Grand Game 441: The Eastern Marches (Patreon)

The Eastern Marches consisted of thirteen sectors. Sector 75,172 was the northernmost and, without a steady stream of players exiting Draven’s Reach, was likely the most sparsely populated, too. This was largely why neither Adriel nor I had thought relocating to another sector in the region a good idea.

In sector 75,172, the four of us would be easily missed. Elsewhere… not so much.

Still, there were ample signs that the sector had not always been the backend of nowhere. The road I followed south, while broken and cracked, had once been formed from good solid stone.

Large manor houses dotted both sides of the abandoned highway as well. Once, they must have been surrounded by their own sprawling, majestic estates. Now, only cobwebs, mice, and other vermin haunted their empty shells.

The countryside itself was flat and appealing. Except for the rolling hills to the north, the rest of the sector was arid grasslands, stretching away as far as the eye could see. According to Adriel, the upper ends of the Eastern Marches were largely infertile—which explained the lack of farms.

The southern regions—what Adriel had referred to as the lowlands—were a different story altogether. Fed by two major waterways and one massive lake, the lands to the south were rich, fertile, and densely populated—or so they had been in the lich’s day.

The lowlands were also home to three of the Marches’ four dungeons, and undoubtedly this was another factor that contributed to the region’s popularity. And certainly, it was in the lowlands that I had the best chances of finding the merchants I sought.

My first stop, though, would be the safe zone of sector 76,172.

Who knows, I thought wryly, I might just get lucky and find what I need there.

My companion snorted. “Truthfully, Prime, when has fortune ever blessed you so?”

“A time or two, at least,” I protested, then chuckled, conceding the point. “But, I admit, my luck usually runs the other way.”

Still, if, by some happy coincidence, I did find the items I needed in the nearby safe zone, matters could turn out much simpler than I expected, and me and my companions could be gone from the region with none of the occupying factions any wiser.

Ghost paused in her step suddenly, drawing me out of my musings.

At first, I thought it was my words that had prompted her to stop, but then I saw her head swing to the left. Raising her snout, the pyre wolf sniffed delicately, tasting the scents on the wind.

“What is it?” I asked, sensing nothing myself.

For a drawn-out moment, Ghost stayed tense, not answering. Then, abruptly, she relaxed. “Nothing. Just a hungry lion out hunting,” she replied, resuming her stalk through the long grass. For reasons that escaped me, the pyre wolf preferred having the grasslands’ sandy soil under her feet instead of the road’s cold hard rock.

I nodded. “Stay alert, anyway. We must be nearing the river by now.”

According to Adriel, the sector’s safe zone was perched right on a riverbank. This was true not just for this sector’s safe zone but for all the Eastern Marches’ sectors. It was one of the peculiarities of the region.

“I can smell it,” Ghost said.

“What?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“The river,” she replied. “And people.”

“Ah. Lead the way, then,” I said, slipping in behind her.

✵ ✵ ✵

Less than ten minutes later, Ghost and I were crouched in the tall grass, studying the tiny village perched precariously on the raised bank of a mighty river. A collection of about a dozen tiny hovels, the settlement looked far from prosperous.

There were no streets as such, just stretches of muddy ground separating the rickety structures. A handful of boats were drawn up along the water’s edge, making clear it was the river that was the source of the residents’ livelihood.

There could be no doubt the village was occupied either. The subdued candlelight peeking out of the hovels’ shutters was evidence enough of that.

“How many minds do you make out?” I asked.

“Forty,” Ghost replied.

That was the same count I’d arrived at. “None of them are players, though.”

Ghost jerked her head towards the darkened building about a hundred yards further north along the river. “They must all be hold up in there.”

I nodded in agreement. The structure in question was a block-shaped building—four sheer sides of unrelieved stone holding up a uniformly flat roof—and was at least three stories high. There were no ornaments or curves to detract from the building’s lines either, and its starkness seemed a statement unto of itself.

Here I am. Come at me if you dare.

The fort, which is what I marked it to be, sat directly atop the area I expected to find the safe zone—on the western bank of the river as it turned southward. Unfortunately, I could tell nothing of its occupants.

The structure was shielded from my mindsight.

There were no external guards to offer any clues either. Not that it seemed that the fort needed any. All four of the fort’s south facing windows were barred by steel shutters, and so tightly sealed that no light seeped out. The single ground-level entrance was similarly guarded by a set of steel-studded doors.

Yet, it was not the physical defenses that concerned me so much as the magical ones. My sorcerer’s coif had revealed that all five of the fort’s visible openings were covered by tightly knit tier four wards.

Whoever the fort’s commander was, he clearly knew his business, and already I could tell I would not be slipping in unnoticed.

“Can you see into the fort?” I asked Ghost.

She shook her head. “I can’t. The smells are confusing too. There are people inside, that much I can tell. But there is also another stench. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s both overpowering and… unpleasant.”

I sniffed at the air myself. I, too, had noticed the pungent odor on the wind, but I had put it down to the village. Fishing villages were notoriously foul-smelling, after all. I rubbed at my chin thoughtfully. Was the scent indicative of another player species, one neither Ghost nor I had run across yet?

It was certainly possible. But there were other possibilities too.

Judging from its size, the fort was large enough to enclose the entirety of the safe zone—which, based on Adriel’s information, I knew to be quite small—and a good portion of additional land besides. So, whatever was causing the smell wasn’t necessarily in the safe zone… and that meant any number of creatures could be responsible for the scent.

I glanced at the pyre wolf. “You’re sure the stench is coming from the fort?”

“Definitely.”

“I see,” I said. Sitting back on my heels, I considered my next steps.

I had hoped to learn more of the so-called Devil Riders before venturing into the heart of their territory, but that didn’t seem like it was going to happen—at least not tonight.

I can always leave.

There were twelve other sectors in the region where I could get the items I needed, after all. My gaze drifted further right to study the river’s opaque depths. The waterway itself was huge. Its far bank was at least two hundred yards away, and given the stillness of the water on top, I judged it deep enough to convey any number of river barges as it meandered lazily southward.

And south was where I would find the Marches’ cities.

There was one significant problem trying to search them out, though.

My Power Mark.

Facial disguise—at its current tier—would conceal my identity, my level, and even my Class. But not my Marks. For that I would need its tier five variant. Which was why I was leery of venturing into any city, much less one controlled by potentially hostile factions.

Until I upgraded facial disguise, I couldn’t stop any passing player from seeing the Powerful Initiate Mark in my spirit signature. Word would no doubt spread the moment that happened.

And then, the region’s Powers would begin hunting me.

I wanted to avoid all that if I could, but realistically, I knew the chances of doing so to be slim. The next best thing would be to flee the sector before the hunt began in earnest and leave the hunters ignorant of my true identity.

To do that, though, I needed to move fast—make contact with a merchant, purchase the items I required, and vanish before I could be detained or run to ground.

Doing that in the middle of a city would be hard.

Doing it in an isolated safe zone? Not so much.

Which was why, despite the fort’s daunting defenses, I was loath to rule venturing inside from consideration.

So option two: Stay and observe.

I didn’t know anything about the Devil Riders, or any of the other factions in the region for that matter. The wisest course, then, would be to lurk in the shadows and get a sense of how things stood before approaching anyone.

The only problem with this approach was that it wasted time—time, I was not sure I had.

There was a third option, of course: sending Nyra into the lowlands to get what I needed. But this was an option I was loath to attempt, especially without understanding the dangers she’d face and knowing how green my apprentice was.

I exhaled. Once again, it seemed there were no good options.

Ghost’s ears pricked up at my sigh. “Have you decided what to do?”

I nodded heavily. “I have. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we begin surveilling the fort.”

The pyre wolf wrinkled her nose. “For how long?”

“For however long it takes to figure out what we’ll be walking into.”