The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 94

“Late of Gremut,” Vathan continued, still staring at him, with an air that said he wasn’t all in the present. “And now, of Cerkanst.”

Perhaps Krow was influenced by the air of the temple, because a chill passed through him. Was this how ghostcallers found lost items?

Possibly not so funny, after all.

He didn’t know much about ghostcallers. Was there even a guide?

It was not a craftmaster class, and with the recommendations even now detailing the uselessness of subclasses in Redlands, how many people would have chosen it over the more useful picks like miner or blacksmith.

He only picked it because of the meatshield and scout potential.

He looked around at the empty temple.

The walls were decorated in reliefs and abstract statuary. The pale limestone of the walls was bare, not inted or tiled like the houses and towers of Rakaens. The pale cream color of the stone shone yellowish in the lamplight, like old bone.

What was his luck, that the only ghostcaller in the temple was a blueshade addict?

Blueshade was called the hundred-year death, in Zushkenar. In a world where many of the people, even the humans, lived to be over a hundred, it wasn’t an ordinary claim.

Blueshade had mild side-effects, compared to most addictive drugs. The toxins built up over decades, and the person wasn’t addicted until years of using the stimulant.

The start of addiction was somewhat benign, a person becoming more energetic, more vigorous. The addicts gained several decades of manufactured youthful happiness before the downward spiral into manic depression culminating in death.

The ghostcaller beside him was already beginning that downward slide.

“You are a gunman, I see. And with strong magic.” Vathan hummed, those blue-tinged lips curling upward. “I have just the task for you.”

“Who, exactly, told you about this?”

Vathan was already walking away. At Krow’s question, he waved a hand casually. “The wind.”

“Of course, the wind.” Krow held in his groan. “And did the wind also tell you who set this in motion?”

No one, absolutely not a single person, on the forums said skill-buying was fraught with quests!

The ghostcaller glanced over his shoulder, eyes flashing impishly. “Why would the wind tell me that? What do you think it does, gossip?”

Krow looked back flatly in response.

Vathan giggled. He opened a stone door and disappeared into the light that washed into the dim temple through the opening.

Krow stood there for a moment, contemplating life.

Vathan stuck his head into the doorway. “I am the only master ghostcaller in the whole of Rakaens.”

“Coming.” He jogged toward the door.

It led to the small skybridge spanning pillar and the cliff. Vathan was already across it, entering the crack in the cliff that had been fashioned into an entrance.

Ah, it looked like Krow wouldn’t be able to avoid a cave today.

He traversed the stone skybridge, eyeing nearby pillars. The whole town, seen in the daylight, was full of stone art. Krow was absorbed in the details of a relief seeming to depict a lightning bolt striking a depiction of the game-map, trying to see what was different, that he bumped into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you alright?”

The siren shook his head, smiled, and continued on jauntily as if nothing happened.

Krow couldn’t help note that against the natural pale green tinge of the siren’s skin, his lips were also starting to darken to blue.

Were all adherents to Bothadin hopped up on blueshade?

Blueshade root was popular because of its slight boost to MP recovery.

There were no mana potions in Redlands and Zushkenar. Something about the potionmaking process destroyed the ability in the raw ingredients.

So MP recovery was done through raw plant products and enchanted items.

When he was told Cerkanst had a history of herb growing, his first thought was convince the village to plant four-color scorpion grass, whose flowers and leaves could be made into MP recovering salads.

On second thought, it was too high-profile a product.

He’d lose Cerkanst the day the villagers put scorpion grass on the market.

Vathan glanced at him as he came to walk beside, waved to the sectioned ritual rooms, similar to those in Telanweth Temple. “This is the inner temple. That is the primary altar, a bit more private than the one in the outer rooms. If you want to make a Ritual of Sacrifice, the temple here is open to all.”

Haha.

In essence, all Rituals were sacrifices. But a Ritual of Sacrifice was only possible in certain Temples, conducted to gain a Blessing.

The cost for such a ritual was great.

In Redlands, this could be done with money. If he recalled correctly, 500 drax for a Lesser Blessing, 5000 drax for a Greater Blessing, and 100,000 drax for a Halo.

Bessings were buffs and abilities, depending on the Temple the sacrifice was performed in. Lesser Blessings typically lasted weeks to months, Greater Blessings lasted years, and a Halo was permanent.

Another way to gain a blessing was to sacrifice epic and legendary items, or to take a Temple Quest. These quests were always difficult, and often long-term.

The level of success determined the kind of Blessing granted.

He tried taking a temple quest in his last life as a player, with the Temple of Galmentir, for a Light Warrrior’s Blessing. He didn’t manage a quarter through the questline before the Quake.

In Zushkenar, you couldn’t pay gold for a Blessing. The sacrifice of epic and legendary items, and the Temple Quests, remained.

“Ah, here we are.” Vathan stopped at a tall door, after going down several levels of rooms carved into the mountain. “You are quite privileged. Most people do not get to see our inner temple’s great hall even once in their lifetime.”

“What have I done,” Krow said tonelessly, unimpressed. “to earn such an honor.”

“Oh, you will earn it, you will,” muttered Vathan under his breath. “You and me both.”

Krow didn’t think he was supposed to hear that, but only raised his brows subtly. Now, he was a little interested.

The door creaked open, the sound more like metal doors.

Beyond the threshold were about twenty people of varying race.

Was this all of the temple workers?

But Krow’s attention was caught by a massive sculpted relief opposite the door, covering the entire wall, disappearing into the darkness of the high ceiling.

An abstract sculpture resembling gears and springs he’d once seen in a museum, in the uncovered movement of an old mechanical watch.

He blinked as suddenly lights flickered in circular openings that had looked like rivets from where he stood.

Someone was leaping between poles fused into the sculpture, and throwing glowing spears into the lights, not missing one until they reached the top, where they collapsed on a platform. They were helped up by some of the people who were robed like Vathan was.

The people roared, sound filling the massive hall.

People shook hands, argued. Actually, it looked like–

Krow jolted in surprise as the gears on the wall turned, and the room shuddered a little.

…not a sculpture.

Stones poured out from slots in another wall, and the noise in the hall heightened. The stones flowed into large wooden vats arranged specifically below the slots.

What was going on?

“Quite impressive,” Vathan commented. “Young Jeron has only recently joined us at the temple.”

“The walls are mafmet made?”

“Who knows. This cave was discovered by the builders of the temple. A mining platform, I believe.”

“Mining what?”

“You’d have to ask the old lords of Rakaen.” He eyed Krow. “You’re not a necromancer, are you?”

“Is that even possible?” Was there a necromancer build? He’d never heard of one. But a gamer was nothing if not resourceful. If there wasn’t one now, there would be in the future.

“The histories are unclear. It may be myth, to scare young children.” Vathan shrugged.

Krow was familiar with shrugging off quest prompts by now. Besides, did he really want to go down that road? The world of the game was malleable; he didn’t want to be the person to bring a walking dead apocalypse to Redlands.

“Is that what you want me to do then?”

“Hah.” Vathan chuckled. “Your task is right here.”

He pointed out a narrow door behind a curtain.

Krow pushed it open, wrinkled his nose at the dank smell.

“The rats are starting to invade again.” He handed Krow a rifle and a pullcart full of ammunition. “The door will open when you place a hundred rat tails on the scale. Happy hunting.”

The door closed with a grinding clang.