Winds of Fate Page 13

  You have a new quest offer: A Father’s Grief

  This quest is the starter for the Missing Daughter series.

  Task: Listen to König Harald the Curly’s story about the loss of this daughter.

  Reward:

  500 experience

  +1 respect among the peoples of the North

  The second quest in the series

  Warning: Your reputation isn’t high enough to talk with the könig. First, focus on boosting it, or find another way to the foot of his throne.

  Accept?

  So the grieving father wasn’t ready to talk to me yet. Ah, well, it was his loss. Here I am ready to give him his daughter’s jewelry. But it was okay, I was just happy to see official confirmation that there was some way other than the main one that was much too long for me. I just had to find it.

  Really, the whole thing was intriguing. I’d completed a quest I hadn’t gotten to but couldn’t report back on because I hadn’t completed the previous ones, and I couldn’t complete those because nobody wanted to see my ugly mug. It was twisted logic, but what else can you expect from a virtual world?

  I shook my head and stuck my hand back into my bag.

  White Prince Crown

  This crown belonged to Eric Lightbearer, a great warrior and seafarer, who sailed across the seven seas to create the first great empire in Rattermark.

  To this day, the monarchs of the West claim to be his descendants with his blood coursing through their veins.

  None of them has ever been able to prove that he is actually descended from Eric since everything having to do with the White Prince was lost or destroyed over the millennia. Breaking the news that this item has appeared can therefore safely be assumed to cause an incredible sensation.

  Whoever holds the White Prince Crown can lay claim to the Aegan throne, and with it, rule over the entire Western Mark. The many challengers for the throne, of course, will do their best to wrest the crown from the holder, using any means necessary—from purchasing it to killing whoever is wearing it.

  The owner of the crown, should he or she decide to part with it, can expect a princely reward from the ruling family of the West or their competitors for the throne. With that said, it may just as easily earn the owner a knife between the ribs.

  Remember that this crown is nearly priceless, and so think carefully before you decide what to do with it.

  Wait, that’s all? Just an item all by itself? Where were the attributes, the message that it gives incredible strength or something similar? I was surprised, to say the least.

  Certainly, it wasn’t a bad little crown to have on you; it opened up some highly intriguing doors. I could, for example, forget my mission, go marry my Elmilora and try to seize the throne with a claim that I had royal blood in my veins. Excuse me, does anybody know where you get in line to be king?

  Another option was to put it up for auction with a string of zeros at the end of the price. The possibilities were endless. I wonder if local rulers arrange royal marriages. Could there be a connection between the North and the West? Or with the South?

  I dipped my hand into my bag one more time and pulled out the scroll.

  Fire and Ice

  For class: Archer

  Minimum level for use: 110

  One-time use.

  Used to learn Fire and Ice, an individual class ability (costs 360 mana).

  The ability lets the user shoot two arrows simultaneously, one of which does instant cold damage (up to 960 damage), and the other, fire damage (up to 880 damage). The instant damage is followed by a 55% chance to do up to 340 fire or ice damage per second for 30 seconds.

  To use this scroll, read the name of the scroll aloud and say, “Learn.”

  It was probably a nice scroll, just as everything else had been great, but I only had a vague idea of how much it was worth. I’d have to check that out at the auction. I personally couldn’t use it; my wonderful clan would be perfectly fine without it; and so the best option was just to sell it. If any of my clan mates asked where I got it from, I figured I could just tell them that I picked it up in the mines and didn’t owe anyone anything.

  No, I’ll just sell it at a 10% discount. Though that will have Elina and the other grabby little hands in the clan coming to find me—“Items like that are the property of the clan, so hand it over right now!” And that will be that. Whatever, I’ll think of something later. It’s perfectly fine lying in my chest for the time being.

  The crown tines were obviously for a quest, though they didn’t give it to me right away. Still, I figured they would come in handy sooner or later and turned my attention to Molton’s Cuirass.

  Molton’s Cuirass

  Belonged to a great knight and protector of the Old Gods. He died asserting their authority over mortals, though he lived on in the memory of his enemies as a worthy and honorable opponent.

  From the Knightly Collection set

  Set includes:

  Wilfred’s Helmet

  Sir Nigel’s Pauldrons

  Sir Adrian’s Gauntlets

  Molton’s Cuirass

  Black Rose Belt

  Mihal’s Greaves

  +40 to strength

  +43 to endurance

  +18% chance of opening a painful wound

  +22% chance of disarming your opponent

  +11% durability for all your equipment

  +7% mana restoration speed

  +5% chance of getting hidden and epic quests

  Durability: 2500/2500

  Minimum level for use: 92

  For class: Warrior

  Cannot be stolen, lost, broken, or given away.

  Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying when coupled with at least two other items from the set.

  The following bonuses are unlocked by using the complete set:

  Three random active class abilities

  Two random passive class abilities

  +3 to one random attribute

  +15% to your chances of getting items from dead enemies

  +13% life energy

  It was a worthy item ticketed for a worthy spot in my chest with the rest of my riches. I wondered if I could get a third item from the set. It was a good-looking piece of armor, and I would have happily worn it if I ever got to Level 90. Really, I was building up a nice little collection, even after turning that medallion over to the clan. I’m going to have to find a way to sell all this for real money when I decide to stop playing the game. That’s against the rules, of course, but come on; this is Russia. Things are different here. If you really want something you aren’t supposed to have, you can get it if you don’t stick your neck out too far. How my owners would react, was a different and much more important story.

  Anyway, those were all questions for another day, and I had enough on my plate as it was. I needed to go visit the blacksmith and figure out how to get to the capital. I got the impression that the action was there, and it was the most likely spot to figure out that alternative way to the throne. I just needed some kind of taxi.

  After grabbing the portal scroll out of my trunk, I walked out onto the street, safe in the knowledge that there was nothing left for me to do in my room. As I walked past Holm, I gave him a glaring reminder that it doesn’t pay to play the fool. The blood drained from his face, and I smiled to myself.

  Finding that taxi to the capital was my priority, so I left the rude blacksmith for later and headed toward the mailbox.

  There were a few letters waiting for me there, all of them from the auction. Most of my lots had sold, dropping some gold into my pocket, though a few letters were there to tell me that nobody wanted what I was selling. I mentally checked them off as “probably lost.” There was no reason to trek all the way to Selgar for them, as they weren’t worth the cost of the scrolls I’d have to use to get there and back. Anyway, I still had another month, so I figured I’d wait and see what would happen. It’s realistic how they return things from the auction, I tho
ught to myself, but it sure is a pain. Why can’t they let you pick your things up at any of the auctions in any of the capitals? That would have been so much easier.

  After having gone through my incoming mail, I pulled up the new message form.

  Good afternoon,

  As promised, I’m writing you at the first available opportunity to let you know that I’m ready to meet and hear what you wanted to tell me. I’m currently in Hexburg.

  Best, Hagen

  Then all I had to do was wait and see who took the bait first. In the meantime, I made up my mind to go finish my quest. Ah, no, wait a second—I need to check something out.

  I glanced into the local tavern, an establishment with the proud name of Melniere. Just as I expected, it was gloomy; dirt was everywhere; and the whole place stank of sour beer and fried onions. A few of the people there were already sleeping prostrate on the tables, but two boozy dwarves named Triukh and Partavi were still more or less upright. They’d obviously been going at it for a while since their faces were red.

  Partavi was in the middle of a story. “Back when I had the bone plate on my ass, I was really cool. I was like a god, hic. I could have roped the moon and brought it down to earth if I’d wanted to. I could have taken on anyone, no questions asked. And now?” The dwarf sadly tried to twist around to see his own backside, spun slightly, was unsuccessful, chewed on his beard in frustration, and kept going. “Now look at me—I’m a clown.”

  “Oh, come on,” his friend replied, trying to cheer him up. “Clowns are in the circus or off in some country of idiots. But you…you…you…”

  He never got around to explaining exactly where his despondent friend was, as he joined the ranks of those sleeping draped over the tables. The only difference was that he collapsed right onto the floor.

  The plateless dwarf looked at his fallen friend sorrowfully and went back to his beer. The suffering written all over his face was unmistakable.

  “It’s terrible,” I said, giving my opinion of the place. “Perfect!”

  Encouraged by how my plan was coming together, I went to see the blacksmith.

  The unsociable fellow was doing what he always did: hammering metal into shape. He saw me and didn’t even nod. Apparently, my two reputation points didn’t mean much.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Blacksmith,” I said loudly. “How are things?”

  “What’s it to you?” His hammer slammed down. “My business is my business.”

  “I’d have to agree with you there,” I replied. “But I did what you asked me to. Here’s the grave iron, if you wouldn’t mind signing for it.”

  “I don’t know how to write,” he said sullenly, looking up at me. “But thanks for the iron.”

  You completed a quest: Grave Iron

  Task: Get twenty pieces of grave iron.

  Reward:

  600 experience

  +10% discount with the Hexburg blacksmith

  +3 respect in Hexburg

  “This is good metal,” the satisfied blacksmith said as he fingered the hunks of iron. “It’s just a shame there’s so little of it. You don’t want to go get some more, do you?”

  I thought for a second and checked my bag. There were maybe ten more pieces—not enough for the quest. And I had no plans to head back to the burial mounds in the near future.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have time right now. But, if you want, I’d be happy to give you another five pieces. I don’t need them, and I’m sure you’ll put them to good use.”

  I pulled them out of my bag and put them on the forge, waiting to see if I’d guessed right.

  You showed kindness and selflessness, something the North values very highly.

  +3 respect in Hexburg

  +0.4 respect among the peoples of the North

  Ah-ha, it works! I’d seen a few hints to that effect on the forums and thought something like that would go over well.

  In the North, you didn’t just have to do quests and actions to boost your reputation; the people there also liked to see personal qualities like kindness, directness, fearlessness, and selflessness. All of that was taken into account, both positively and negatively. I liked that attitude and had made up my mind to utilize it, so I realized I needed to watch what I did and said. One could lose a reputation just as easily as he could gain it.

  A notification dinged to tell me I had mail. I hope that’s my taxi.

  “Okay, Mr. Blacksmith, it was great doing business with you, but I have to run,” I said, giving him a small bow. “If I’m ever in these parts again, I’ll be sure to drop by.”

  “Please do,” I heard to my surprise. “By the way, my name’s Truggvy.”

  Eight reputation points may not get you friendship, I realized, though it would at least get people to talk to you. And that was a start.

  The letter was from Milly Re. I was happy to see that, as, between her and Elina, she was the one I really wanted to see. Elina would just get on my case again with her exasperated voice. Everything was simpler with Milly. So what did she write?

  Hey! That’s great, I’m glad you’re already in the North. What I wanted to talk to you about isn’t that important anymore, but let’s still get together. I’ll be waiting for you in Holmstag near the northern gate in half an hour.

  Milly

  Yeah, right, pumpkin, here I come. No, I think we’re going to play by my rules. I really needed to get to Holmstag.

  Milly, you overestimate me. There’s no way I can get to Holmstag since I haven’t been there yet, so if you really need to see me, I’ll wait for you in Hexburg. If not, we can get together later.

  Of course, if you’re patient enough, I can meet you at the northern gate in a month or two. Just don’t feel bad when the locals start wondering why you’ve been there so long…

  Anyway, I’ll be at Melniere for another twenty minutes or so.

  Faithfully yours, Hagen

  I figured she would either tell me to go screw myself, or I’d see her in another five minutes. In the meantime, I walked toward the tavern.

  Seven minutes later—a full two more than my estimate—a portal whooshed open, and the provincial calm of Hexburg was broken by Milly Re, a dame from the capital looking down her nose and showing off her extravagant outfit.

  She stepped out of the portal and sniffed. “Who invites a young, attractive warrior maiden to a hole like this?”

  “I do,” I said shortly. “I invite them wherever I can. Want to go inside and grab a beer? It’s not the best spot—”

  “Right! I know the bars in these burgs. ‘Not the best spot’ my ass! Pigsties is more like it. A bunch of blockheads drinking themselves into a stupor on the tables, and they smell like all get out. No, thank you—not for me. It’s better in Selgar, so let’s go there.”

  Wait, what? You can forget about Selgar, baby cakes.

  “Milly, I just left there a week ago,” I whined. “Why don’t we just go to Holmstag?”

  Milly looked at me and grinned.

  “All right then, Holmstag it is. You take the cake sometimes.”

  I didn’t care what I took so long as she opened that portal.

  A minute later, we walked out into the capital of the North. It was noisy and loud like Selgar, rather than busy like Aegan. But the first thing I noticed was the smell of the sea. It was a touch salty, with a light hint of seaweed and a pleasant chill.

  The people in the city walked by calmly, with nobody running or bustling, and most of the players were high-level. There weren’t even street sellers; trade was done in stalls and even stores, with the latter well-situated and even featuring window displays. I stopped stock-still next to one of them. It was a clothing store that stood out like a sore thumb in a game that lived and died by magic and the sword. In the window, were two mannequins, one an elf and the other an orc woman, and they were dressed…unusually. The handsome, golden-haired elf was wearing a tailcoat with all the trimmings, including a snow-white dickey, a bow tie, and a top hat, while t
he orc woman was just as dressed up in a white ball gown and fur boa. They made quite the pair.

  “Surreal, no?” said Milly Re with a wink. “Everyone around here loves them so much they named them. What do you think their names are?”

  “Romeo and Juliet,” I replied, hazarding a guess.

  “Almost. Gerda and Kai,” she said with a laugh. “Okay, come on, there’s a nice place nearby called the Two Heroes.”

  It really was a nice place. Just as nice as the rest of the city, in fact—a city I’d taken such a liking to that I would have enjoyed taking a day just to walk around and drink it all in. It was a mix of two of my favorite cities, St. Petersburg and Stockholm.

  The streets were straight, the people spoke and moved unhurriedly, and everything was solid, graceful, and majestic without any unnecessary frills that would have ruined the picture. It was the type of city you strolled through instead of galloping by with a no time to spare. I’m late!

  The Two Heroes, needless to say, lived up to the standard set by the rest of the city. The sign on top of the roof was two statues cut to look like some figures from antiquity: a big guy in chainmail with a hefty sword and a skinny companion wearing a gray cape and wielding a long, slender blade.

  “Who are they?” I asked Milly.

  “How should I know?” She stared at me.

  Inside, everything was just as it should have been. The first floor was an open room with strong oak tables, while the second floor was split into separate rooms. We took one of them.

  Milly ordered, for both of us in fact, put her hands on the table and her head in her hands, and looked steadily at me.

  I squirmed in discomfort under her gaze. “It’s nice here,” I blurted out, not sure how I was supposed to act. That’s a favorite trick women like to play: they stare at you in silence, sending very clear signals that screw with you and tell you that you have to say…something. But who knows what? They aren’t saying anything, after all!

  “Sure is,” agreed Milly. “Fine. Calm down. Here’s what I wanted to talk to you about—you were in the mines with Miurat, right?”

  “Yes,” I said with a nod.

  “And you left them with him?”

  “Not exactly. He stayed back to keep them busy while I got away. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have gotten out alive.”