Apostle of the Sleeping Gods Page 11

  He started by catching lone newbies at farm points, attacking from behind when they were most vulnerable and couldn’t afford to look away. No matter what decision his victim made: finish off the mob or defend themselves and come after Tobias, it almost always turned out the same way. The player, being attacked from two sides, would die and the fresh ganker, full of strength, would finish off the mob.

  He spent a year doing that. Tobias levelled up to ten and, unfortunately, that was the ceiling for his two-hour limit in the game. His parents were strict disciplinarians when it came to that, and his little bit of time wasn’t enough to make any more progress. To make matters worse, his father hurt his back trying to earn money illegally by competing with autoloaders at the docks. Then all the tough day-to-day chores fell on the shoulders of the fifteen-year-old boy. Money became very tight around his house.

  Too bad there was no way to withdraw gold from the sandbox. Then at least some could have gone to help them. Nevertheless, legal adulthood, and big Dis with it was not so far beyond the horizon. And that meant he could start earning money in the game soon enough.

  Tobias thought doggedly until he came to the conclusion that continuing to live the ganker life was a road to nowhere. Noobs generally only dropped trash and a few copper and, after level ten, lots of people joined clans, so Tobias was afraid of landing himself on a KoS list.

  After weighing his options, he decided to join a clan himself. A small one with the same goals as him and a hardcore style of gameplay. People who weren’t just there for fun, who wanted to earn money both then and in the future.

  Monitoring the Tristad bulletin boards, he noticed a small but tight group of four led by a kid named Crawler. A heal-priestess, a fire mage with AoE damage, a warrior tank and a thief who could deal explosive damage on lone targets. Considering there were one or two fully-fledged healers in Tristad at best, and even less mages, it seemed like a very promising group. He met them and offered his services. Tobias hadn’t yet chosen a class and, beyond warrior, was only offered cutthroat or juggernaut, an idiotic class with potentially crazy armor, but negative accuracy. Crawler said a second tank – an offtank that could do damage – would not hurt and Tobias was taken on for a trial period. And that was how he became a warrior and joined the Dementors.

  Taking advantage of his father’s helplessness, he spoke harshly with his mother saying that, thanks to the Creator, he had a solid chance of making good money but, to do that, he needed to spend more time in Disgardium. Still, she was never really okay with it: the boy could hear his mother crying at night and praying to the lord to bring her son to reason. But he was fine with that.

  At the very least, she stopped hitting the emergency exit except for one time when his father was feeling ill. Tobias was torn from the ins in the heat of a boss battle and flew out of his pod enraged and ready to scream at his mother or worse. But he held back when he saw how his father was doing: foaming at the mouth, his gaze was wandering as he wildly spewed disjointed nonsense. His parents were the only real people he was close with, so he was even afraid for his father. Fortunately, it wasn’t all that bad. A medical bot gave him the proper medications, so the stroke had minimal consequences. After that, father’s mouth was always slack on one side and his prayers became hard to parse, but nothing else really changed. He didn’t even lose his job; he had joined a union.

  The Dementors gave Tobias something new. It may have been the first time he’d ever talked to a girl in his life, but she was not opposed. Tissa was something like a sister to them all, but even so, talking with her was an important life lesson. He learned that girls, no matter how pretty, were also people. Not princesses. And they pissed and shat just like boys which he, to be honest, wasn’t totally sure about before. But he became convinced when they started taking him along to parties. No one would sell them alcohol, but Tissa knew a security guard at a club who would let them in. Hung always knew how to get booze, too and Ed’s balcony was at their service.

  Tobias still felt bad about the moronic way he messed it all up. Crawler warned him about ganking. If he ever did it again, he’d be out of the clan. And Tobias really did get clean, for a time. But one time he just couldn’t resist: there was a girl in the Gloomwood with no clan all alone against a pack of wraiths and dressed head to toe in blues. By his most modest estimations, the loot was worth a hundred gold and, well, a hundred was always a hundred.

  In fact it would have gone for twice that, but he didn’t sell the loot fast enough. Her father went to Big Po and, he pressured Crawler who demanded that he return everything at once, compensate the emotional distress and apologize.

  And Tobias, his heart clenching, did just that. But that wasn’t enough for her. She demanded he get on his knees and apologize. He couldn’t stand that. Even for the Creator, he kneeled only in church. So he spat a fat loogie at her feet and ran away.

  Crawler gave him his first strike then, saying he wouldn’t get a second. Tobias would be thrown out of the clan if he did anything that damaged the reputation of the Dementors. He tried to explain, but nobody listened and even Tissa, who was always there for him and treated him like a friend, couldn’t resist and hammered in a couple extremely offensive words among which he heard “retard,” and “moron.” And that was the least of it.

  So he just lost it and left the clan, slamming the door behind him. Well, he first slammed the door to Tissa’s father’s garage where they had the fight, then did so figuratively in Dis.

  After a few days of constant tracking, he found the same girl again. But this time he kept everything he stole, deciding to stand strong until the bitter end. He went to Big Po and said ganking was part of gaming and if Big Po was thinking of pressuring him again and demanding he give that loser girl her stuff back then Tobias would tell them all to stick it where the sun didn’t shine, hide in his personal room and not leave until he could enter the big world. Polynucleotide laughed long and hard, slapping him on the shoulder and saying he’d let the girl figure it out with Tobias herself, and he could go straight to the Nether for all he cared, but he’d better never see his face again. If he wanted to hide in his personal room in big Dis too, then it might work but, no matter what, Big Po was gonna be on the lookout even there, no matter the cost.

  And from then on, he was more careful. He opted for a somewhat more low-key gameplay style and took it easy on the ganking. Instead he just leveled and did quests, secretly hoping to cobble together a clan of his own and do exactly what the Dementors did and farm dungeons. He kept his eye on every crop of beginners and helped them as much has he could, preaching his own philosophy of the circle of power. And that was how he got Rashidos to join his circle, then Vista. He was hoping to make her a priestess of Nergal, i.e. a healer for the group. Everything was going well.

  But this idyllic life began to fall apart after he crossed paths with Scyth. Tobias thought nothing of their first meeting, the very same where he’d met Vista in fact. The noob tore her dress and that gave Tobias an opportunity to make an impression on her.

  And the next day was what some might call the beginning of the end. Tobias himself didn’t suspect a thing when he tried to talk the noob into giving him a blue belt. Of course, he should have been smarter and followed Scyth until he was all alone and defenseless. But when he saw that sucker and his real-deal item, which was such a great fit for Rashidos, all he could think about was strengthening his underling. But Scyth, that freak, went psycho. It wasn’t the first time they’d met. For almost a year and a half, this weirdo spent all his required time outside the Bubbling Flagon and the fact that he turned him down with such ease came as an unexpected surprise. He made him look like some kind of retard! From his very first memories, as soon as he learned to distinguish speech, his parents had called him a retard, and now someone else was making him feel like that?! He convinced himself that Scyth called him that under his breath and, from that point on, Tobias held a grudge.

  But he shouldn’t have, because it w
as the very reason he would lose all his reputation in a matter of days. And with that, he’d be losing his team, expensive equipment and all his savings as well. It all happened in the Arena. He bet a huge amount on their battle, even going into debt. But in the end, Scyth humiliated him. Who could have guessed his Unarmed Combat was so sky high?

  And after he lost the duel, he read the logs and quietly lost his mind at the damage figures. Seemingly, while everyone thought he was sitting around like a fool he was somehow levelling punching in secret? Wow, that noob was a surprise. That must have been why Crawler took him on...

  The story of Crag the unlucky ganker entered public consciousness and everyone started to hunt him down. Finding and killing Crag turned into something of a fashionable form of entertainment.

  The tables had turned and now he was ganked many times over, losing all his clothes and even his team’s gear. Rashidos got sick of it and went to a different clan, then Vista started dating some boy and spending all her time in the game with him. And he, Crag the fearsome warrior named in honor of an ancient rifle was left completely alone. At that point he grew a bit of humility.

  Then his mother’s health started giving out and there was less and less time for Dis. He kept entering the game, but he’d given up on gankerdom and spent his required hours doing the thing he knew best, praying at the temple of Nergal the Radiant. He didn’t want to do anything else. The path of a loner, the path of a clan member, the path of a leader – he was not up to any of them. “Maybe this local deity will give me more than the Creator?” the boy thought.

  He already knew how stupid these thoughts were, but was hoping the faith points he prayed for might lead to something else, something he couldn’t reach any other way. Just anything. And he knew how to pray like none other. Especially in the second half of the twenty-first century. For most of his contemporaries, god had been replaced by vehicles and faith in a divine being had been outstripped by faith in many other things and concepts.

  Spending day after day at the icon of the Radiant god, monotonously reciting personally invented prayers, eventually he was noticed. First by priests, who started treating him to divine nectar as they passed or doling out blessings. Then Tobias saw the senior priest as well, who would stand next to him for longer periods listening to his prayers with a slumping, flagging figure. But Crag wasn’t paying attention to any of it, fully immersed in his confessions, desires, woes and simple thoughts about the order of the world, which he suspected was unjust both IRL and in Disgardium.

  By that time, he had stopped looking at the clock, instead praying fanatically as if entranced just begging for anything that might allow him to change his life. He had no thirst for revenge, and there was no one to take revenge on. He wasn’t burning with desire to become stronger than others, because that was what he’d need for robbery and he didn’t want to keep robbing people. He didn’t ask for power or money because he didn’t think they would be much help. They were seductive and caused suffering, but he was sick of suffering and only wanted peace. And maybe some more means so he could treat his father and help his mother, who had grown wan from their life of misery. But then, he wanted peace. The peace of knowing he was protected and could protect others if needed because he had proven unable to help either Rashidos or Vista.

  And then Nergal himself turned his attention on him. The Radiant God answered in the middle of the night when the boy was alone in the temple, just praying humbly.

  “I have heard your prayers,” a kindly voice rang out in his head. Tobias opened his eyes and swallowed a lump in his throat. “You shall have what you pray for, although I do not know exactly how.”

  The icon of the god froze again, leaving no reminder that the conversation with Nergal had even taken place. Crag concluded it was just a delirious vision, but then he looked into his profile. In his skills and abilities, there was now a new red line: “Nergal’s Wrath.”

  The description of the passive ability said it would be activated if Crag was attacked. Then and only then, the ability would multiply all his attributes by ten for the duration of battle – and that was just at level one! What was more, the divine ability would apply to anyone he was in a group with.

  And only when he realized he’d prayed enough, a siren wailed:

  We have detected a disturbance in the strings of creation! Something new has awoken in Disgardium, and it might upset the balance and usher in the reign of chaos!

  Estimated potential threat class: D.

  Current threat class: Z.

  Most likely location: cannot be detected.

  Now that this germ of chaos has awoken, we mustn’t let it grow more powerful. Be the first to find and eliminate it, and the powers that be will reward you generously!

  And if you succeed, oh bravehearts and heroes, the gods will be favorable to you as well!

  Tobias Asser, aka Crag, stood up and shrugged.

  Chapter 12. Outlaws

  IT WAS BUSINESS as usual at the kobold war camp: a few sentries peering out into the fog, a few soldiers hanging around a big pot over a fire, the rest sitting in a semicircle and talking. One was pontificating as the others listened and made commentary. I didn’t know their guttural barking language, but it must have been a humorous story because it was punctuated with waves of laughter at regular intervals.

  The humanoids, clothed in dirty rags, had set up camp at the mouth of a cavern and were either guarding some surface-level ore vein or had been expelled from their home tribe and didn’t know what else to do with themselves. Only one thing was clear: the leader of the group must have really pissed off Tristad. The price on his head was a whole five gold. It was thin gruel, but I was fixated on helping the doomed city, even if this was the best I could do. Beyond that, on the edge of my mind, there was a nagging little idea just begging to be tested.

  I was here for the head of Grog’xyr, leader of the kobold band. I saw him enthusiastically cleaning the rust off a heavy pickaxe. He was a bit taller and bulkier than his compatriots – about up to my chest, but three times broader at the shoulder. He had a huge gut that hung down below a belt, which served no functional purpose; walking around without an ounce of shame, flaunting it even, he had no pants on, just a loincloth. But I was most impressed by his enormous feet, which must have been at least twenty inches long.

  Outlaw Grog’xyr, level-13

  Kobold

  Elite

  Aha, exiles. Then I could see why the miners had turned to crime, robbing travelers and raiding farms in the vicinity of Tristad.

  Meanwhile, the outlaw scratched his head with the pick and gave a yawn. Maybe he felt like sleeping after a hearty meal? I ran my gaze over his underlings. Ten soldiers, level ten or eleven and an ancient hunchbacked level-twelve shaman. He then, not paying attention to anyone, started dancing and singing near the fire.

  All that time, I was lying in Stealth, not so much thinking through a plan of attack as checking the surrounding area for other players. The skill wasn’t going up at all, but that was no guarantee I was alone. Still, I had the skill at level sixty-three, which may as well have been the stratosphere in a sandbox. I waited a couple minutes and didn’t see anything suspicious. Just to be safe, I hid my name and went out to position.

  The elite had eight hundred health points, but I could take him down with one shot from my bow without even entering his aggro zone. Unfortunately, I had very little plague energy. So given I’d have to stand naked while the unwashed troglodytes attacked me (I wanted to take as much damage as possible without wearing down my gear, so I left everything that didn’t fit in my inventory under a tree), at least there was something to be gained from them.

  I pulled out the bow I bought the day before, extended it and pulled back the bowstring until I felt an arrow materialize. Hunter Conrad had shown me the right way to hold, aim and shoot the bow. Still, considering this was a game, I could have used it without any training if I wanted. I didn’t even need the skill, like how I used to fight
with the sword and club. But both accuracy and damage strongly depended on skill level. Even with very high accuracy, not having the skill carried severe penalties. So I’d done this the right way, and brought it up to one with the trainer. Out of pure interest, I asked him and found that crossbows and gnomish guns would have required separate training.

  He also explained how the mechanism for using different kinds of arrows worked. And there were lots of them in the game, one for every sadistic taste: from freezing and burning ones to arrows with tips that splintered inside the body. The material could also be different. For example, some were adamantium with enchanted explosive warheads, and others carried poison for greater damage. But for the time being, I could only dream about that. To change arrows in a standard quiver, you had to press the corresponding interface icon. But for now, I only had one option, a “standard arrow with bronze tip.” I wasn’t up to more powerful ammunition yet either in skill level or financially. Just like the cavemen, Scyth.