Crow harsh land read. Ruslan Mikhailov - Crow
Dem Mikhailov
Crow. harsh lands
© Mikhailov D., 2016
© Design. LLC "Publishing house" E ", 2016
Chapter first
Harsh lands - harsh master! Well, a very stern host ... oh, oh, malisepihu ...
Two five-pound bags of wheat flour. Good.
Three five-pound bags of rye flour. Good!
Two poods of rice. Normal.
Pearl barley. Two pounds.
Millet. Two pounds.
Oats. Ten pounds.
Barley. Ten pounds.
An oak barrel filled to the brim with thick, tasty molasses.
Ash barrel with buckwheat honey. Yummy!
Pud of black tea.
Pud of green tea.
A pood of grain coffee.
A pood of fine salt.
A pood of coarse salt.
Spices of different, ordinary, in bags, bags and bundles - five kilograms. Expensive!
Ten pounds of young potatoes!
Twenty-liter copper boiler. Shines!
Five-liter copper pot. Sparkles.
Twenty-five ordinary copper spoons.
Twenty-five ordinary forks, copper.
Twenty-five ordinary, copper, soup plates.
Twenty-five mugs of ordinary, copper, liter.
Beer! Light. One hundred liter barrel. Fresh! Not bad!
Beer! Dark! One hundred liter barrel! Fresh! Not bad!
Beer! Two ten-liter jugs hidden in straw-lined baskets. Good! For ten...
Anthracite is good, five pounds ...
There are few trifles, for personal use - everything is in a bag made of dense fabric with the inscription "Mr. Crow."
All. The list has been exhausted.
When ordering, the money set aside for the purchase ran out, but the gnome was not going to touch the NZ, and even in a nightmare he could not imagine such a thing. "Emergency" money is emergency money, to spend it only in the very, very last resort. And the purchase of flour, beer and mugs did not fall into this “most-most” category.
The order turned out to be somewhat chaotic, the list is “torn”, a lot has been missed, even more has not been missed, but is not yet available. In any case, the backlog is not bad, especially considering the two temporarily hired specialists. Although it would be nice to hire them permanently.
Cashmere, - a bearded old man with an extensive bald head introduced himself grumblingly. Clothes are simple but clean. On his belt is a long knife, behind his shoulders is a large bag with rumbling contents. - Oh, it's hard for me to get here!
Crow, - the player introduced himself with a smile. - It's good that we got there safely. A good cook is a joy to us.
Treebreaker, - the second grandfather muttered just as grumpily, dressed in darker clothes, but of the same style. And the bald head is the same, except that the beard is more liquid and ragged. - I'm his brother. And the road is really rubbish! As if lame ogres trampled the path!
Thank you for responding to my call, - Crowe nodded sedately, not leaving the role of a serious host. - No way without an experienced carpenter. Well, I ask you to follow me, sit down, I will pour you a couple of mugs of beer - it will go well from the tired out!
The owner ... maybe a mug for me too? smiled Prokhr, who, along with other workers, was dragging sacks and kegs to the main section.
Everyone, - the dwarf did not argue. - I'll get you all a beer. As you drag purchases, we will sit at the table, since the day is already in the evening.
And wear something quickly, - the wagon officer standing next to the heavy horses hoarsely supported, pulling off his dusty hat from the top of his head and knocking it over his knee.
A mug of beer? Crowe immediately hurried over, casting an inconspicuous glance at the contents of two more carts.
The small freight train that arrived at Gray Peak Guard Post consisted of four large, sturdy wagons. The cargo of the first two wagons was taken by the dwarf Crow, and the other two wagons were destined for someone else. And among the other luggage, there were also four barrels of beer - judging by the emblems, a winking horned elf with his tongue hanging out - from the same suburban brewery "Abl and Gabr".
And immediately an interesting question arose - how to manage to appropriate the kegs, because just recently another fed and drunk caravan left, and now Crow had a lot of copper and some silver to buy the coveted beer ... If the beer is already intended for someone - it's hopeless. But all of a sudden the wagon drivers themselves are bargaining on the sly - that's why the beer kegs are not covered with burlap, that's why they are exposed to curious glances. Here, they say, beer, take it if you have some money. And if not, then just lick your lips with a dry tongue and try to drill through the oak walls of the barrel with a suffering look ...
M-yes ... I wanted to buy beer very much. But everything has its turn.
As soon as the last sack left the cart and found itself on a cleared patch of land, all four workers rushed to the kitchen table with a joyful hubbub and hurriedly took their place, glancing eagerly at the nearest keg of beer. With dark beer and…
Crowe did not torment the workers, briefly nodding to the dwarf Trut, the most intelligent of the four. He can be trusted to knock out the bottom of the barrel. While the little man was doing this, having called Serg for help, both brothers sat down at the table - a cook and a carpenter.
These grandfathers are a different story - no one usually hires them, as far as the dwarf managed to find out through a conversation with a carpenter's artel passing through the outpost. It was with this artel that both brothers worked for the last time. And in it they were given a calculation. For several reasons.
Firstly, Cashmore and Drevol have always worked together - they are inseparable, like Siamese twins. But not always in the same place you need both a cook and a carpenter. Secondly, both brothers were constantly frowning, grouchy, you can’t wait for a smile from them on the finest day. Well, and most importantly - both brothers did not have enough stars from the sky either in cooking or in carpentry. Treebreaker's tables and benches were remarkably strong, but slightly crooked and unprepossessing. Cashmore could fry fish or meat, cook soup, and the food would be edible, but obviously not delicious. For the reasons listed above, Drevolom and Cashmore often turned out to be free for hire, which the unpretentious Crow took advantage of - the carpenter and the cook were ideal for his needs.
He does not need carved furniture and exquisite dishes worthy of kings here.
What he really needs is a simple hearty meal every day, as well as sturdy tables and benches! And other simple furniture in a peasant style.
A few minutes after the successful unloading of the carts, a hubbub began at the crowded table - the workers and wagonmen cheerfully discussed some interesting topics for the "local" Valdira. However, ALL game guides, as one, advise you to listen to such conversations - this is the most important source of sometimes the most unexpected information. Do not count how many times the location of a gang of robbers or a dangerous beast was found out in this way, in which provinces there is a pestilence, and where the king sharply tightened trade taxes. Sometimes even completely new, still unexplored locations were discovered! Travelers are inquisitive people, and they look sharply around, see a lot, notice a lot.
Dem Mikhailov
Crow. harsh lands
© Mikhailov D., 2016
© Design. LLC "Publishing house" E ", 2016
Chapter first
Harsh lands - harsh master! Well, a very stern host ... oh, oh, malisepihu ...
Two five-pound bags of wheat flour. Good.
Three five-pound bags of rye flour. Good!
Two poods of rice. Normal.
Pearl barley. Two pounds.
Millet. Two pounds.
Oats. Ten pounds.
Barley. Ten pounds.
An oak barrel filled to the brim with thick, tasty molasses.
Ash barrel with buckwheat honey. Yummy!
Pud of black tea.
Pud of green tea.
A pood of grain coffee.
A pood of fine salt.
A pood of coarse salt.
Spices of different, ordinary, in bags, bags and bundles - five kilograms. Expensive!
Ten pounds of young potatoes!
Twenty-liter copper boiler. Shines!
Five-liter copper pot. Sparkles.
Twenty-five ordinary copper spoons.
Twenty-five ordinary forks, copper.
Twenty-five ordinary, copper, soup plates.
Twenty-five mugs of ordinary, copper, liter.
Beer! Light. One hundred liter barrel. Fresh! Not bad!
Beer! Dark! One hundred liter barrel! Fresh! Not bad!
Beer! Two ten-liter jugs hidden in straw-lined baskets. Good! For ten...
Anthracite is good, five pounds ...
There are few trifles, for personal use - everything is in a bag made of dense fabric with the inscription "Mr. Crow."
All. The list has been exhausted.
When ordering, the money set aside for the purchase ran out, but the gnome was not going to touch the NZ, and even in a nightmare he could not imagine such a thing. "Emergency" money is emergency money, to spend it only in the very, very last resort. And the purchase of flour, beer and mugs did not fall into this “most-most” category.
The order turned out to be somewhat chaotic, the list is “torn”, a lot has been missed, even more has not been missed, but is not yet available. In any case, the backlog is not bad, especially considering the two temporarily hired specialists. Although it would be nice to hire them permanently.
Cashmere, - a bearded old man with an extensive bald head introduced himself grumblingly. Clothes are simple but clean. On his belt is a long knife, behind his shoulders is a large bag with rumbling contents. - Oh, it's hard for me to get here!
Crow, - the player introduced himself with a smile. - It's good that we got there safely. A good cook is a joy to us.
Treebreaker, - the second grandfather muttered just as grumpily, dressed in darker clothes, but of the same style. And the bald head is the same, except that the beard is more liquid and ragged. - I'm his brother. And the road is really rubbish! As if lame ogres trampled the path!
Thank you for responding to my call, - Crowe nodded sedately, not leaving the role of a serious host. - No way without an experienced carpenter. Well, I ask you to follow me, sit down, I will pour you a couple of mugs of beer - it will go well from the tired out!
The owner ... maybe a mug for me too? smiled Prokhr, who, along with other workers, was dragging sacks and kegs to the main section.
Everyone, - the dwarf did not argue. - I'll get you all a beer. As you drag purchases, we will sit at the table, since the day is already in the evening.
And wear something quickly, - the wagon officer standing next to the heavy horses hoarsely supported, pulling off his dusty hat from the top of his head and knocking it over his knee.
A mug of beer? Crowe immediately hurried over, casting an inconspicuous glance at the contents of two more carts.
The small freight train that arrived at Gray Peak Guard Post consisted of four large, sturdy wagons. The cargo of the first two wagons was taken by the dwarf Crow, and the other two wagons were destined for someone else. And among the other luggage, there were also four barrels of beer - judging by the emblems, a winking horned elf with his tongue hanging out - from the same suburban brewery "Abl and Gabr".
And immediately an interesting question arose - how to manage to appropriate the kegs, because just recently another fed and drunk caravan left, and now Crow had a lot of copper and some silver to buy the coveted beer ... If the beer is already intended for someone - it's hopeless. But all of a sudden the wagon drivers themselves are bargaining on the sly - that's why the beer kegs are not covered with burlap, that's why they are exposed to curious glances. Here, they say, beer, take it if you have some money. And if not, then just lick your lips with a dry tongue and try to drill through the oak walls of the barrel with a suffering look ...
M-yes ... I wanted to buy beer very much. But everything has its turn.
As soon as the last sack left the cart and found itself on a cleared patch of land, all four workers rushed to the kitchen table with a joyful hubbub and hurriedly took their place, glancing eagerly at the nearest keg of beer. With dark beer and…
Crowe did not torment the workers, briefly nodding to the dwarf Trut, the most intelligent of the four. He can be trusted to knock out the bottom of the barrel. While the little man was doing this, having called Serg for help, both brothers sat down at the table - a cook and a carpenter.
These grandfathers are a different story - no one usually hires them, as far as the dwarf managed to find out through a conversation with a carpenter's artel passing through the outpost. It was with this artel that both brothers worked for the last time. And in it they were given a calculation. For several reasons.
Firstly, Cashmore and Drevol have always worked together - they are inseparable, like Siamese twins. But not always in the same place you need both a cook and a carpenter. Secondly, both brothers were constantly frowning, grouchy, you can’t wait for a smile from them on the finest day. Well, and most importantly - both brothers did not have enough stars from the sky either in cooking or in carpentry. Treebreaker's tables and benches were remarkably strong, but slightly crooked and unprepossessing. Cashmore could fry fish or meat, cook soup, and the food would be edible, but obviously not delicious. For the reasons listed above, Drevolom and Cashmore often turned out to be free for hire, which the unpretentious Crow took advantage of - the carpenter and the cook were ideal for his needs.
He does not need carved furniture and exquisite dishes worthy of kings here.
What he really needs is a simple hearty meal every day, as well as sturdy tables and benches! And other simple furniture in a peasant style.
A few minutes after the successful unloading of the carts, a hubbub began at the crowded table - the workers and wagonmen cheerfully discussed some interesting topics for the "local" Valdira. However, ALL game guides, as one, advise you to listen to such conversations - this is the most important source of sometimes the most unexpected information. Do not count how many times the location of a gang of robbers or a dangerous beast was found out in this way, in which provinces there is a pestilence, and where the king sharply tightened trade taxes. Sometimes even completely new, still unexplored locations were discovered! Travelers are inquisitive people, and they look sharply around, see a lot, notice a lot.
Font:
100% +
© Mikhailov D., 2016
© Design. LLC "Publishing house" E ", 2016
Chapter first
Harsh lands - a harsh master! Well, a very stern host ... oh, oh, malisepihu ...
Two five-pound bags of wheat flour. Good.
Three five-pound bags of rye flour. Good!
Two poods of rice. Normal.
Pearl barley. Two pounds.
Millet. Two pounds.
Oats. Ten pounds.
Barley. Ten pounds.
An oak barrel filled to the brim with thick, tasty molasses.
Ash barrel with buckwheat honey. Yummy!
Pud of black tea.
Pud of green tea.
A pood of grain coffee.
A pood of fine salt.
A pood of coarse salt.
Spices of different, ordinary, in bags, bags and bundles - five kilograms. Expensive!
Ten pounds of young potatoes!
Twenty-liter copper boiler. Shines!
Five-liter copper pot. Sparkles.
Twenty-five ordinary copper spoons.
Twenty-five ordinary forks, copper.
Twenty-five ordinary, copper, soup plates.
Twenty-five mugs of ordinary, copper, liter.
Beer! Light. One hundred liter barrel. Fresh! Not bad!
Beer! Dark! One hundred liter barrel! Fresh! Not bad!
Beer! Two ten-liter jugs hidden in straw-lined baskets. Good! For ten...
Anthracite is good, five pounds ...
There are few trifles, for personal use - everything is in a bag made of dense fabric with the inscription “Mr. Crow."
All. The list has been exhausted.
When ordering, the money set aside for the purchase ran out, but the gnome was not going to touch the NZ, and even in a nightmare he could not imagine such a thing. "Emergency" money is emergency money, to spend it only in the very, very last resort. And the purchase of flour, beer and mugs did not fall into this “most-most” category.
The order turned out to be somewhat chaotic, the list is “torn”, a lot has been missed, even more has not been missed, but is not yet available. In any case, the backlog is not bad, especially considering the two temporarily hired specialists. Although it would be nice to hire them permanently.
“Cashmore,” a bearded old man with a large bald head introduced himself grumpily. Clothes are simple but clean. On his belt is a long knife, behind his shoulders is a large bag with rumbling contents. - Oh, it's hard for me to get here!
“Crow,” the player introduced himself with a smile. - It's good that we got there safely. A good cook is a joy to us.
“Treebreaker,” the second grandfather muttered just as grumpily, dressed in darker clothes, but of the same style. And the bald head is the same, except that the beard is more liquid and ragged. - I'm his brother. And the road is really rubbish! As if lame ogres trampled the path!
“Thank you for responding to my call,” Crowe nodded sedately, not leaving the role of a serious host. “No way without an experienced carpenter. Well, I ask you to follow me, sit down, I'll pour you a couple of mugs of beer - it will go well from the tired out!
“Master… maybe a cup for me, too?” smiled Prokhr, who, along with other workers, was dragging sacks and kegs to the main section.
“Everyone,” the dwarf did not argue. - I'll get you all a beer. As you drag purchases, we will sit at the table, since the day is already in the evening.
“And wear something quickly,” the wagon officer standing next to the heavy horses supported hoarsely, pulling off his dusty hat from the top of his head and knocking it over his knee.
- A glass of beer? Crowe immediately hurried over, casting an inconspicuous glance at the contents of two more carts.
The small freight train that arrived at Gray Peak Guard Post consisted of four large, sturdy wagons. The cargo of the first two wagons was taken by the dwarf Crow, and the other two wagons were destined for someone else. And among the other luggage, there were also four barrels of beer - judging by the emblems, a winking horned elf with a protruding tongue - from the same suburban brewery "Abl and Gabr".
And immediately an interesting question arose - how to manage to appropriate the kegs, because just recently another fed and drunk caravan left, and now Crowe had a lot of copper and some silver to buy the coveted beer ... If the beer is already intended for someone, the case is hopeless. But all of a sudden the wagon drivers themselves are bargaining on the sly - that's why the beer kegs are not covered with burlap, that's why they are exposed to curious glances. Here, they say, beer, take it if you have some money. And if not, then just lick your lips with a dry tongue and try to drill through the oak walls of the barrel with a suffering look ...
M-yes ... I wanted to buy beer very much. But everything has its turn.
As soon as the last sack left the cart and found itself on a cleared patch of land, all four workers rushed to the kitchen table with a joyful hubbub and hurriedly took their place, glancing eagerly at the nearest keg of beer. With dark beer and…
Crowe did not torment the workers, briefly nodding to the dwarf Trut, the most intelligent of the four. He can be trusted to knock out the bottom of the barrel. While the short man was doing this, having called Serg for help, both brothers sat down at the table - a cook and a carpenter.
These grandfathers are a different story - no one usually hires them, as far as the dwarf managed to find out through a conversation with a carpenter's artel passing through the outpost. It was with this artel that both brothers worked for the last time. And in it they were given a calculation. For several reasons.
Firstly, Cashmore and Treebreaker have always worked together - they are inseparable, like Siamese twins. But not always in the same place you need both a cook and a carpenter. Secondly, both brothers were constantly frowning, grouchy, you can’t wait for a smile from them on the finest day. Well, and most importantly - both brothers did not have enough stars from the sky either in cooking or in carpentry. Treebreaker's tables and benches were remarkably strong, but slightly crooked and unprepossessing. Cashmore could fry fish or meat, cook soup, and the food would be edible, but obviously not delicious. For the reasons listed above, Drevolom and Cashmere often turned out to be free for hire, which the unpretentious Crow took advantage of - the carpenter and cook were ideally suited to his needs.
He does not need carved furniture and exquisite dishes worthy of kings here.
What he really needs is a simple hearty meal every day, as well as sturdy tables and benches! And other simple furniture in a peasant style.
A few minutes after the successful unloading of the carts, a hubbub began at the crowded table - workers and wagonmen cheerfully discussed some interesting topics for the "local" Valdira. However, ALL game guides, as one, advise you to definitely listen to such conversations - this is the most important source of sometimes the most unexpected information. Do not count how many times the location of a gang of robbers or a dangerous beast was found out in this way, in which provinces there is a pestilence, and where the king sharply tightened trade taxes. Sometimes even completely new, still unexplored locations were discovered! Travelers are inquisitive people, and they look sharply around, see a lot, notice a lot.
There is a hole darkening in the rock mass - is it the entrance to the cave, for an hour? Is it an ancient tomb that opened up after the last earthquake?
But a strange stone sticks out of the sagging earth, more like a roof ridge ...
And here is the footprint of an unknown and huge beast - it stepped with its paw only once, and there is no village with a dozen houses, it flattened everything into a cake.
And there, on the reefs, you can see the skeleton of a crashed ship - what if some things or gold remained in the holds?
But Crowe was in no mood to listen to gossip, at least not at the moment. There were plans for eavesdropping for the future, of course, where would we be without them, without gossip? But a little later. Taking a sip of beer from a brand new mug, he looked thoughtfully at the unloaded goods and threw rare predatory glances at the kegs with someone else's beer.
Eh ... today three convoys are expected at once, and all with an overnight stay. The beer is gone! Especially fresh! And cold! Magic runes are visible on the tight-fitting boards of the kegs, and, judging by the square "signature", or, rather, the brand, a runologist player worked on the kegs. Apparently, he raised his qualifications and reputation. Which is already very good, since he was entrusted with the work by the famous Abl and Gabr brewery, managed by two dwarf brothers, after whose names the enterprise was named.
All the beer they produced gave by default +3 Stamina, and if you drink from the branded stone mug of the brewery, then immediately +5 Stamina. For a period of an hour - and during this period a lot of things can be done. Especially for novice players running in noob locations. Then you have to wait an hour, and again you can take a liter orally. And so on ad infinitum.
It was from such a special branded mug, worth five silver coins, that Crow was now sipping dark beer. The mug is massive, heavy, stone, with a round emblem of the brewery in the form of two gloomy and bearded gnome faces and with the inscription "Abl and Gabr" under them. And from now on, he will drink beer from it every day. Before leaving for a close raid. + 5 to endurance on the road do not roll, and the beer is delicious! In addition, Crow sought to obtain both special achievements, given only under certain conditions.
"Client" Abl and Gabr "- the achievement is given if for a whole month every day you drink at least two mugs of beer from the branded mug of the brewery. Thirty-one days multiplied by two mugs. So you got sixty-two liters of beer .... As soon as the last liter mug is empty, they will immediately give an achievement and a bun. Forever +2 Stamina and +1 Wisdom. From buns - +1 reputation with the brewery, which seems to give nothing much, but if you are a merchant and buy beer from them for sale, such a plus to the relationship gives a small, but still a discount. In addition, for the achievement they give a stone figurine of a gnome - either Abla or Gabra, with an unchanged mug in their hands. Collectible - These figurines can often be seen on the shelves of any inn or tavern in the vast world of Valdira.
"Loyal client" Abl and Gabr "- they will give you if you continue to drink beer from the brewery every day for three months - from a branded mug, there is no concession. The mug appears to be a special control artifact that measures who drinks from it and how often. At the same time, all three months you can not drink the beer of their competitors, real and hypothetical. I mean, even in remote Tmutarakan you can't drink a mug of self-made village beer. That is, in general. And scandals arose with this - imagine that for ninety days in a row they drank two liters of Abl and Gabr beer every day and then, in the last or penultimate mug, there was beer from a completely different brewery ... and the achievement immediately collapses. Everything must start over. And often, other players slipped beer for the sake of laughter. Or out of envy. Or out of competition—Crow wasn't the only one buying beer in small bulk from the famous brewery.
Achievement forever gave more +3 Stamina and -1 Wisdom. That is, wisdom fell by one unit. Which is not particularly critical, although funny. Plus, they gave another stone collectible figurine of Abla or Gabr - and it happened that a collection consisting of only two items immediately became complete. Well, you can't brush it off yet +1 reputation with a brewery.
The branded stone mug went to the cunning dwarf for free - as to the one who first bought beer in bulk, taking two kegs at once. And Crowe was not going to give it to anyone. Figushki! There will be his personal beer mug!
Only about beer - this is not a joke and is not said for a beautiful word. The mug is for beer. If you pour something other than beer into it, the mug may crack. If you pour milk into it, the mug will shatter into fragments. Whether the owners suffered from an allergy to milk, or a long-standing feud with cattle breeders is not known here.
- Good beer! - the senior guard approached the owner of the site snorted with satisfaction, wiping the foam from his mustache. - Just like that.
A finger wet with beer pointed unambiguously to the barrels lying in the cart.
"Good," Crowe didn't argue. - No wonder I bought it. I would take more...
“So I’ll sell it,” the wagon driver perked up. “Same draft beer as yours, mate. You won't guess.
- What about the price?
- The road was hard ... potholes and bumps, and the carts were not state-owned, tea ... and the horses were not strangers ... it should be fair here!
And I want justice. The main thing is not to break the price, dear. Then we'll talk. So how much for a beer?
- Will you take everything?
- All that is.
The seller parted with the buyer in ten minutes, and parted warmly - the dwarf waved after the carts, not forgetting to shout out a wish for a speedy return. Behind the dwarf, there were four more casks in a row, decorated with the image of a horned elf, while two gloomy dwarfs flaunted on branded mugs. This is another mystery of the Abl and Gabr brewery, founded by dwarves who traditionally do not like elves, even if they are horned. But there was no need to poke your nose into other people's business, so Crowe just stood there, smiling, waving his hand and thinking about another four hundred liters of fresh beer. For each keg, the wagon driver bargained for three gold coins. At the brewery, a hundred liters cost two gold pieces, plus another four silver pieces per container. Beer is not least widely known for its cheapness.
A total of two hundred liters plus four hundred - here you have six hundred mugs of beer! Of course, part of the beer will flow away in a full-flowing stream into the ever-dry throats of the workers, but there's nothing to be done about it. Moreover, the dwarf, as a zealous owner, intended to give out beer not strictly by agreement, but somewhat more generously, so that the workers would not consider him the last miser and would not spread such rumors throughout the expanses of Valdira. There is nothing worse than being known as a miser among the "locals".
It remains only to figure out what price to set. Given the constant state of "rush hour", there was not much time to think. Decisions had to be made quickly.
- A liter of silver! muttered the black-haired dwarf, having carried out some simple calculations and sweepingly writing out the inscription “Fresh beer!” on a clean board, and adding equally large “Abl and Gabr Brewery” below.
Crowe hung the board in the most visible place - on the post of the trading counter. At a fast pace, I dragged almost all the beer there, covered the container with a pile of skins - so that it would not heat up. He poured a couple of buckets of water on top - for the same purpose. Not all same on freezing magic hope.
The guards passing by slowed down sharply - you see, all the literate or by heart know the two main words: “Fresh beer”, written in any language.
“For the guards, beer is always free,” the dwarf said loudly enough, but without boasting or “dressing,” looking at the paused guards with a calm smile. - With the permission of the ten's manager, of course.
The valiant warriors nodded in unison, swallowed in unison, once again walked over the inscription with their eyes and walked on to their business.
"Where to now, master?" - Serg asked in a bass voice, behind whose wide back Prokhriy was almost invisible wiping his mouth.
“Logs,” the dwarf answered shortly, picking up two thick spruce clubs from the ground. - Logs, guys. We will all immediately take it and until the evening we chop, bring down, drag.
"It will be done," the half-orc promised placidly. - But here are the jackal offspring and their cronies wrapped up ... not that we were afraid, but still ...
"I'm coming with you," Crowe nodded, casting an extremely vicious glance towards the "outside" territory beyond the outpost Greypeak. - You cut yourself calmly, and I'll look after.
“Well then, everything is in order,” Prokhr exhaled joyfully, the others nodded, agreeing with the opinion of their partner.
Over the past couple of days, all four employees were convinced that the owner of Crow is strict, fair and does not throw words into the wind. And since he said that he would look after, it means that he will look after. And there's nothing more to worry about.
Soon a small detachment left the post, having gone beyond the invisible border of the protected area.
There were two of the "left" players in the vicinity. People. Approximately forty levels, both warriors, both swordsmen, and belts and weapons are the same. It seems that Crow even guessed what kind of quest both swordsmen completed, for which they received weapons. Now they were looking thoughtfully at the map, clearly trying their best to understand something. Behind them was a wooden cart with a gray donkey harnessed to it. Crowe could not look at the cargo - it was covered with canvas and tied with ropes. But there was no need to look closely - if the dwarf was right about the swords he received for the quest, then the next in the chain was the task of delivering almost half a ton of poison from gross thoughts to one grumpy one-legged grandfather. Moreover, no one has ever seen these very gross thinkers with their own eyes, and grandfather grabbed and grabbed poison in any quantity, regularly paying for it with orange honey and nectar bread.
“The Cornish Likhomysl is there,” said Crow, passing by the thoughtful players. - Another two hours to cut you there, guys.
The faces are the same ... that is, they are exactly the same. Hair and those combed in one parting. Brothers. Twins.
“Not at all,” the dwarf waved it off. “Good luck. Just keep walking guys. I know it's meandering wildly, but don't you dare cut through the cornfields!
“Thank you,” the players repeated again in chorus, with the nicknames “Loco Floco” and “Moco Floco”. - We were warned.
“Good luck,” the dwarf repeated and did not turn around anymore, although his thoughts revolved lazily around two warriors so similar in appearance.
I wonder if they are really brothers or decided to use the twin bonus? When the twins work together, a small bonus is given with a couple of specific skills ... well, that's none of his business.
Even without his sword brothers, he has something to kill time for - for example, to find and eliminate an urgent problem.
The animals living in the location did not touch the workers of the dwarf Crow. Physically strong workers were too tough for them, felling a fairly thick tree in a few blows. But yesterday everything somehow changed dramatically when Serg caught a "gift" in his green back - a crooked arrow that flew in from nowhere and smeared with a rather nasty poison. The sturdy half-orc managed to get to the guard post, where he immediately received treatment from the guards, and Crowe, who was standing nearby, wrote down for memory "urgently purchase a few potions with antidotes." The guards who questioned Serg were indignant, saddled their horses and combed the nearby territory in several passes. And to no avail. They found strange animal footprints deeply pressed into the soil - most of the prints turned out to be near the lake with clean water that was memorable to the dwarf. Not otherwise unknown animals went to the watering hole. But they didn't shoot the arrow, right? And other traces, more suitable for the image of an archer with a bow, were not found at all, of course, except for the many prints of the same people, dwarves, elves and others. That's just a special arrow. So badly made that it would be shameful for any shooter to put it on a bow.
But back to the strange animal tracks ...
The ten's manager became very gloomy after the guards described the traces they had found to him. Moreover, he himself rode to the lake and personally studied the prints. And darkened even more. The player did not question him. Friendship is friendship, but it seems that the foreman was not eager to communicate - he locked himself in the tower and began to scribble a message one after another, sending them by bird mail.
And why ask?
Crow, of course, is not a tracker, but he saw the arrow itself, and when he heard about animal prints, the rest became clear - trouble came to visit them. Especially if you recall the recent words of a warrior about the gray orcs and the large-scale raid that is underway.
True, not the terrible gray “wolves” themselves, that is, the orcs, have looked at the light so far, but their younger and much more harmless neighbors ...
"We're working," Crow said curtly, stopping next to a prominent and newly "overgrown" knoll next to a stone peak crowned with an eagle's nest.
Speaking of eagles, a tiny dot flickered high in the sky. Chris. The eagle began to fly WHERE higher and WHERE faster, it cost him a little bit to grow in levels over the past couple of days. And accordingly now, even without the help of the guards, the black-haired dwarf learned about the arrival of new convoys or caravans ahead of time. And sometimes he learned FASTER than the guards, the first to bring them this news, accepted by the soldiers with gratitude. Therefore, Crow chose a creature so peculiar for the race of gnomes as his pet. To always be aware of the events taking place near the guard post Gray Peak. To know what's going on near his house.
In the future, Chris will have a couple or two more skills aimed specifically at reconnaissance. The dwarf will choose them. The second advantage of winged eagles is vision. Truly aquiline and truly sharp-sighted. The third advantage is that, unlike many other feathered eagles, they could live in the air. Huge wings are spread and soar slowly in the blue of the sky, vigilantly looking down at such a distant land.
There were other pluses, but they are still far from being achieved, and the gnome had more than enough worries in the near future. There are all sorts of footprints, whistling arrows, travelers arriving incessantly ...
With a jerky and wet crunch, the spruce trembled and began to roll. A couple of seconds, and the tree trunk hit the ground, breaking and crushing the branches.
- Take care-and-is! - Extremely belated, but loudly and loudly yelled Prokhriy, looking at Crow with wide eyes.
- Prokhriy, you blink again - I’ll wean you from beer!
“Master, get out of the water!” Don't touch the beer, master!.. It's holy, the beer... drank - and seemed to take communion... - Prokhriy whined plaintively, staring faithfully at the player.
- Do not snooze! - the dwarf punished once again and turned away again, no longer looking at how the workers approached the fallen spruce and began to “receive” it. It's business as usual, what's there to see?
But it was worth looking around - the workers make a lot of noise, the sound of axes spreads far around the district, it flies into many ears. True, with people like Prokhriy, one must also have eyes in the back of the head - so as not to be hit on the head by a falling tree. And after all, he warned the unfortunate worker ten times already! That a few seconds BEFORE the fall of the tree, it is necessary to warn everyone with a loud cry - so that no one gets hit by a knotty log. But Sergius slowed down godlessly ... yelled, brute, every time after the felled tree fell to the ground!
Such are the fines for employees - they are diligent, strong, hardy, not cowardly, but tho-o-o-up-s-s-s-e-e .... Some gave vague hopes, but it's too early to rejoice.
Startled, Crow glanced up for a moment - Chris, floating in the sky, let out a thin cry. And only one dwarf heard this cry - a black-haired stout player. On the virtual interface, a few short lines flashed by, already in a much more human language, announcing that something was moving towards them, judging by the flickering scarlet tip of the pointing arrow, moving out of those bushes framing a small hollow.
“Work, boys,” the dwarf repeated in a calm voice and rushed forward, giving all his best and looking like a short-legged Olympic sprinter, since the distance was not bad. Only a hundred meters - their dwarf overcame them, if not at a record speed, but quickly enough so that the enemy could not hide again.
The "brake strip" came out two meters long - the dwarf literally blew up the ground and last year's needles with his heels. And, not becoming straightened, he collapsed on his back. Two swaying arrows rustled above his face, the dwarf jumped up and just managed to notice how the feathered and extremely angry meteor Chris fell into the bushes covering the hollow, very offended for the assassination attempt on the owner. The angry scream of a bird of prey, the crunch of branches, vilely yelled from the hollow, and then a real party began when, following the eagle, an equally evil gnome with a large hammer in his hands broke into it. His wild roar rang out, two large bushes, strewn with small leaves, from a couple of powerful kicks imagined themselves to be rockets and soared into the air along a gentle trajectory - this was the dwarf clearing a place for action for himself and the eagle. Another bush started up next, rushing away. A large boulder soared about three meters, and then plummeted down, and a screeching sound announced that the thrown projectile had fallen not on bare ground, but at least on someone's leg or paw. Foliage and nearby ground were generously sprayed with a green-yellow liquid. The miraculously surviving vegetation crackled and swayed, as in the strongest hurricane; through the crackling of branches and roots, the roaring voice of a dwarf was heard:
- Oh, you stinking gladioli! Oh you burdocks! I'll tear off the leaves for you and stuff your plants in your asses! I will fertilize you with my own brains! I will tear to pasture, I will tear out the roots, I will liken you and your children to burdocks! You will still shoot at my workers! Will you?! Will you?! Will you?! - each such exclamation was accompanied by a heavy squelching and chomping blow.
The screaming eagle diligently “assented”, and a couple of times it completely flew up about twenty meters and, like a recent boulder, collapsed down like a winged wrestler. The workers standing at the hillock were dumbfounded, in a state of complete stupefaction, looking at the madness that was happening.
“It’s not a trace to anger the owner,” Trut the dwarf said thoughtfully.
“Yeah…” Serg agreed.
“And he shouldn’t fall under a hot hand,” Prokhriy nodded, swallowing convulsively and looking at the eagle Chris soaring into the air, carrying away in its paws some torn green lumps, which for some reason convulsively fluttered and squealed something like an anguished “ oh malisepihu! - And you don’t need to piss off the bird ...
Chris rose very, very high, unclenched his clawed paws, waited a dozen seconds and disappeared after him, rushing down like a feathered comet. First, the still screeching “oh, ohmalisepihu!” flopped to the ground. a green lump of lumps, then an eagle hit him, and everything finally calmed down. The party is over...
A dwarf smeared with green goo came out of a fairly thinned bush and, looking at the workers, asked in surprise:
Why aren't we working?
– We are working!
We are already working!
- We are still working, master! Wow how we work! - came in chorus in response, axes fell on the felled spruce, instantly turning the unfortunate log into small chips suitable only for kindling.
- Pah! Crowe spat angrily and returned to the thicket, tossing the pet into the air along the way. Chris shot up like an arrow and soared high again in the blue of the sky.
And Crow climbed into the very thick of the thickets, to the place where the fight took place. There, the short man fell to his knees and rested his hands on the ground blown up in the heat of the fight.
No, Crow did not intend to offer either thanksgiving or penitential prayers. He did not look for traces - on the contrary, he feverishly hid them. And not because of false modesty, Crow tried - he did not try to hide the traces of the destroyed monsters. He dug in the bottom at two conical pits a meter deep, because there, at the bottom, among fragments of wild stone, a tangle of roots and loose earth, completely different and unusual stone fragments were visible - rectangular, white, yellow, red, gray, with black remnants of intricate ligature on their dirty sides. Bricks. At a depth of a meter, there were quite a lot of multi-colored bricks - extremely ancient even at first glance. And Crowe, not at all expressing delight or interest in the find, diligently and carefully buried them back in the ground. A minute later, the bricks were covered and littered with foliage. Breathing a sigh of relief, the dwarf looked around the hollow, making sure that there were no more treacherously colored bricks to be seen anywhere else. And only then did he leave the place of the battle, not forgetting to grab several items from the remains of the killed shrill monsters.
Crawling back out of the thickets, Crow looked for the most intelligent of the four dwarves Trut and, pointing his finger at the abandoned thickets, ordered:
- Burn.
We'll do it, master.
Look how diligent...
And Crow hurried back to the outpost, but he hurried in a peculiar way, picking up mushrooms and large stones along the way. The dwarf did not disdain large deadwood, and also, no, no, he killed rabbits and partridges that got in the way and robbed bird nests, carefully collecting eggs.
The product will not appear in the shop by itself. There was already a plan to slightly diversify the assortment and the future menu, but this required additional working hands, and much more “smart” hands, which was expensive. First you need to unwind with the already existing and just purchased assortment.
The businesslike dwarf pinned special hopes on Abl and Gabr beer. True, the thoughts of the dwarf no-no yes returned to the destroyed enemies.
Rocky Nepenthes Hunters.
That's who came to visit Gray Peak.
Carnivorous mobile plants in the form of a strange bright red or green jug on four thin roots-paws, each root ending in a strange animal paw with a sole and five claws. And therefore, the plant left behind a trace of the real animal, which often confused inexperienced trackers and led to trouble. You run on the trail of a furry unknown beast, and your eyes, accordingly, track down exactly the animal familiar to consciousness - four paws, a tail, a skin, two ears, and so on. In the meantime, the inherited nepenthes calmly freezes motionless, and you yourself run right up to him, after which a poisonous arrow is stuck in you, three or four vine-like shoots pick you up and stuff you into the joyfully open mouth of the jug. And yum yum...
The arrow is launched by the plant - it grows itself inside the jug, impregnates it with the poison produced in the womb, pulls it on the plant string on its own and quite accurately lets it hit the target. A large creature will be poisoned and slowed down by poison, and if someone smaller gets caught, he will be completely paralyzed. And again, yum yum...
Rock Nepenthes are found in the rocks - which is not surprising, judging by the name. According to legend, once they were peaceful plants that did not touch anyone and produced delicious nectar for free for peacefully buzzing bees. And then, for some reason, a long-term drought set in, dry winds came up and blew away all the soil, leaving only bare gray rocks. And the once-peaceful pentyuhs, the Nepenthes, had to sharply become brutal, acquire mobility, grow arrows and produce poison ... hmm ... a legend is a legend, but in general, the Nepentes lived in the same places where the gray orcs did, and very often went on a campaign with them. Like they migrated or just went to feast on yummy - sinewy and insipid orcs got bored, you see, in a couple of years, I wanted soft and sweet ...
If there are Nepenthes nearby, the Gray Orcs will be here soon. This is no longer an alarming bell and not a vague hope “what if it blows over?”. No. This is a siren screaming at full power and solid knowledge - "not a damn thing will carry." Damn...what the hell is an orc raid when fresh beer is purchased? Couldn't wait...
Continuation of Crow's adventures in the game World of Valdira!
Hard work and the desire to achieve a goal are the finest qualities for a businesslike dwarf who settled in the godforsaken outpost of Gray Peak.
Dwarf Crowe does not touch anyone, works quietly for himself, helps friends. But as if on purpose they put sticks in his wheels - the mysterious and overly harsh centurion of the guard Vurrius appears at the guard post, who fiercely hates foreign players. And then suddenly a sharp cold snap begins, prickly snow is sown from the sky. Crow is unable to clear up his own problems, and then his friends ask for help to find the lumberjacks who have disappeared without a trace in the dense forest. Before the trouble-free dwarf had time to consider their request, fiery arrows traced the sky. A new strong enemy has come to a peaceful outpost...
The work was published in 2016 by the Eksmo publishing house. This book is part of the LitRPG series. On our site you can download the book "Crow. Harsh Lands" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The rating of the book is 3.75 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.
Continuation of Crow's adventures in the game World of Valdira! Hard work and the desire to achieve a goal are the finest qualities for a businesslike dwarf who settled in the godforsaken outpost of Gray Peak. Dwarf Crowe does not touch anyone, works quietly for himself, helps friends. But as if on purpose they put sticks in his wheels - the mysterious and overly harsh centurion of the guard Vurrius appears at the guard post, who fiercely hates foreign players. And then suddenly a sharp cold snap begins, prickly snow is sown from the sky. Crow is unable to clear up his own problems, and then his friends ask for help to find the lumberjacks who have disappeared without a trace in the dense forest. Before the trouble-free dwarf had time to consider their request, fiery arrows traced the sky. A new strong enemy has come to a peaceful outpost...Crow. Harsh lands - description and summary, author Mikhailov Ruslan Alekseevich "Dem Mikhailov", read for free online on the website of the electronic library site
Loading...
