Текст книги "The Clan"

Автор книги: D. Rus

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter Seven

"Open, Sesame!" I whispered as I logged in to the Vets' clan storeroom database. The inventory interface was military-style plain: no bells or whistles there.

Less than five minutes ago, my inner greedy pig had been pacing his cage waiting for the Vets' decision on my storeroom access application. In it, I explained my desire to part-exchange some of the loot for gold. Dan had diplomatically backed out saying the question was out of his jurisdiction and bounced me over to Mr. Simonov. Their decision, however, was signed not by the bookkeeper but by Frag himself. Thanking me for my 'considerable contribution', the General expressed his hopes for further cooperation and made it clear that in the future, my compensation for casting the High Spell during their raids would be revised in favor of a considerable increase. In the meantime, to show their recognition of my services, they granted me full Lieutenant-level access to the storage facility that offered a considerable trade-in discount.

I suppressed a smirk. The Vets had apparently appreciated the outcome of their teaming up with the caster of High Spells enough to attempt securing me for themselves. I didn't even want to venture a guess at the amount I must have helped them make: it's not my style to count the profits in somebody else's wallet. Still, whatever the Vets thought of themselves, I wasn't sure I was happy turning into their hired lockpick. I had to learn to stand on my own two feet, cultivating myself a power strong enough to be reckoned with and not just used. But in the meantime, the Vets guaranteed me the proverbial stroke of a pen that turned my zero into a shiny tenner.

The search interface window chirped open, letting me know they'd finished their checks and confirmed my access status. Thank God for digital technologies! In real life, I'd have had to deal with a cartoon storage officer and his own inner greedy pig, their combined combat skills enough to defeat any quantity of Phantom Dragons.

Right. First things first. Let's check out their vehicle facilities. Where did they keep their bear gear? A haphazard search offered me over four hundred available items, a bit over the top. I sorted them by price, the highest offerings stopping at just over twenty grand per item. Their names didn't say anything to me. I needed to consult an expert.

Any bear-savvy persons around? Apart from Animal Rescue, I could only think of Eric. I PM'd him describing my problem and asking his advice regarding some gear for my Hummungus. I remembered the love and care Eric had invested into kitting out his own LAV mount. Now it was my time to hear out the expert.

He promptly replied, stuck in the guardhouse as part of the reinforcement group and dying for some entertainment.

Super. Will help you, no question. Which storage have you got access to?

That got me thinking. What did he mean, which one? Do you have several? I've got Lieutenant's access.

I see. It gives you access to all classes of items and gear up to rare. Epics and artifacts are locked in the classified vault. Not much but not bad, either. I don't have even that. Ah! Think you could look something up for my LAVvie? I need a Veil of True Vision. It allows a mount to detect a stealthed enemy even farther than a player with an identical buff can. And, please, also Pegasus Horseshoes. They add 15% to speed. And could you also look up-

Hey, wait up! my inner greedy pig and myself replied in unison. We could use this sort of goodies ourselves! Back to the subject. Once we equip Hummungus, you might be able run wild for a bit, depending on the result.

What's your money situation?

Not a problem.

Then you should take Winnypore's set, everything you can find —there're six items in total and you've got the Claws already. That's the coolest of the affordables. The rest is a bit out of your league. Besides, they're mainly no-drop, anyway.

Very well. I typed in Winnypore. The search returned nine items. When I got rid of the doubles, I was left with four: the helmet, the pauldrons, a cuirass and something that looked like a pair of steel boots. I dreaded to think what the Moon Winnypore was and what it looked like. Price per item: three to six grand. I opened an auction in another window and compared the prices. Oh well, the Vets' had it all at least ten percent cheaper. Would be nice to buy up a million's worth of their stuff and auction it all off. One or two hundred grand easy profit, no sweat. But that would be a total loss of face and reputation, a ripoff to end all ripoffs. We didn't need that, did we?

I gave my inner greedy pig a clip round the ear to stop him looking at me with those imploring puppy eyes. Then I scanned the stats, envying my own bear, and began buying up. I also needed to get him a pair of armored pants, four earrings, two gold chains and something to fit on his teeth a bit like those horror fangs they sell in joke shops for overaged teenagers.

I ended up brainstorming it with Eric, after which we found all the items we needed—apart from the set of teeth which I had to buy from an auction for no less than eighteen grand. But the teeth were worth it, from the first incisor to the last canine.

Mithril Fangs of the Flesh Eater

Item class: Epic

Weapon type: for combat mount only

Damage 96-117, Speed 2.9, Durability 230230

Effect 1: Hole Puncher. Gives 20% damage probability completely overriding enemy armor.

Effect 2: Flesh Eater. When mount deals a deadly blow, part of the slain creature is devoured, restoring 25% life to the item owner.

There you are, Teddy—not a cute and cuddly toy any more but a carnivorous flesh-eater. I just hoped the effect was purely virtual and that he wouldn't have to chomp on all sorts of unsavory things.

I didn't forget Eric's requests, either. Unfortunately, they had only one Veil so I was forced to give it to him, even though my inner greedy pig kept making suggestive faces. But they had two sets of Pegasus Horseshoes which, beside a speed bonus which wasn't anything in itself, also offered an impressive +170 to hits. I took both hoping that the storage officer wouldn't start wondering about how many legs my bear had.

Now! Hummungus was fully equipped, tenfold more impressive than his owner. His stats looked more than respectable:

Riding Mount: Hummungus (Red Bear)

Level: 26

Strength: 185

Armor: 140

Constitution: 95

Claw power: 77-91

Maul power: 127-162

Speed: 10 mph

Rider: 2

Weight-carrying capacity: 9250

Special abilities: Armor Bearer, Arms Carrier, Mule II, Transporter

 

My Teddy had become a force to be reckoned with. Not that it hadn't cost anything. Even in real life, seven thousand bucks was more than enough to turn any wuss into a rather dangerous dude complete with bulletproof vest, a shotgun and two handguns under his belt. Add to it a couple dozen tactics and shooting classes, and our bullied-up nerd turned into a potential wonder waffle. That's a wuss, but here I had a combat mount initially created to eliminate everything that moved.

Now I could finally think about myself. Having said that, I had a whole kindergarten to take care of. I opened my guild settings. Cryl was level 13. Lena was a level-11 ranger. I rummaged through my bag and found a whip I'd won in that personal dungeon ages ago. That had been a brilliant find: good job I hadn't given it to Bug as promised. Not because I was too tight or something—no, I'd just had too many things on my plate to remember about it.

Then I made a mental note of setting ten grand aside for each of my new clan members' equipment. Wiping my sobbing greedy pig's face, I assured him that the gear was a loan that later had to be returned to the clan storage. To bring the sniveling creature back to its senses, I set up a clan tax of 10% off all loot and on every sale. Having said that, I seemed to be the only person to suffer from it for the time being. There isn't much in the way of loot when you're level 10. Having said that, I was the only one with access to the clan treasury.

That was it. Now it was well and truly my turn. First of all, I wanted some of the thickest and richest elixirs they had. Even there, my appetite met with dire reality: the Vets kept their vials in a separate Alchemy vault that had nothing to do with their regular storage. And I didn't want to push my luck asking for yet another access. I really didn't need to add any more stones to the already hefty weight of my obligations to somebody else's—albeit admittedly friendly—clan.

So I switched over to the auctions. They offered a decent choice even though I couldn't see anything truly rare, like Unknown Skill Elixir. After giving it some thought, I finally bought four skill elixirs and twenty characteristic-boosting ones. That should last me three weeks, considering the cooldown. I was eighteen grand down but didn't regret a single penny of it. With a clinking of coins, the fluttering of the bag confirmed the receipt of my purchases. I drank two vials on the spot: the mint and the lime-and-honey ones.

I invested one talent point into something I'd long been drooling over but every time had to forgo it in favor of combat skills. A group teleport was something that neither Necro nor Death Knight had; what they did have was an advanced personal one that started at level 30 and allowed you to take your mount and your pet with you. And now I could finally acquire one, too. No more leaving my pets behind in dungeons! My inner greedy pig was still clutching at his heart every time he remembered the Plague Panther, all leveled up and dripping with abilities, that I'd had to abandon in that personal dungeon.

I habitually moved the one available characteristic point to Intellect. I'd done so every time, sharing all the points received between Intellect and Spirit at a ratio of two to one.

Right. What next? It was probably a good idea to set aside a particular sum I could afford. In hindsight, I should have done so before I'd even started buying. Never mind. Let's look at it in another way. I didn't really want to break into the million. Like a single large note in your wallet, it would resist being changed for the dubious pleasure of getting a few penny objects. I had to set aside another fifty grand for various operating costs I could already see coming. By doing a bit of some preschool subtraction, I was left with about eighty grand. Almost as much as I'd just spent on my own mount. Yeah, right.

What was worth keeping of the gear I already had? Honestly, considering the sum I had to play with, I really should upgrade everything I owned. I hadn't made any improvements to my gear since the tournament at the Vets' when it had been appraised at six grand. When you compared it to eighty, all that was left to do was gasp and crumble in a heap on the floor in silent ecstasy.

Still, there were a few things I wasn't prepared to swap quite yet. Staff of Dark Flame, Crown of the Overlord and Jangur's Battle Shield had to stay. The Crown I'd never sell, ever—I needed it as a unique tool for some specific tasks. But no one said I had to wear it all the time, so nothing prevented me from getting some new head gear provided I found something in the same league. The jewelry had to go to the clan vault, a.k.a. my bedside cabinet, at least until the clan finally got itself some kind of fixed abode.

I went back to the Vets' storage and started another search, this time only limiting it by class—Death Knight—and price—lowest first. Well, well. About three thousand search results, the nicest thingies smiling at me from their thirty-grand-plus positions. Looked like I was again forced to buy a few top items and clutter the remaining slots with their budget versions. Not that this particular strategy was without its fortes. It had served me well last time I'd done it.

I pondered over both alternatives. Still, it was probably better to buy the best I could afford. Was I prepared to spend my money on a ton of low-class gear so that one day I was faced with the fact that at level (say) 120, a poorly invested eight thousand bucks hadn't provided me with the advantages I'd hoped for? Much better to get a couple of true uber waffles that I could at some later date exchange for some epics and artifacts.

That brought me back to the initial scenario. Pets were my trump card. I sorted the search results by Raises the summoned creature's level: highest first. Just in case you wondered, Death Knights—who were the most deprived in this respect—also had access to the superest items. Not that I complained, really. Who was I, after all—a humble Death Knight coming to them cap in hand for a handful of bonuses for his sickly pet.

Panting from the effort, my inner greedy pig and myself studied the offers. I ran a similar search on the auctions: ten times more choice, but their prices tended to sneer rather than smile.

Soon I'd sighted the first uber goodie:

Renegade's Steel Boots

Item class: Unique

Effect 1: +110 to Armor, +25 to Intellect, +25 to Strength

Effect 2: Speeds up mana regeneration 4% .

Effect 3: The raised creature has a 50% chance of keeping one of its special skills.

Effect 4: +7 to the raised creature's level

Effect 5: -1 to your relationship with Races of Light

Effect 6: +1 to your relationship with Dark Races

Class restrictions: Only Death Knight

Race restrictions: Only races of Light

Jeez. These were my size, tailor made. Having said that, thirty-one thousand gold equaled three thousand bucks: basically, I was exchanging thirty grams of printed paper for a few thousand lines of program code. No, not like that. Was I going mad? There was no code to talk of anymore; nothing to do with dollars. I was behaving like a Russian immigrant in his new home country who'd convert every price tag he saw into rubles and either rub his hands with glee or grasp his head in despair. That wasn't the life I wanted for myself. Money had to pull its weight. It shouldn't collect dust; it had to grow, multiplying my loot and experience.

Now. The next item worth its while was a breastplate, also Death Knight restricted. Necros can't wear heavy armor and they can't count on strength bonuses. The breastplate looked intimidating:

Nazgul Backbone Breastplate.

Item class: Unique

Effect 1: +210 to Armor, +250 to Mana, +250 to Life, +10% to magic resistance.

Effect 2: In case of an attack by a stabbing weapon, there is a 15% chance of receiving a critical hit.

Effect 3: If the wearer's Life drops below 20%, the Aura of Fear will cover all beings within 10 paces, paralyzing them for 2.5 sec.

Effect 4: +6 to the raised creature's level

Effect 5: Sends fragment of bone flying whenever the wearer sustains damage, injuring all enemies within 3 paces and dealing them 40 pts. damage.

Class restrictions: only Death Knight

 

I mulled over the stats comparing them to those of other suitable objects, finally coming to the conclusion that the breastplate was definitely the coolest of the available. I had to buy it. Thirty-five grand down. I wiped away the sweat. I'd never had the chance to spend such amounts so quickly before. Fifteen thousand bucks in the last hour, the mind boggles. Having said that, easy come, easy go. There were plenty of castles still left, LOL.

I also laid an eye on a bracelet which wasn't particularly impressive, just +3 to pet's level, but being jewelry, it had attracted the attention of a host of other Necros who'd forced the price sky high. Never mind. It could wait. Especially because my reserve was running low. What was it I'd said about low-class gear?

For the next two hours, I pawed over my gold choosing budget versions of the remaining equipment. They wouldn't last, anyway, so I'd have to replace them one day.

With every delivery, my bag got tangibly heavier. Finally, I was done. I spread the remaining pennies thin over numerous clothes and jewelry slots. That was it, enough.

I changed into my new acquisitions and hopped around a bit, testing them. There was some clinking and clanking here and there but not much, despite the hundred fifty pounds of steel hung on me and another seventy in my bag. God bless the game physics! With my strength numbers, I didn't even feel anything lifting under 220 pounds. Above that, it went straight into overload.

Almost ready. I PM'd Cryl to let him know I had to leave for a couple days in order to complete a quest and could be reached by PM if needs be. I warned him about the contents of my bedside cabinet, asking him to take good care of Lena, accept her into our group, invest in some nice fat buffs and get leveling.

I walked downstairs to the portal hall past a few stationary patrols posted at the castle's key points. A couple of women and guards recoiled, shrinking out of my way, still wound up by Frag's security drills even though the threat level had now been lowered to yellow. And there I walked, a ghostly figure adorned with the Lord of the Dead's black crown, the breastplate's yellow ribs sticking out, a tiny piece of dark amber pulsating over my heart. I had used the precious gem to decorate my admittedly unaesthetic breastplate, filling one of the three available enhancement slots which incidentally had also boosted my Dark spells. It was probably a good idea to remove the breastplate in polite society, for fear of scaring everyone shitless.

I quickly arranged for a teleport to a small town about a hundred miles away from the castle. Its name didn't say much to me: my choice had been random. The portal popped open, taking me there. Another three minute wait in order to arrange for another transfer to their nearest town. Rinse and repeat. Fifteen minutes, six teleports and a hundred fifty gold later, I completed my little loose-end tying-up operation, ending up at the already-familiar square in the Original City.

When I'd been there last, I'd made a mental note of an imposing shop sign that competed with nearby bank logos. Thror's Gem House. I dreaded to think how much it cost them to keep a high-end edifice like that in the city's main square.

The massive door opened easily. Gear wheels turned, initiating a system of counterweights. Needless to say, everything worked without so much as a squeak. In place of an ordinary shop bell, I was met by the sound of a miniature gold hammer striking a silver anvil. Its significance dawned on me when I saw the goldsmith's apprentice in charge of greeting customers. A dwarf! The first ever dwarf I'd met in this world!

We both froze, studying each other. The dwarf stared at me with surprise, seeing a High Elf in a Drow city. His eyes widened as he took in my friendly status and the Mark of the House of Night. And once he noticed the piece of amber on my chest, he seemed to lose all contact with reality.

"With due respect," I patted his shoulder to wake him up, "I'd like to see Master Thror."

The dwarf startled, coming to. "I'm afraid, the Father of the House doesn't receive visitors any more," he cast me a guilty look.

I raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"I'll go and ask," the dwarf hurried to add. "He might make an exception... exclusively for you."

He disappeared, leaving me wondering who it was I was about to see. I needed a goldsmith, not some patriarch mascot figure.

I couldn't have been more wrong. The reclusive House founder turned out to be a brow-knitted giant—as far as dwarves went, of course. His bulging muscles could have belonged to a blacksmith not a jeweler, his eyes squinting at you as if through a helmet visor. An enormous pole-axe on the wall hinted at his fine military past.

If he'd read my appearance better than his apprentice, it didn't show. Not a muscle twitched on his poker face. "What can I do for you, young Elf?"

"I'm not going to waste your time, Sir. Let's move straight to the point. I've managed to lay my hands on a few items allowing me to build a Travel Altar. My limited skills don't allow me to embark on a project of this scale which is why I've come to your shop as it's the best in town. Think you could help me?"

Now his eyebrows did twitch. "Do you mean you have in your possession an item that used to belong to a God of Light, boy? So now you want to make a Small Altar? Or," he added just a hint of sarcasm to his voice, "you just happen to have some sacred relics to build a Big Raid Altar?"

"Not quite," I reached into my bag and produced two dark fragments.

The dwarf swung round, grabbed some paperwork from the desk and covered the stones with it. Then he raised his hand and made a complex signal with his fingers. I barely heard the hidden gunslots closing. He definitely wasn't your cute and cuddly grandfather type.

Thror froze, listening intently, then nodded, satisfied. He removed the paper and lovingly ran his hand over the stones.

"My apologies are in order, Sir Laith," he mumbled. "Technically, our clan belongs to the branch of Light. Not that we really know who we're supposed to worship there. Their clerics have no problem accepting our gold, but when it comes to our requests to create a temple dedicated to the God of goldsmiths and jewelers, they keep saying they don't have sufficiently powerful artifacts! And they've just used the recently acquired God's Heart to summon Asclepius—the God of physicians—and add him to their Pantheon. Asclepius, for God's sake! What were his parents thinking about, giving him a name like that!"

I nodded, soaking up the precious snippets of information. Seeing as I'd already been up to my ears in Gods' dealings, I had to keep my eye on the ball and learn all I could on the subject. I needed to know every detail, from their Gods' names and jobs to Venus' bra size if only she existed in our world.

The dwarf was already rolling the stones in his hand, studying them and analyzing their stats. Was he performing a spectral analysis of the reflected light? Or just admiring them? Neither would have surprised me.

"This is a complex and challenging task," he finally said. "It requires the level of a Famed Master in Goldsmithy. There're only three of them in town."

He was talking up his prices, the bastard. "I do hope you're one of them," I returned. "And if not, nothing prevents me from going to the birthplace of all true masters, the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Plenty of portals around."

The dwarf flinched, poker-faced no more. "They'll take them off you—and they just might allow you to keep your head. Or they could distract you with prayers and rituals while their masters fight for the order behind the scenes. It's not every day that a Famed Master lands a job that can level up his goldsmith skill."

I smiled: it hadn't taken much for this pick-wielding operator to give himself away. "So you see, Sir, it's in our interests you get the job, isn't it? Having said that, laying my hands on these fragments has drained my finances. Then again, knowing the advantages it could bring you, I'm quite prepared to give the job to you for the very modest kickback of a hundred thousand grand."

The dwarf fell silent, dumbfounded. Why not? I had better break the proverbial mold before he charged me full whack. Finally, he regained his composure and roared with laughter, slapping the desk.

"You're a joker, you really are! I very nearly believed you! I almost showed you to the door," he said with a hint of irony in his voice.

I smiled against my will, confirming my status as a joker. Thror opened a massive writing cabinet which contained, instead of office supplies, a small barrel of something definitely alcoholic. The dwarf tapped the barrel's fat slats, listening to the resonant echo, then poured two mugs and banged them onto the desk.

"Let's share a small cup of Dwarven Extra Dry. No good discussing a two-hundred-grand order dying of thirst!"

I choked. "Pardon me! I don't need an altar of solid gold. It has to be as light and inconspicuous as possible. Ideally it should look marginally better than a campfire tripod. Otherwise every Tom, Dick and Harry will come running wondering what I have here. So I suggest we share the expense: the altars for me, the experience for you."

It was his turn to choke. "I don't make kitchen utensils! I'm a goldsmith! And of all things, I don't work for free! Having said that," his glare clouded over, then glistened again, "you, Sir Laith, bear the Mark of the Fallen One. It stands to reason you have met. And the fact that you have the stones tells a lot to somebody with my experience. Very well. I'll make you the altars you want free of charge, provided you bring me a small vial of the Fallen One's blood."

I jumped. "You don't mess around, do you? I don't think the Fallen One will like it when he finds out that his blood has become a mail-order trade tool to save some miserable ten grand."

We dedicated the next couple hours to this friendly banter. Finally, both of us suitably hammered, we struck a deal agreeing on sixty grand. Too much, dammit. I signed the contract and gave him his fifty percent advance, after which the dwarf reached into the cabinet for a bottle bleached with age.

"Dragon's Tears, forty years old," he explained proudly, pulling out the tight cork, as a Dwarven maiden carried in a trayful of food.

We downed a shot glass each. It did bring tears to your eyes. Had to be at least 120%. Pleased with the effect, the dwarf decided to show the clueless youngster how to chase it down properly. Taking a sausage off the tray, he grabbed the tongs and pulled a glowing ember out of the fire. Bringing it to his mouth, he exhaled, his alcohol-filled breath enveloping the sausage in a green flame, filling the room with all the smells of a German beerhouse.

"Dragon Breath," the dwarf commented, proud. "With a bit of practice, it can burn a hole through a piece of wood half an inch thick."

He was a piece of work, was this gray-bearded master. He asked me for a week to complete the order, explaining it away by the necessity of having to fly to the Kingdom Under the Mountain to pick up some rare ingredients.

We parted almost as friends. Swaying, I walked out of the building. My head could have done with a bit of clearing after his exercise in hospitality. I needed to find a café that served some really strong coffee and study a map of the city. My next port of call had to be the mercenaries' guild. No way I was going to venture into the Dead Lands alone. I needed a good backup. The next day, if luck had it, I would see the walls of the legendary First Temple.