed the first thing that was within my reach—a torch, but I only succeeded in pulling it out of its mounting. Clutching it, I collapsed in a heap on the floor. My health bar shrank back, but I couldn't care less. I was holding the torch.
 
The Torch
!

Torch of True Flame

Item class: Unique

No stealth or invisibility spells can hide one from the light of Primary Fire.

Item type: Independent. Does not disappear when deleted from the inventory. Can be activated via the artifact menu.

Great. I could use it. I opened the settings. Brightness, color of flame, flame on/off. Exactly what I needed. I shoved the expired torch into my bag. Waste not, want not.

I spent the next hour giving the dungeon another search, trying everything that appeared to be bolted down. As a result, I became the proud owner of two more torches and a large shield that I at first had taken for some ornament on the wall. The shield's parameters looked like a mixed blessing:

Ogre's Siege Shield

Item class: Unique

Requires level 50

Effect 1: 370 to Armor

Effect
 
2: halves the player's speed

It fit into my bag sending me into overload. Now I was heavy and slow enough even without being equipped with that Ogre's armored wardrobe. It was definitely time to go. I patted the panther's neck, silently wishing her to avoid disembodiment but instead, turn into the dungeon's new legend: a new aggro monster. Then I activated the portal.

It opened with a
 
quiet pop, leaving me standing in the Three Little Pigs courtyard. A player jumped out of my way, cussing good-naturedly under his breath. I smiled and took in the city's night breeze carrying the fragrance of roasting meat. My feet heavy and tired, I slouched to the front door.

As I crossed the hall, I exchanged a few words with some of the regulars and was about to go upstairs to my room when Eric waved to me from his corner table. I was always happy to see him. He had this talent of making everybody around him feel good.

He wasn't alone. A man was sitting to his left, his expression serious, his eyes cold and attentive. The fancy cordwain armor and double blades glowing by his sides betrayed his class. A rogue. I looked up his level. 160. Holy shit.

To Eric's right sat another character—and he definitely didn't belong there. A plump little man with balding temples squinted at me shortsightedly. He was wearing a pair of plain pants, a shirt and a business jacket, wherever he'd got that from. He must have had them made to measure. A classic office rat if I'd ever seen one. Level 9. So! He probably had his reasons not to exceed it. A crafter? Or a moneybag?

Eric rose and gave me a bear hug. "Come sit here, dude. Gents, this is Laith, a.k.a. Max, known for his equal doses of luck and masochism." He pointed at the rogue, "And this is Dan from our Branch of Light. He's our top cloak and dagger."

The rogue reached out an unhurried hand. "You talk too much," he said to Eric. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Yeah. Some sort of secret-freakin'-agent character. These guys were taking the real-life stuff a bit too far for my liking. They probably couldn't help it, being in the military and all that. On second thoughts, they could be right.

Eric ignored the comment and introduced the second man. "This is our dear
 
Mr. Simonov. He is our bookkeeper, one of a kind. His dangerous profession left him with no option. It was either doing time or going digital. Mr. Simonov wasn't into games then. He set all the settings to default 5, then added his real name and appearance. And off he went. Good job we noticed him in time. If we hadn't, God knows what would've happened to him. So please meet the North Castle treasurer.

The bookkeeper rose in his seat and offered me his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Sir."

I nodded. "The North Castle? How about the South one?"

Eric gave me a happy grin. "Count on it. We have a South one and an East one. We don't have a West one, though. Not yet. But with any luck..."

The rogue frowned, "Eric."

"Please. As if our enemies don't know how many castles we have."

"This is classified information. The castles aren't the problem. Your unprofessional attitude is."

Eric shrugged him away. Which probably wasn't such a good thing. This devil-may-care poise of his could well be the reason behind his low clan rank.

"Sit down, I tell you," Eric bellowed at me. "They're bringing the grub now. We've only just arrived. Why are you wobbling about like a wet noodle?"

I couldn't help smiling at the picture. "I'm dead, man. Been farming for fourteen hours flat. Mopping up a dungeon. Only teleported here a minute ago, loaded like a Pakistani donkey. My mount was supposed to bring another half a ton. But he's gone to the Rainbow Bridge now. Guess, he needed a break from me."

"You eager beaver," Eric grinned. "Very well, then. Surprise me. You were full of surprises in the past."

For a moment, I hesitated whether I should disclose my finds. Still, I trusted Eric. Besides, it probably wasn't a bad idea to raise my weight in his clanmates' eyes. They looked like the right kind of crowd. I'd better stick around.

I took out the whip and handed it to Eric. Uninterested, he passed it over to the rogue.

"A decent toy. Not bad for a mid-level," he commented. "Might go for a hundred fifty gold."

Hm. I'd hoped it would bring more. I pushed the whip to the edge of the table and groaned with the effort as I took out the shield. It must have weighed half a ton. Eric's eyebrows rose.

"Holy shit. Are they cutting up a cruiser somewhere? Is that where you got yourself this whack of armor plate?"

The rogue only shook his head. "First time I see anything like it.
 
Mr. Simonov?"

The treasurer readjusted his non-existing eyeglasses. He looked at the shield scratching his head. "Could be a hundred. Or a thousand. A very peculiar object. Might prove perfect for some specialist job or an unorthodox leveling pattern. I should auction it with the highest reserve until it finds its buyer. Unless he needs some money fast. In that case we could buy it for potential long-term speculation. But in that case, I'm not going to offer the real price. He needs to understand that."

I nodded. This was sound advice, worth disclosing my loot. Eric looked at the other two, pride in his glare: 
didn't I say he was full of surprises?
 I reached into my bag. He stared at me, puzzled. "What else have you got there?"

I pulled out a torch and pressed the mental 
On
 button. It could be my imagination but all the other lamps in the hall seemed to have flickered and dimmed.

The rogue perked up and leaned close to read the stats. Then he drew toward me. "How many have you got?"

I tilted my head. "This is classified information."

Eric guffawed and slapped my shoulder so hard that I received an attack message.

The rogue was hard to shake off. "I'll give you a grand each," he glanced at the treasurer who slowly nodded his agreement. Apparently, they did have the money.

I was a bit taken aback but the rogue kept applying pressure. "This is a good honest-to-God price. Torches aren't common loot but frequent enough to have a stable price. You're not going to use them, are you? What would you do with them?"

I tried to come up with an answer but he didn't want to wait. "You see? You don't even know. We do. We can use them for lots of things. To illuminate the main corridor, for one thing. And the treasury corridor, and the conference hall. You get the picture. The True Vision spell is no good against a high-level rogue. I have the skill I can see them with, but I can't be everywhere, can I? All these spies and thieves are the bane of my life. If he doesn't pilfer everything he sees, he'd hide in stealth under the conference table and in under twenty-four hours collect all the confidential information he can sell. Some of us just can't hold their tongues, can they?" he gave Eric a meaningful look.

Finally, he laid his trump card. "We can be grateful. Which is a lot. Believe me."

I nodded to show I understood what he'd said. And still, I forced myself to decline the offer. "Sorry. I really can't think straight at the moment. Too tired, I suppose. I'll think about it tomorrow, okay? No offense."

He nodded. "Well done. You've ticked the right box. Had you said 'yes', I'd have been quite happy knowing I'd browbeaten you into it. But I don't think I'd have trusted you with anything serious."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I really didn't want to have any problems with this crowd. So I reached into the bag again and froze, grinning at Eric.

He leaned forward. "Don't fuck around. What else have you got?"

I produced the vial.

The rogue slumped back in his chair and raised his hands. "I give up. I don't care what else you might have there. I'll pay you fifteen grand for the whole lot."

Mr. Simonov studied me with interest. "Excuse me, Sir? You have any idea what you've got there? Even real-world money won't buy you this kind of mob droppings. Any top clan buys them like hot cakes. They always need them to level their leading raid tanks or damage dealers."

Eric was fingering the vial. "Who dropped it?"

"A floor boss in a unique personal dungeon I've been to. A level 55 slug, this big."

"Done any screen shots?"

"No. Stupid of me."

"Check the log files provided they're still available, and save them. They might come in handy when you want to sell it."

The rogue raised his hand, attracting our attention. "Would be nice if you gave us first option before you auction them. You wouldn't regret it."

I nodded my understanding.

He paused, thinking. "The day after tomorrow we're having an open house day. Come see us at the Castle. It doesn't happen very often. In fact, it's only the second time we're having it."

"Beg your pardon," Eric butted in. "I was going to invite him myself."