Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) (16 page)

“Basically, my char belongs to one of those dead races.”

He nodded. “And?”

“The programmer who created it has recently quit over some disagreement with the top brass. The admins then removed Ennans from the game just to avoid any potential problems. They offered me a swap but I refused.”

He grinned. “Too greedy to lose your skill points?”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “The first day I nearly snuffed it but I almost did four thousand agate. Then they suggested I change race!”

Flint whistled with amazement. “So basically, you're sitting on a ticking bomb. Is that it?”

I forced a smile. “Sort of.”

“Any nasty surprises?”

“Not yet,” I lied.

That was it, sorry, bro. I knew it wasn't honest but I wasn't going to tell him anything else. What I'd said was well enough in case something happened to me during the raid.

“I'm ready to join,” I said instead. “It's up to you. I can only add that according to the admins, my main characteristics are immune.”

In all honesty, I expected him to say no. Who would need a group member whose future was so insecure? Still, Flint surprised me.

“Take it easy,” he said. “I have a few friends who play for dead races too. It's what admins always do: the moment there's a bug somewhere, they’re offering you to turn coat. In your case it's only a few skill points, but imagine someone with a level-100 char who's suddenly told,
would you mind changing your race for a safer one because there might be a glitch there somewhere?
Heh. That's not a problem, man. Here, I'm sending you the contract, have a look. I'm gonna order us some more coffee.”

The contract seemed legit. Besides, it was a one-off. I only had to do one instance. I signed it.

“Excellent,” Flint smiled. “Welcome to the group! Tomorrow morning I'll send you an invitation from the entrance to the grotto.”

“Where're we going?”

“Our boss' little boy is going to take some newb girls to the Spider Grotto for a bit of leveling. Hey, what's up? What's the sad face for?”

True, the name of Shantarsky Jr. had dampened my excitement which must have reflected in my facial expression. “There's something else I forgot to tell you.”

His stare grew serious. “Which is?”

“I'm not his flavor of the month.”

Flint guffawed. Then he surprised me again. “Ha! That only proves you're exactly who we're looking for!”

I ventured a smile as he went on,

“This little shit is only friends with his toads and ass-lickers. We all have a bone to pick with him, so welcome to the club!”

We killed some more time over our coffees discussing various important details, then parted friends.

Flint definitely left a positive impression. What I liked about the group was that all its members seemed to be the same age as myself. Each of them had a family and a goal. Each of them took this seriously. Once again, I had Rrhorgus to thank for that.

I didn't go to the mine. I had too many real-world questions to sort out. The main one being, I had to change the capsule. The one I'd been using wasn't suitable for my new tasks. I had to move one floor up.

It didn't take me long to hang my hat in my new quarters—which incidentally were identical to my old lodgings. I decided against unpacking. You never know, I might need to move again. So I set my suitcase down in the corner to wait for further developments.

First of all I opened the Internet and started researching the Spider Grotto. It turned out to be the most common instance in the whole of Mirror World. Every cluster had one or more of them. I gave the mobs a cursory check: levels 20 to 35. The boss: Steel Widow. I didn't check the compensations—I wasn’t entitled to them, anyway—but I did study the resources info.

Gray Crystals. A tad cheaper than sapphires, they were used mainly by alchemists and jewelers. A popular commodity on Mirror World's market. Notably, their dust was used in the making of stones of Strength, Life, Stamina and Speed.

Just as Flint had said, the Spider Grotto also offered bonus stones—the so-called Twilight Crystals. Their value lay in the fact that they were mentioned in several major quests. In other words, they weren't used in crafting—but several major NPCs wanted players to bring them these stones as offerings or gifts. I'd already noticed that quest resources were highly valued in Mirror World. This was a rare and much sought-after commodity. Oh well. This played right into my hands. The only thing left to do was actually get them.

Chapter Fifteen

W
e kept a safe distance from Lord Melwas and Co. as we watched their pompous departure from the Spider Grotto. The men's handsome faces flashed cheerful smiles as they bowed gallantly to the ladies in riding habits. My eyes watered with the sheer quantity of stabbing and slashing weapons.

“Fucking boy scouts,” a Rock Rhoggh growled, stretching his broad shoulders.

“You shouldn't say that, dear Sprat,” said his bigger counterpart. “Nothing of boy scouts left in that lot. With boy scouts, you can still influence the little motherfuckers' growing minds. These are fully grown shits. I'm afraid they are fully formed now.”

“Fully formed scumbags,” a slight skinny Dwand finished his sentence.

“I have to admit I completely agree with you on this one, dear Knuckles.”

“So!” Flint said in mock surprise. “ Sir Tristan has agreed on something! That's a first!”

Grim bodyguards exited the dungeon next, following their master.

“These are Specters,” the skinny Knuckles screwed up his face in disdain.

“Meaning?” I asked, peering at their dark figures hung with cold steel.

“The thing is, dear Olgerd,” Sir Tristan began, “that the Mirror World phenomenon has led to the creation of all sorts of parties and movements in every shade of religious and political hue. Such formations are especially popular amongst the younger generation.”

“Do you mean that these Specters are some kind of sect?”

“It wouldn't be exactly accurate to call them that,” Sir Tristan objected. “Firstly, because they don't represent the result of some religious schism and secondly, because they aren't religious at all. They don't possess any particular teaching—neither founder nor any clear-cut tradition.”

“That'll come,” Flint said. “All they need is some time. They have their ideology basically shaped. Whoever compiles it into a concise formula will become their founder. And he won't be short of followers, trust me. As long as the idea is loud and attractive enough.”

“What kind of idea?” I asked.

It was Flint who answered my question. “To put it short, a reality swap. These people view the Glasshouse as a new real world.”

“How about their bodies?”

“They stay IRL in some sort of induced coma,” Sir Tristan replied. “There's no precise data yet.”

“From what I heard, those who were forced out of this state have developed mental problems,” Knuckles added. “Something like substance dependency.”

“It's only rumors, mind you,” Flint added. “They try not to draw the public's attention to it. The powers that be don't want any negative publicity. Right, enough shirking. The grotto is ours now. Off we go! It's do or die, LOL!”

As we marched toward the mine, I tried to stay behind, shielded by the Rhogghs' broad backs. Just in case. I couldn't be too sure if Shantarsky Jr. wouldn't want to take it out on me. New problems were the last thing I needed at the moment, and neither did my new group mates. Talking of whom—I'd turned out to be the youngest in the group. Knuckles who used to bear this title before me was two years my senior. Despite his guttersnipe nickname, he impressed me as serious—ruthless even.

For some reason, I'd expected to see Horruds as the group's haulers. But Flint explained to me that Rock Rhogghs could beat even the strongest race with their hands tied behind their backs. To run up and down the levels pushing heavy trolleys, this race was absolutely the best. Flint couldn't tell me anything about Sir Tristan—he didn't know much himself. The man kept his true occupation under wraps. Still, judging by his manner, our strongest team member was unlikely to indulge in heavy labor in real life.

As for Sprat, he was his complete opposite, a simple and straightforward menial worker, a true Grinder. For some reason I got a feeling that he was just as burly in real life, with two callous spade-like hands and a cocked flat cap.

In other words, I was very happy I'd landed in an experienced group—and their age suited me to perfection.

As I stepped over the invisible line separating the instance from the rest of the location, I had a stupid urge to look back at the departing company of Lord Shantar Jr. He stood there watching me intently as he was saying something to one of his minions.

A hand touched my shoulder. I flinched, betraying myself.

“I don't think he recognized you,” Flint said reassuringly. “I wouldn't be surprised if he's already forgotten all about your first-day encounter on the road.”

I chuckled. “Had anyone told me I'd be scared of some little shit, I'd have laughed long and hard. But it is what it is, I'm afraid. I can't afford to lose time.”

Flint nodded. “That's right. Come on, then. The clock is ticking. We have thirty-six hours tops.”

“Who was it with him?” I asked as I hurried to catch up with the rest.

“That was Slayer, a level 80 wizard. One of his asslickers.”

“Is he also a
specter
?”

“Yeah, sort of,” Flint answered. “An aspiring one, so to say. You’d better stay out of his way.”

We caught up with the rest of the group as they descended the stairs between levels one and two. A set of narrow gauge rails ran parallel to the steps. Very soon they would groan under the weight of our loaded trolleys. Here, the terminals were located inside the grotto itself which made this mine different from the others.

Thirty six hours: the countdown began. Mechanically I checked the belt stuffed with elixirs. This was my first extended immersion experience. My bag contained energy food: apples, bread, meat and water. At Flint’s suggestion, I’d also bought a few stones of Stamina, fifteen gold each, just in case. If I was lucky, by the end of the raid I might get a buff of +3 to Energy every 40 seconds for half an hour.

The Spider Grotto wasn’t at all what I’d expected it to be. I’d imagined it as a nasty place blocked with cobwebs to the point of being impassable. A kingdom of arachnid monsters, so to say. In a way I’d been right, of course. The cave was hung with cobwebs complete with skeletons still clinging to them. The size of some of the bones was impressive. The designers had done an excellent job. No; it was something else that I found interesting. The spiders weren’t the original inhabitants of this place. Judging by the ruins, the crumbling monuments and the dilapidated roads and sidewalks, once this place had been occupied by sentient beings.

“I wonder,” I decided to share my deductions with the group, “why is this place called a Spider Grotto?”

“Ah, you noticed it too, didn’t you?” Sir Tristan replied readily.

“Oh, no,” Knuckles said jokingly. “Here it starts again.”

“There you go, Olgerd,” Flint laughed. “Get ready for a lecture.”

“Brace yourself, man,” Sprat shouted to me from the front. “He’ll turn you into a smartass like himself!”

Sir Tristan didn’t bat an eyelid. “I simply have the habit of refreshing each location’s story before I go there.”

“I do too,” I admitted, then corrected myself. “Since recently, anyway. But this time I gave it a miss. I know I should have looked into it. But Spider Grotto sounded self-explanatory.”

“Look at those two!” Sprat cheered. “Kindred souls meet!”

“I just don’t bother to read that crap,” Knuckles said. “Usually what it says is just to pull the wool over your eyes.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, dear Knuckles, but sometimes this wool, as you eloquently put it, can tell a lot about a location. And even offer a few tips.”

“Oh, no,” Flint mumbled. “Here comes the Pearl Citadel stash story.”

As if in confirmation of his words, Sir Tristan said, “And the Pearl Citadel stash can serve as a dramatic example of the latter.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Jesus,” Knuckles groaned.

Regally ignoring his friends’ jibes, Sir Tristan began to explicate,

“A few months ago, a certain low-level player discovered a one-off stash in one of the rooms of the Pearl Citadel. At the risk of preempting myself, let me tell you that the sum raised from the auction sales of the stash’s contents had resulted in some sort of gold rush as everyone in Mirror World set off in search of new stashes. And what was especially instrumental in creating this kind of reaction, was an interview the lucky player had given to some local blogger. In it, he admitted that he’d come across a helpful tip in an article about the location’s history.”

I grinned. “I can imagine what happened next.”

Knuckles nodded. “Everybody went mad!”

“All the forums and blogs, everything was packed with all sorts of interpretations,” Flint added.

“Each even more stupid then the next,” Sir Tristan said.

“So how did it all end?”

“It didn’t,” Knuckles said. “No one has found anything ever since.”

“I don’t think the player told us everything he knew,” Sir Tristan objected.

“I think he was pulling the journalist’s leg,” Sprat said.

“That would be too much,” I said.

“It would,” Flint agreed. “I’ve known people’s bones being broken for less.”

“Back to the subject,” Sir Tristan continued. “Talking about the Spider Grotto. From what I read, initially these dungeons used to domiciliate a certain clan Under the Mountain. The Black Axes, to be precise.”

“Dwarves again,” Knuckles spat.

“They’re everywhere,” Sprat agreed. “Bunch of bearded tight-ass bastards.”

I’d already noticed that my new workmates seemed to have a thing about dwarves. I didn’t dare ask, hoping to glean some information from their conversations. Instead, I said, “What’s so special about these Black Axes?”

“And how can it help us discover treasure stashes?” Knuckles added with a grin.

“I don’t think it can,” Sir Tristan answered pensively. “The chronicles say that these Black Axes were rebels.”

“What did they do?” Flint asked.

“You see, it was about that time when the Alven Race and the Highlanders made an alliance against a strong kingdom of humans.”

“Let me guess,” Knuckles grinned. “Our midgets sided with the humans?”

“Exactly,” Sir Tristan nodded. “But they didn’t even get the chance to warn the human king about the looming war. The clan was brutally massacred. I can tell you more: the clan had already been doomed.”

“Why?” Sprat asked.

“Apparently, the clan’s artifact makers had learned to build some kind of battle machines but they weren’t in a hurry to share their secrets with other clans.”

“If I can’t have you, no one will!” Flint said theatrically.

“Not really,” Sir Tristan corrected him. “The great master and his best apprentice had been taken hostage.”

“Good!” Sprat exclaimed. “That’s the spirit!”

“End of the line!” Flint suddenly announced. “Level six, everyone’s invited to disembark!”

“Oh,” Knuckles said. “I didn’t even notice! Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”

I glanced at the clock. Our descent had taken thirty-five minutes in total. Holy cow. Good job I wasn’t alone here.

“To work, comrades!” Flint exclaimed mockingly.

The level six cave was enormous. By my estimation, its ceiling reached to the height of a nine-story building. Its walls were streaked with stalactites as if some mythical giant had tried to melt them with a blow torch.

I suppressed a sarcastic grin. What was I thinking of! This was only a game, a set of clever stage props. But still it looked so real it sent shivers down your spine.

The cave was the size of two football pitches, its floor littered with rock debris and the remains of crumbled columns and statues.

“Impressive, eh?” Sir Tristan asked, smiling.

I nodded. “It is. I have to remind myself that all this was created by computer designers and not by some mythical ancient beings.”

“Heh! That’s right!” he agreed. “The location looks very believable.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Let’s do it!”