"I make frequent offerings to Sata," I say to the alchemist who's eagerly waiting for an answer, then walk up to the counter, produce the required amount of the reagent, and add. "The Mistress of Luck helped me to survive the traps at the entrance. Then I used a scroll of Secret Vision received some months back from a mage in Vaedarr. Twenty minutes was enough. I saw all the traps and managed to work around them to gather the moss. I didn't see Feret or Gehinal. Perhaps it's because I took another route home, off the main road. I wanted to explore the area a bit. Anyway, it doesn't seem like they were in much of a hurry."

  "Happy is he whom Sata favors with her capricious gaze," Alahun nods, ignoring the last remark.

  He collects the moss off the counter, then takes out a scroll and hands it to me.

  "This is yours, as we agreed."

  Your reputation has increased. Alahun the alchemy master from House Akkri relates to you with respect.

  Respect, eh? Could that be a key to open some doors? Perhaps. Though you can still respect an enemy...

  I take the scroll from the alchemist, study the recipe for a minute, then stock up on some more of the required reagents.

  "Take care of yourself," the drow says as farewell, peering me in the eyes.

  "Thank you. You take care of yourself, too, master." I reply, enunciate each word, smile at the alchemist, and leave, sensing his heavy appraising gaze on my back.

  Back on the street, I hand in the crystals gathered in the passage, and head back to the inn. It'll be evening soon, and I still need to do some poison brewing. Such matters ought not be put off for long.

  At first glance, alchemy seems like a difficult profession to master. When learning the fundamentals, you run into scholarly words like "gradations" and "coagulations," which refer to producing distilled water and preparing a lubricant base, respectively. And then you realize that you don't actually need to know any of this stuff, since recipes for potions, elixirs, infusions and poisons can be bought off any alchemist for peanuts. Therefore, all you really need when brewing any given substance are the right reagents in the right amount, the required skill level, plus knowing the proportions of the ingredients, as well as the duration and nature of the brew. Speaking of which... I bring up the just-learned recipe and look over it again.

  Rock Burrower Blood.

  Venom (daggers). Rare.

  Item level: 190.

  Effect: blinds the target for two seconds (no more than once every 20 seconds) and deals 1,500 damage per second over 5 seconds.

  Duration: 2 hours.

  Minimum level: 190.

  4 portions.

  Brewing recipe:

  Brown moss: 4 portions

  Yew extract: 4 portions

  Reagent with a Poison property: 2 portions

  Base: hard animal fat, category 3: 10 portions

  Place into a crucible and heat for 33 minutes

  Required: alchemical bench, medium crucible

  Required: 190 Alchemy; Poisons III

  I already have some boar fat from before, the yew extract I just purchased from the alchemist, and for the additional reagent, some winterberry gathered outside of Vaedarr a week ago will do.

  I won't regret coming down to this hole—the poison really is quite good. The effects are doubled thanks to my achievement, making the four-second-long blind and three thousand damage per second a hell of a boon in a fight. A pity I only have enough reagents for eight jars. With each jar good for four coatings, it won't even last a month. Still, it's good enough to get started. Were it not for the discount, I'd only have enough for six jars. That comes out to four extra portions of poison per dead idiot. Now if only I could find more idiots...

  Chapter 31

  I make my way to the inn invisible, happy to trade a bit of time for a lot of safety. With all the recent changes to the world and the locals' attitude towards my person, I don't feel like taking on unnecessary risks.

  Sneaking into my room through the window, I grab a quick snack, take the alchemical bench out of the chest, and sort the reagents in my inventory.

  On the subject of inventory, Arkon went live with a rather innovative sorting and categorization system. Reagents are classified by the same gradation system as items, and, depending on rarity, possess a particular number of qualities, each with a particular degree of potency. Brown moss possesses four properties, though I'm only familiar with two: Poison (Daggers) 4 and Blind 2, which are quite enough for brewing poison. Of course, it would be nice to discover the other two, but the local alchemy gurus will no doubt demand money for it, and I don't have any gold to spare for the moment.

  The Perception skill determines the ability to discern properties. My skill level is at two, so I can only discern two properties, both of which are already known. There's a small chance to discover an additional property by consuming a reagent, but—and this comes as a surprise to no one—few players are willing to gobble up chunks of dead flesh, slug slime, and the like. The trade-off just isn't worth it—particularly given the heaps of tables recorded in the Chronicles listing properties of thousands of reagents found in Arkon. Unfortunately, none of those tables include brown moss. Even if someone has come across it before, they decided not to share the information with anyone. Just as I won't. What is my incentive for sharing? That's right, diddly-squat.

  After getting a fire going, I place upon it the crucible with all the required ingredients, mix the concoction with a special ladle, activate the timer, and head to the coffee machine. The brew will be done without any more involvement from me—I just need to be there in time to complete the process.

  The magical science of alchemy is subject to law and order. The brewing of any potion requires a minimum of two different ingredients sharing one property—this is the only way for the reagents to transfer said property to the end product. The same applies to the brewing of poisons. Aside from reagents, each brew requires a base. For instance, potions are brewed on a water base, elixirs need specific infusions, and poisons require hard animal fat for subsequent coating. Potions can also be poisons, by the way. In fact, it's thanks to potions that I earned my mastery achievement. It's not that hard to empty a dozen vials of poison into a common pot used to feed the port laborers of Vaedarr, sending two hundred NPCs to their deaths in one fell swoop. The hard part is getting the quest from the overseer of a rival port to begin with. Absent such quests, this manner of mass murder, though fun as hell, yields no credit.

  I smile at the memories from my criminal past, pick up the freshly brewed coffee, and get back to the desk. The port laborers respawned in a week, my customer was pleased and continued supplying me with quests up until the time he and his crew moved operations up north.

  I take a sip from the cup, gazing contemplatively at the boiling crucible. The system is quite fascinating, really. The property of Poison (Daggers) 4 on the brown moss translates to tier four of potency, Blind 2 to tier two, accordingly, and the yew extract purchased from the alchemist also has the Blind property at a value of two. Factoring in the winterberry, the end product is going to have Poison (Daggers) 6 and Blind 4. If it were the inverse, the poison would blind for longer at the expense of dealing less damage. I'm undecided as to which is better. Probably what I've got, all things considered. Damage output is my top priority at the moment given that my gear is in dire need of upgrading, and preferably for items with bonuses to constitution. The ring on my finger drains HP in percentages in addition to dealing pure True Darkness damage. Raising my HP will mitigate the curse somewhat, granting me a few extra precious seconds before the pain shock claims my consciousness.

  Strangely, it seems that the NPCs don't feel pain, at least not in the same way. Feret launched an attack at only ten percent HP, so either they don't feel pain or their Toughness value is maxed out. I still remember his face twisted with rage. My money is on Toughness... We get resurrection, albeit with a hefty penalty to levels, and they get an unreal pain threshold. Most games are set up in a way that leveling any given skill becomes increasingly harder as it grows. My Toughness is up to five now, and I'm certain that maxing it out would require experiencing sheer hell. Still, you can't really compare our lot to theirs. After death, all NPCs wind up in the great sequence of rebirths before returning to this world. So who's the luckier of the two? I can't say either way.

  It takes me just under four hours to brew seven jars of poison, drink five cups of coffee, and put together a few dozen sets of equipment for different purposes. The noise from the drifter can't be heard anymore, but the outskirts of Thalim are still buzzing. I hear the innkeeper chiding his "lazy, good-for-nothing, ham-fisted" workers, rothé lowing drowsily in their stalls, and the patrols' footsteps around the inn, iron clanking as they go.

  Night is about to fully assert its reign when a shadow darts outside the window, followed by the blue light of a force field, the sound of a soft landing, and a barely audible cussing. Moments later, the door to my room shudders from a monstrous blow. Another one follows shortly, and then another...

  Damn it. I grimace at the sudden racket, casting a vexed gaze at the rattling hinges. Here comes the local strike team, and I'm their primary target. I have no doubt that these are the guards—burglars would never act so openly. I quash my initial instinct to bolt and resume sipping my coffee and contemplating the crucible on the flames. Try as they might, they're not getting inside. So let them make all the noise they want before giving up and leaving empty-handed. This isn't the first time for me, and it sure won't be the last.

  Meanwhile, a strange hissing sound joins with the banging on the door, and the force field on the window starts flickering from bolts hurled from below. I never tire of being surprised at how stupid guards can be, regardless of realm. Show them a door and they'll keep banging on it until their knuckles bleed—or until they get an order to stop. Keep going, fellas. I'm totally scared.

  There's no point fussing now. They've got me surrounded, with at least five people outside the window and five more in the hallway. I'll sooner wait for them to settle down and disperse, leaving behind only a few guards. Then, it'll be easy to slip out undetected.

  Truth be told, this development comes as a surprise. I never expected them to act so quickly and decisively—otherwise, I would have left the inn long ago. Typically, when NPCs decide that you are the killer, you get a notification about a reputation drop, giving you a head start to fly the coop. But my reputation hasn't dropped yet, which means they're not fully convinced that those pricks died by my hand. And yet, they're here to arrest me! I could live without this kind of added intelligence.

  The banging stops. It's quiet for a moment, and then a cool, scornful voice speaks, confirming my suspicions.

  "I know you can hear me, kinless! You are being charged with murder of two members of the noble House Akkri. If you don't let us in right this instant, your death will be long and excruciating. I, Kedem of House Akkri, decem of the First Half-Century of the Thalim Guard, vow this to you!"

  I sniff, glancing at the door with annoyance.

  There's no need racking my brain over the matter—not when there's only one viable solution. Irrespective of my guilt, they're going to torture me anyway, and then they're going to strap a collar on me and dump me in some cellar before sending me to the nearest penal mine. And I fear that my term is going to last much longer than three days. I'll sooner accept death with the loss of levels to that lot. Only I won't accept it voluntarily. Oh no, they're going to have to catch me first. Not just yet, though.

  The silence behind the door lasts about thirty seconds. Then the boots stomp back down the hallway, another door shudders from loud banging, and the innkeeper's ingratiating voice follows.

  "Master decem! I swear that neither I nor my workers saw him leave!"

  "The key!" the captain barks in response.

  "Here..." the innkeeper mumbles. "But the door cannot be opened! Not for another two days, when the rental term is up. These outsiders can somehow place—"

  "Shut up!" the strike team leader says, accompanying the request with the thump of an armored fist on flesh. The innkeeper is quiet as a mouse now, if still conscious.

  Cruel land, this is. In Vaedarr, were a guard captain to mistreat an innkeeper in such a manner, the merchants' guild would put him on blast so hard, the poor bastard himself would likely be looking at time in Shanama. But not here. No, this ain't no democracy. The Council's Guard is quite far, and they're not very likely to want to bother with the gripes of some backwater innkeeper.

  Things are seriously heating up in Anthrum, and getting too hot for comfort. In these circumstances, I should always have a backup plan. A plan that involves another winterberry-based poison, this one for personal use. Whatever happens, I don't intend to let these bastards take me alive. Better to lose levels than end up in a collar.

  They keep fussing behind the door for another twenty minutes before things finally quiet down, both in the hallway and outside the window. I spend another forty minutes doing alchemy before putting the tools back into the chest, setting the alarm for three in the morning, and hitting the proverbial hay. Tomorrow is a new day, and time is on my side.

  Chapter 32

  Upon waking up, I lie there for a while, gazing up at the ceiling while running various scenarios in my head. Everything has been quiet out in the hallway and outside the window.

  Rising from the bed, I arrange the right vials into slots on my belt, and transfers all the non-essentials from my bag into the chest. Food and water to last a few days, a jar of poison, two gold coins, and a bit of alchemy. Nothing that would sting if I lost it. Should I find myself in need, I can always sell the jewel in Zul-Gehit and pick up some gear at the auction house.

  With these thoughts, I take out a Greater Elixir of Possibilities and down the bittersweet mixture in one go. A hundred to all stats... Hell, I'd consider eating shit for an extra thousand HP. Then again, I prefer to have the Thalim guards eat shit instead while I indulge in other flavors.

  With the buffs done, I slide into the chair at the desk, take out a fresh jar of poison and reach for my dagger. Just then sounds the familiar peep, followed by lines of text in tiny red font crawling before my eyes.

  Attention all players in Anthrum! The relationship between the Elder Houses of Alehan and Klahd have turned hostile! Anthrum stands on the brink of a great war!

  An interesting development, I think as I open the flat jar with the greasy brown substance. It didn't take the drow long since gaining self-awareness to wage a fratricidal war. Godspeed, comrades! Nothing like this has happened in the four years since the game went live. Border skirmishes and sallies to the surface have always been common, but never all-out war. Not that it matters to me either way—I've got my own war brewing.

  I use a special brush to quickly coat the daggers with the new poison, then put the jar away, walk over to the window and carefully inspect the backyard.

  The small square under cover of night resembles a strip of post-apocalyptic landscape, the ground covered in fissures. Three flat-roofed two-story structures huddle together, windows gaping darkly. Nearby stands a three-wheel wagon filled with torn empty sacks. A few dented buckets in the corner and a rusted trough right of the entrance to the stables. The whole scene is encircled by a seven-foot-high solid fence. At a glance, everything looks the same as before. However, one of the distinctive features of the ranger and rogue classes is the ability to detect traps. All traps, without exception, as long as they're not above your level. Plus, each tier of the Perception skill raises the detection ability by ten percent, and since my Perception is currently tier two, I can see everything set out by characters up to level 240. Incidentally, the ability only applies to inanimate traps, and not to living organisms like the eggs from back in the cave.

  A section of the backyard shimmers with patches of light of varying colors, like a dance floor, marking traps. Two rows of six right outside the window at one yard intervals. A silvery web of some unknown spell glimmers over the enclosure, like barb wire, running all along the perimeter. If that's what I think it is, then these guys aren't messing around. Arkyndahl's Web is an NPC only spell from the Dark school of magic that drow priestesses in particular are quite fond of. The web deals very significant damage upon impact and paralyzes the target for two minutes. My maxed out resistance would reduce the effect to only thirty seconds, but even that would be enough. The spell likely covers the whole perimeter, including the gates, making the stables roof the sole escape route—there are no structures quite as tall on the other side of the inn. Getting up there should be possible by climbing the left corner where the roof is partially broken and doesn't overhang the square.

  Now, that is all well and good, but there are two problems. The first problem lies with the light pink silhouettes I'm seeing with my new vision. No names, no levels, no HP. I can't even tell their class, though I can target both. At least several more must be hiding nearby—presumably mages, going by the traps' colors matching the elements. Drow have Dark magic as their main specialization, and can select no more than one elemental school as auxiliary. At least that's been the case before.

  The worst thing is that slipping out undetected is not realistic. One of the fighters waiting in ambush stands right by the stables, and the other one some ten yards away, both of them still as death. I don't want to take risks, but neither do I want to die. Time is no longer an ally. I need to decide quickly, before some of the mages turn up—or worse yet, the priestess that wrapped the inn in her Web.

  Very well. Remember, I didn't want this... You asked for it.

  I move away from the window and jump in place a bit to warm up—an old habit from a bygone world. Then I tighten the straps on my jerkin—any noise could prove fatal for me. The silence outside is absolute. You don't even hear rothé breathing—either the animals aren't in the stables or those bastards cast a sound-isolating dome on the building. Probably the latter. Oh well, even better. Fighting a living opponent is so much more fun than slaughtering scripted NPCs.

 

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