Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (30 page)

Few people can claim to have been in a real castle. Not counting some cheesy tour with local would-be actors dressed up in traditional garb and horrid accents, but immediately after capturing it in battle. Granted, this castle was no more like its medieval counterparts than a rat-infested dump was like the executive suite of a five-star Parisian hotel.

And sure, drawing was infinitely easier than actually building. Having said that, the artists responsible for the interior of category seven castles in Demon Grounds were top notch. I marveled at the way they had managed to relay the medieval atmosphere in the castle. Then again, looking at the ornamented fireplaces, the walls lined with portraits of Elnar's ancestors, the massive wooden furniture, the grand mirrors, miraculously unbroken, I had to admit that real medieval castles probably looked nothing like this. More likely they looked like a typical barn, and a filthy one at that.

But this wasn't the medieval times, and when someone shells out a six-figure sum to buy or capture a castle, they had better get their money's worth. What I liked best of all in Elnar's family nest was the dining hall—a grand space that could probably fit up to two hundred people. We'd see how far off I was with my calculations at tonight's dinner. In the interval, after accepting the suit of armor from James—my reward for completing his quest—I took my leave of everyone to look for my private room, located in the guest quarters, hoping to wash off the stench that seemed to have become a part of me, and try on my shiny new present. It was a luxury I could finally afford, the sentries having been put on the walls, the castle gates closed shut, and my clanmates busy settling in after receiving all the necessary instructions. The castle's owner should have no problem handling everything else. It wasn't possible for me to move my private room to another location since the castle wasn't officially captured by me, but I was perfectly satisfied with the guest quarters. The view from the donjon's fourth story window was breathtaking. I could see the entire valley: the great bonfire blazing next to the carcass of the fallen monster, and tiny figures of alchemists buzzing all around it.

Our victory over the castle garrison had enriched our coffers by another six thousand gold and the entire contents of the treasury, which was already taken over by Schen. I wasn't anticipating any trouble from the local undead—even if a few dozens stragglers we hadn't noticed while clearing out the zone were to turn up over the next day or so, they wouldn't pose a serious threat. I just hoped that the alchemists outside the castle remained vigilant. I felt better at the sight of three bonehounds—Vaessa's summoned pets—patrolling the area around Nerghall's corpse while their mistress and her colleagues were "elbow deep in science."

The dynamics of siege warfare in the game were actually pretty interesting. As a rule, the first official takeover of a castle by players was always the most valuable, as the victorious commander was presented with a menu of lands subject to the castle, along with the amount of points earned for capturing it. And it didn't matter whether the castle belonged to NPCs from the start or was erected by other players. The menu in question was sort of like a pricelist, giving the victor the option to use some or all of those siege points to make upgrades to the captured object or its subject territories. As far as I remembered, previously these points could be used to, say, populate the adjacent villages or hire NPC mercenaries into the castle garrison. We'd have to wait and see if those opportunities were still available, but regardless of how the Cursed Princedom's continental event would end, that is which faction would come out on top, my clan would defend this castle, which was Elnar's by right, down to the last soldier. But anyway, let's get back to business. The next item on the agenda, which was still a few hours away, was visiting Ingvar's shrine. And later in the evening there would be a festive dinner in the grand hall, along with the four hundred year old wine promised by James. I had better hurry. 

The full suit of armor was of rare quality and sapphire blue in color. Called the Medium Armor of Rage, it looked virtually identical to the four-piece set I was currently wearing. All the pieces were level 180—more evidence of the system tailoring the suit for me personally. Each piece in the set boasted 350 armor, 150 to strength and 120 to constitution, and the four-piece set bonus was 200 to strength and 25 to all resistances. Changing into the armor quickly, I pulled up the menu, lit my pipe, took a seat in the armchair and proceeded to study my updated stats.

Krian. Level 181.

Race: elder demon [human].

Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel.

Legendary Warlord.

Archmage Altus' Apprentice.

Liberator of Shackled Souls.

Nerghall's Slayer.

Shaartakh's Slayer.

Marked by Ingvar the Warrior God.

Marked by Death.

First in Ghorazm Ruins.

First in the West Wing.

First in the Swamp Cave.

Agility: 415.

18.07% chance to hit critically with physical attacks: 5% base, 2.07% agility bonus, 1% equipment bonus, 10% rank bonus.

41.5% damage reduction from falling.

Strength: 1656.

30.61% boost to armor: 16.56% strength bonus, 9.05% equipment bonus, 5% rank bonus.

366.25% boost to physical damage: 331.2% strength bonus, 9.05% equipment bonus, 5% rank bonus, 21% achievement bonus.

7286 lbs carrying capacity.

Constitution: 1291.

12,910 hit points.

Vigor: 270.

2700 energy points.

Spirit: 171.

6.71% mana and energy regeneration in combat: 5% base + 1.71% spirit bonus.

6.71% mana and energy regeneration out of combat: 5% base + 1.71% spirit bonus.

1.71% HP regeneration out of combat: 0% base + 1.71% spirit bonus.

Intellect: 171.

5.85% chance to hit critically with spells: 5% base + .85% intellect bonus.

85.5% to spell power.

1710 mana points.

Armor: 4310
(82.7% physical damage absorption).

Abilities and skills:

Tongue of Flame X—action bar

Ice Blade X—action bar

Jump III—action bar

Step through Darkness III—action bar

Stone Disc IV—action bar

Morph V—action bar

Silence V—action bar

Earth Shackles IV—action bar

Shield of the Elements V [active]

Portal Creation II

Personal Weapon Enchanting with the Power of the Elements V

Demonic Rage Form I

Infernal Rage

Aura of Horror

Passive skills and achievements:

+5% to any magic action [Archmage Altus' Apprentice].

+5% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [Shaartakh's Slayer].

+1% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [First in Ghorazm Ruins].

+5% to physical and magic damage, +5% to armor class and all resistances, +5% to healing spells, +5% to experience gained (party bonus) [Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Punishing Steel].

+1% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [First in the West Wing].

+3% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [First in the the Swamp Cave].

+6% to physical and magic damage (party/clan bonus) [Shaartakh's Slayer].

Bonus to damage with swords: +2%.

Bonus to heavy armor: +2%.

Toughness: 47%.

Magic Resistances:

Water magic: 25% (50% with Shield of the Elements).

Air magic: 25% (50% with Shield of the Elements).

Earth magic: 25% (50% with Shield of the Elements).

Fire magic: 25% (50% with Shield of the Elements).

Mental magic: 95%.

Dark magic: 95%.

Nature magic: 25%.

Light magic: 75%.

Reputation with higher beings:

Setara—friendly

Ingvar—friendly

Bel—friendly

Celphata—friendly

Kirana—friendly

Reputation with other races:

Humans—unfriendly

Elves—unfriendly

Dark elves—respected

Orcs—unfriendly

Dwarves—unfriendly

Drow—unfriendly

Demons—unfriendly (Ashtar Dominion—respected, Craedia Princedom—revered)

Netherworld—unfriendly

Weapon damage: 488.0-579.5.

Stone Disc IV—787.3-1061.4 earth magic damage.

Tongue of Flame Х—10,093.59-11,986.13 physical damage.

Ice Blade Х—10,093.59-11,986.13 physical damage.

All in all, not half bad. My damage output was roughly equivalent to a level 200 dual-wielding warrior, and that was without my demonic combat form. Which was hardly surprising given my above-average gear and litany of achievements that would make any player above green with envy. My demons' damage output was comparable to mine, especially the archers'. Unlike me, they benefited from the banner's morale bonus, and if it weren't for Gloom's Charge it would be a real pain for me to intercept various high-level mobs. Thankfully, thanks to his new breastplate Aritor should start tanking bosses no less effectively than me, and that was truly a cause for joy. With those thoughts, I knocked out the pipe into a tray, put it away into inventory, and left my private room. It was time to check out the local shrine to my favorite warrior god.

The shrine was a twelve-foot figure of solid granite rising from the edge of a large rectangular platform, which, judging by the timeworn dummies installed all around, had at some point been used by the castle's troops for honing their combat skills. The warrior god stood to his full height, the familiar two-handed mallet resting on his shoulder, looking out on the training platform with disdain in his eyes. The undead hadn't destroyed the shrine. Maybe they had tried but failed? More likely they hadn't cared enough to try—the statue just stood there, needing neither money nor food for upkeep. Besides, I'd heard that a god's shrine could only be destroyed by a servant of another god. Specifically a servant, and not just a follower. Perhaps the disavowed simply hadn't gotten around to it in the initial turmoil, and then Magus Diarten, Altus with his mages, and Ahriman's forces who had arrived thereafter had made it so there was no one left to do the destroying. 

Everyone came to Ingvar's shrine except for Vaessa, whom I'd asked to stand watch on the wall. I'd wanted to go alone at first, but then Elnar had convinced me to wait until everybody else was free to join. Why all the hullabaloo? Well, the medieval world, even one filled with magic, was simply too lacking for entertainment to miss such a momentous event. Everyone in the clan knew about the relationship between their commander and his god, and nobody wanted to miss the moment of our communion. But there was also another reason: all of my clanmates—except for Vaessa, naturally—had decided to follow in their leader's footsteps and become followers of the lightning god. Having everybody there at once would expedite the process nicely—in fact, Elnar had promised to conduct a simple initiation ritual that would only take two-three hours. 

"The century is lined up, dar. You can start," the tifling's quiet words interrupted my contemplation. 

"What am I doing?" I whispered to him, seeing my clanmates standing in a line behind me with solemn faces.

"Are you pulling my leg again? I am just his follower, while you've been marked by his hand! And you're asking me? I'm just hoping to do my part of the ritual without screwing up!" he hissed at me.

Well, this should be interesting,
I thought, making for Ingvar's granite sculpture.
Keep it simple, stupid. Just dump a hundred gold on the altar and be done with it.
But as I drew closer to the god's statue, my gut suddenly told me that gold was the last thing Ingvar wanted from me.
Oh well!
I shrugged, rolled up the sleeve of my shirt, sewn by Treis, pulled a knife out of my inventory and slashed at my wrist. As the first drops of blood fell into the sacrificial bowl, there was a strong smell of ozone in the air. Seconds later a sudden gust of wind knocked me back a step. The wound on my wrist closed up, and the god's stone statue on the altar moved.

Ingvar shifted his mighty shoulders, as if trying to stretch, and looked around. The crowd of demons was perfectly still and silent, the only noise being that of the cracking of granite as the statue was coming to life. Finally the god's eyes stopped on me. Ingvar regarded me for a minute, as if taking stock of me, then smiled and nodded approvingly, and turned back to stone. Just then the sky above was split by bolts of lightning, one of which struck the ground at the foot of the statue, blinding me for a few moments.