Bomba's face blackened. I thought at first she was furious, ready to squash her employer like a bug. But the next moment she slung her club over her back and even wiped her hands on her thick leather pants for some reason. Only then I understood it was the troll's black blood flushing her face. The girl had blushed.
The gnolls noticed us. The column stirred, falling into formation. The more battle-worthy gnolls were lining up, shielding casters, gatherers, messengers and other more rare gnoll specimens with their bodies.
"How naïve can they be," Freckles dropped sarcastically.
A gnoll officer emerged from the crowd, waving a shred of something white in one hand and clutching a handful of arrows in the other. Stooping, he ran uphill toward us. Surprisingly, he was well suited for running uphill, dropping on all fours and leaping, pushing with his front legs. I shuddered. Almost like a werewolf.
Soon he stood before us, panting, his tongue hanging out. Waving his white rag, he barked something, then dropped it at our feet. Demonstratively he broke the arrows on his knee, then threw them to the ground in the same way.
Zena turned to look at me. "Need an interpreter, boss?"
I shook my head. "Not really. Everything's quite clear. They're asking us for peace. They don't want to fight."
As if understanding my words, the gnoll glared at me, barking a long sentence that ended in whimpering followed by a threatening growl.
Zena shook her head. "For a fugitive he's a bit too forward, don't you think?"
I shrugged. "Who can understand their logic? He could be trying to assure us that fighting the weak is not kosher. Then once they level up a bit, we might be looking at a good scrap."
"Oh really?" she raised her eyebrows. "You think that's supposed to make us feel better?"
"Oh well, this is pure conjecture. Right, sheath your weapons, show him your empty hands, then turn your backs on him. It's not exactly our direction, anyway."
We nodded to the watchful gnoll and performed the requested motions. Then we summoned our mounts and trotted down the slope. Just another two hours, and I'd finally see those mystical Dead Lands.
Yeah, right. Dream on.
The first half-hour went rather quietly. Small game scattered in front of us, trying either to flee, bury itself in the sand or otherwise pretend it had never been there. The bigger non-aggressive ones followed us with their puppy eyes while the real predators huddled up between rocks, swallowing their hungry drool—we were way out of their league. As their levels grew with every mile, soon it became our turn to give a wide berth to a pack of coyotes, squeezing our way between a pride of lions and an inviting but birdless oasis circled by giant level-100 vultures perched in nearby trees. As I eyed the welcoming shadow, Zena shook her head. With her experience she knew better, of course.
Soon we made our first unscheduled stop by the iridescent mouth of a cave that glowed in a rocky outcrop. A pop-up kindly informed us we had just discovered a one-off dungeon: A Mature Manticore's Lair. The word mature meant that the dungeon hadn't been discovered for over a month allowing its mobs to gain in power and treasures. The girls grew restless, casting those buttery pleading glances at me. So much for your feminism, sweethearts. The moment you need to manipulate your man, you use your eye artillery with the best of them.
"Sorry, ladies, we've got work to do. Just bookmark the place or let's wait a few minutes until Freckles sets up a beacon. Once we're finished, you can come back here and pull their tails off all you want. I'm not going to lay claim to that."
Zena was the first to come to. "Now! Stop huddling together like a bunch of greenhorns! We don't need no compact group targets! Whizz, I thought you were our point? Off you go and circle round the group, then! Freckles, set up the beacon, then join Bomba at point."
She turned to me, faking some semblance of regret on her sly goblin face. "Sorry, dude. Greed got the better of us. Mature one-off dungeons are a rare find. Usually they get mindlessly purged already a few hours after their discovery. When a strong guild manages to lay their hands on one, they would sometimes let it mature for a couple of weeks to allow the mobs to fatten up, giving time for XP and loot bonuses to grow. It's non-linear growth, mind you. Those rangers who were lucky enough to discover it and keep it under wraps often hire mercs to help them purge it. And between mercs, we have the habit of sharing our war stories—and discussing our clients' loot. I tell you, cleaners later have to mop up the drool by the bucket."
Oh, well. Looks like I'd have to do the same for my inner greedy pig who was already foaming at the mouth. Well, that made two of us. Still, he'd have to grin and bear it—I'd given my word I wouldn't lay claim to any loot. Wouldn't be very nice to change my mind to sponge off the girls.
All the time Zena had been closely watching my face. Now she smiled, nodding to her own thoughts. I just hoped that the conversion rate of missed dosh to virtual authority was high enough that day.
After another half-hour of traveling higgledy-piggledy all over the map, my inner greedy pig got a tasty appetizer as a vast prairie opened up to our right. Although no different from any other stretch of virtual grassland, it was overgrown not with feather grass or whatever, but by billions of Gigantic Fly-Traps, no lass, swaying their sticky flagellae in the breeze. I nearly hiccupped when I made a quick estimation of the unclaimed gold just growing there while the greedy pig was already busy driving his virtual harvester, collecting ton upon ton of the precious tobacco ingredient from the boundless fields. Talk about the Admins' playing along with the tobacco business.
Having said that, harvesting the field was still a job and a half considering it was teeming with all sorts of aggressive wildlife. But in a way, it meant protection from the thousands of low-level amateur boy scouts who would have descended on the field for a quick farm had it been located in a safer zone. Then again, how sure was I that I needed it here, fifteen miles from the Dead Lands and the emerging First Temple? And what was I supposed to do with all this treasure: should I delegate it to the Alliance or the Vets, or, alternatively, put on my farmer hat and harvest it all myself?
I glanced at the girls who were apparently clueless about the contents of my sensational but still unavailable product. In actual fact, hardly twenty or thirty people knew the recipe yet: the guild leaders, their security people and inspectors, that had to be it. In any case, I had to give it a good think when I had the time.
Suddenly, Whizz—until then busy turning circles around us—shrank and bolted toward us, squeezing the alarm button which automatically sent the target's status to the group chat.
Warning! Code Red! Target detected: Junior Vampire, level 123.
The girls perked up and serried their ranks, turning into a cube bristling with steel and magic. The tousled rogue ran up and joined them.
"Report!" Zena croaked, squeezing her shield and her mace.
"Vampires! Three of them tried to intercept me when that cliff shielded me from your view. I detected their shadows just as they went for me. I was lucky I was all maxed out, stealth and all. I managed to select one as target and slammed the alarm before rejoining you."
"Not good. If we've trespassed on a vampires' nest, they'll hunt us down. The bloodsuckers receive a substantial experience both for players killed and for each day survived. Their chief motivation is to kill and to keep on living without dying as they progress in their Nest's hierarchy. As NPCs go, they're pretty weird."
"Vampires? Aren't they supposed to sleep in the daytime?" I showed off my erudition.
"Supposed to, yeah," Zena agreed. "Only they're the wrong sort of bats, and they're about to bite us real hard."
She turned around, poking my shoulder with her tiny fist, her enormous mount tall enough for her to reach me without any problem. "I wonder if you'd have such a thing as a gun about you? I could use it, for sure. Anyway! 'Nuff clowning around. It's all just nerves with me. AlterWorld's vampires have no weak spots. At daytime, they're strong. At nighttime, they're freakin' powerful. All depends how old the nest is we've disturbed, and how many Elders and Higher Vampires it has. Their Prince himself might pay us a visit, you never know. Actually, judging by Manticore's Lair it's been laying idle for quite a while."