Respect wasn't in my dictionary—okay, it was there the last time I checked; it’d be a sucky dictionary otherwise. But I usually skipped over it. People should respect me, not the other way around.
Faking respect for authority? That was a completely different matter and absolutely necessary for seamless living in society. However, after seeing [Lvl 43 Mardukryon | Ancestral Flame Master: Mehubanarath], I had no other reaction than to genuinely respect him.
Level forty-fucking-three? "His health bar must be longer than my dick," I muttered under my breath. This one was for Mason and all his dumb jokes. It felt refreshing to be able to say these things out loud, reminding me of my childhood spent trash-talking with my friends. I'm behaving quite immaturely in this game, aren't I? An extremely freeing sensation.
Mehubanarath was the highest leveled anything I had encountered in the game so far. And he was one freakish hulking mass of a Mardukryon.
Even though he sat with his legs folded beneath him, I could tell that if we stood side-by-side, my horns would barely reach his nipples—that was a strange way to compare heights. And he was twice as wide as me, reminding me of those heavily muscled men I saw at the gym a few days ago.
Unlike Luds and his party, or even the guards of Kurghal village, Mehubanarath wore no armor nor carried any weapon other than heavily worn-down bracers protecting his arms. His skin, charcoal briquettes that had burned white, was marred by deep and harsh scars that glowed as if embers were buried deep in them. The silvery fur on his lower body had grown long and wild.
His upper left horn was broken off, no doubt from an epic battle, a definite badge of awesomeness. As if he already wasn't respectable enough, his formidable tusks had iron ring piercings along their length.
Behind him must be his home.
Several trees were forcefully bent and tied with ropes to gigantic stakes embedded into the ground, forming a makeshift dome large enough to fit Mehubanarath's size. A thatched roof covered it while thick cloths and crooked branches strung together were its walls. The slightly parted red curtains covering its entrance gave a view of the stacks of ancient scrolls piled inside this shoddily made hut. The ragged sheets of cloth and the worn-down roof and walls told the tale of a Mardurkyon living alone here for a long time.
Why did he choose to separate himself from the others? An outcast with secrets? A hermit hiding lost spells?
I finally had an answer to why my Mardukryon character started so far from Kurghal village. A sense of accomplishment filled my heart, even if this was just a trivial goal inside a game. One step at a time up the stairs to becoming the strongest tank in Mother Core Online.
When I would finally reach the top, I could comfortably look down on people.
And isn't that what dreams are made of?
For now, I was eager to discover what this NPC had to offer.
"Oh, Mehubanarath, your hugeness, sir." I bowed my head as I approached. He lazily examined me with his four red eyes. They blinked out of sync; very disconcerting. "Sorry if I pronounced your name wrong. Can you please tell me about this place?" In the games of old, the dialogue options usually just popped up. Without any prompt floating around, or any marker that this furry charcoal was a quest giver, might as well just try asking and see what’d happen.
"A youngling?" he spoke in a soft yet commanding tone. "And all alone? The ancestors' blessing must be upon you to stumble upon my humble abode in the depths of this treacherous Golden Forest unscathed and well."
"Unscathed?" I said with a derisive snort. "Sure, let's go with that. Praise the ancestors!"
Closing all his eyes, Mehubanarath stretched forth his hand big enough to palm my whole head. "I sense...a Cidule. There is one budding inside you. A youngling that has come of age? Truly a pleasing sight, for it is proof our bloodlines continue despite our imprisonment.
"Yet, sorrow gnaws at my heart, for I yearn to see younglings run freely across the plains. However, you are trapped here, with us adults none the wiser to solve our predicament despite the passing of a thousand moons."
A dozen questions formed in my mind, but I didn't want to be trapped in tales about the Mardukryon race. Surely, this NPC couldn't just be a lore-giver if he was hidden away in this bullshit location. It was interesting that he had a similar explanation as Chaplain Cobbles for the Compressed Integral Data Module that the Dalkanus gave me.
"Yes, I have come of age and received my Cidule," I said. It was a similar starting scenario for my human character. "But I don't know what to do next. I came from the cliffs and followed the smoke from your cooking."
"The cliffs, eh?" With one front hoof stepping forward causing a slight tremor, and then the other, followed by his hind legs straightening, The Big M pushed himself up and towered over me. "Offering prayers to the ancestors as you trace the path to adulthood...I barely remember my ritual. I suppose I should congratulate you and give you a gift as is customary."
[ Received: Mehubanarath’s Old Sling ]
"Thank you so much for this, Mehubanarath, sir," I said. I took it out of my inventory to examine it. A ranged-weapon?
Mehubanarath’s Old Sling | Item Level: 1
Rare | Ranged | One-Handed
8-18 Physical Damage
1.2 Attacks per Second
--------------------
+4-6 Physical Fire Damage
15% Chance to Burn Targets for 5 seconds
It was just two thick ropes tied to a pouch. The end of one side of the ropes had a loop while the other had a tied knot. I was about to be disappointed with the design, but then again, it's just a fucking sling. How many ways could the artists make a sling look badass? Add spikes to this?
While not on the level of the slotted Basilard I received as a quest reward from Captain Edmund, this sling not only had more damage than the rusty dagger, its range also offered versatility that may be useful in the future. The chance to burn was an inconsequential bonus.
"A sling wrought by my father’s own hands to commemorate his first Great Hunt," the old Mardukryon boomed with pride. "He and his brothers, my brave uncles, felled a Fulgurian Mammoth, a fierce thrust from his spear delivering the final blow to the mighty beast. With spare strands of its prized hair, he wove this simple sling as a gift to me when I was a youngling like yourself."
"It's an honor to receive this," I said, bowing with gratitude.
"And the honorable history of my family is the only gift I can give." He looked over his shoulder at his hut then back to me, gesturing with open arms. "The ways of the spear is nary but a memory, and I have not even a spare one to offer as the traditional present for receiving your Cidule. No matter! The Village Chief certainly has the appropriate gift for you."
"I'm fine with this sling. I'll make good use of it." The humongous Mardukryon was a cool guy, reminding me of a doting grandfather. If I built relations with this NPC, I might get more freebies. Unlike the real world, it was quite easy to read NPCs and act appropriately—or in the case of old games, pick the correct dialogue option.
"A sling is simple yet effective," Mehubanarath explained. "A fitting weapon to learn for a youngling. With it, you can hunt small game."
"Like Mirdabons?" Hit-and-run tactics might just do the trick against those murderous furballs.
"Those cursed offspring of the Guardian?" The old Mardukryon shook his head, the rings on his tusks swayed back and forth, making an eerie jingling noise. "Perhaps one or two can be felled with the sling before you are overwhelmed. Make no mistake, more will come. And more, and more, each one fiercer than the last. If you are unlucky, Buvalu, the most fearsome of the Mirdabons, might come. Is this lesson no longer taught to younglings?"
"I know that lesson alright. I'll still try to make it work." I filed the name ‘Buvalu’ in my head. That must be the powerful monster wandering this area that I’ve read about.
"The spawns of the Mountain Guardian are for seasoned warriors to hunt." Mehubanarath beckoned for me to follow him to the entrance of his little enclosure. "As for you, you should go back to the village to complete your ceremony. Learn of the ways of our people...the new ways...ways I no longer follow."
"Wait...that's it?" He's just shooing me away? There had to be more to this than receiving a sling. "What are you doing here, away from the village?" I hastily asked to keep the conversation going.
That did make him stop. "Keeping my Ancestral Flame burning pure and true."
"The Ancestral Flame?"
"The essence of a Mardukryon! The piece of divinity that is our birthright!" Mehubanarath pounded his chest with his fist. Snow delicately perched on the leaves of the surrounding trees fell as he made his powerful declaration. I also took a step back from the sheer badassery. The aging Mardukryon cupped his palms in front of his chest, and his body began to glow like coals on a grill getting fanned. In the middle hands, a small flame sparked to life.
"When I learn how to do that someday," I said with a smirk, "I'm going to toast so many fucking Mirdabons that I'll drive them to extinction."
"Passed down from our ancestors," the Big M said, the floating fire burning brighter and bigger, "and their ancestors before them, all the way to the Venerable Bull God of yore—"
"Bull God? Holy cow!"
"—that lived in the Furnace of Souls, the primal energy within us is now sealed by the soul chains of Frost Titans after we lost the War of the Eight Titans."
"How does isolating yourself from the rest of the Mardukryons keep the Ancestral Flame, what was that again, uh, pure?"
"Our people maintain only a pitiful few of the sacred traditions of our forefathers and even fewer of the ancient arts of Ancestral Flame manipulation. Relying on the energy from the golden crystals sapped from the veins of the Heart of the Mountain is so ingrained in the way of life of Kurghal Village that the Ancestral Flame in each and every Mardukryon is tainted.
"My own as well. Only after living in seclusion for a hundred years, avoiding the emanations of the Heart of the Mountain, meditating, cultivating my Ancestral Flame, coaxing it back to full strength, have I achieved the purity required to put into practice the knowledge of our ancestors."
"What about me?" I said. "I’m from the village, although I haven’t entered there yet. I hope I didn't mess with your whole setup here."
"Melding with the Cidule stokes the embers of the Ancestral Flames in your heart. It burns pure; I can feel its warmth. But once you have returned to the village after your prayer at the cliffs, I would have never allowed you to step in here. Even my nephew, the only one who still visits me, is not allowed to enter this place."
Fucking good luck that I haven't entered the village! In a way, I also had to thank Luds, the clown, for this. My efforts in finding this place were going to pay off. "You mentioned you practice the knowledge of ancestors. Does that mean to say you have Ocadules? Ancestral Flame Ocadules perhaps?"
"Indeed I do! Ocadules that are what's left of the memories of our once-great race." He tilted his head towards his hut, probably pointing out the scrolls inside. "If I hadn’t kept and studied those, the arts of pure Ancestral Flame manipulation would've gone the way of the names of the Mardukryon heroes who valiantly fought during the War of the Eight Titans, lost to history, never to be remembered again."
"Can you teach me about your Ocadules, your hugeness, sir?" Once again, I, Herald Stone, was right that this old Mardukryon was a treasure trove of secrets. I figured I could start the questline, go to bed, and research more on this tomorrow.
It’d be hard to find information because this wasn't the 'recommended' path for beginners and there were only a few Mardukryon players left. But there should be some information hidden out there in the vast internet from the early days of MCO. Perhaps a buried forum post, a video with barely any views—
"No."
"Sir?" I wondered if I did something wrong. "You won't share your Ocadules? I'll be a good student."
"Youngling, your place is with our people in Kurghal Village. The burden to restore the Ancestral Flame Arts is my own, a sacrifice I promised myself to solely bear. Many moons have I spent with our people and I am satisfied. I don’t want to deny a youngling that experience.”
“The village is overrated. I can live out here.” I planted my four hooves firmly on the ground. “Do I have to do something to prove myself? Kill a thousand Mirdabons?”
“Return to me someday after you have learned all that you can from our people.”
“But you said that’ll taint my Ancestral Flame.”
“Then you will spend one hundred years in isolation.”
“What the fuck?!”
Mehubanarath raised his hand. The flame on his palm exploded into a barrier of light. It slowly expanded to fill the whole enclosure, driving me out. When it reached me, I tried to push against it, but it keep on shoving me back. “Safe travels to the village, youngling. May the ancestors watch over you.”
“You can’t kick me out like this after the time I spent looking for this place!”
Respect wasn't in my dictionary—okay, it was there the last time I checked; it’d be a sucky dictionary otherwise. But I usually skipped over it. People should respect me, not the other way around.
Faking respect for authority? That was a completely different matter and absolutely necessary for seamless living in society. However, after seeing [Lvl 43 Mardukryon | Ancestral Flame Master: Mehubanarath], I had no other reaction than to genuinely respect him.
Level forty-fucking-three? "His health bar must be longer than my dick," I muttered under my breath. This one was for Mason and all his dumb jokes. It felt refreshing to be able to say these things out loud, reminding me of my childhood spent trash-talking with my friends. I'm behaving quite immaturely in this game, aren't I? An extremely freeing sensation.
Mehubanarath was the highest leveled anything I had encountered in the game so far. And he was one freakish hulking mass of a Mardukryon.
Even though he sat with his legs folded beneath him, I could tell that if we stood side-by-side, my horns would barely reach his nipples—that was a strange way to compare heights. And he was twice as wide as me, reminding me of those heavily muscled men I saw at the gym a few days ago.
Unlike Luds and his party, or even the guards of Kurghal village, Mehubanarath wore no armor nor carried any weapon other than heavily worn-down bracers protecting his arms. His skin, charcoal briquettes that had burned white, was marred by deep and harsh scars that glowed as if embers were buried deep in them. The silvery fur on his lower body had grown long and wild.
His upper left horn was broken off, no doubt from an epic battle, a definite badge of awesomeness. As if he already wasn't respectable enough, his formidable tusks had iron ring piercings along their length.
Behind him must be his home.
Several trees were forcefully bent and tied with ropes to gigantic stakes embedded into the ground, forming a makeshift dome large enough to fit Mehubanarath's size. A thatched roof covered it while thick cloths and crooked branches strung together were its walls. The slightly parted red curtains covering its entrance gave a view of the stacks of ancient scrolls piled inside this shoddily made hut. The ragged sheets of cloth and the worn-down roof and walls told the tale of a Mardurkyon living alone here for a long time.
Why did he choose to separate himself from the others? An outcast with secrets? A hermit hiding lost spells?
I finally had an answer to why my Mardukryon character started so far from Kurghal village. A sense of accomplishment filled my heart, even if this was just a trivial goal inside a game. One step at a time up the stairs to becoming the strongest tank in Mother Core Online.
When I would finally reach the top, I could comfortably look down on people.
And isn't that what dreams are made of?
For now, I was eager to discover what this NPC had to offer.
"Oh, Mehubanarath, your hugeness, sir." I bowed my head as I approached. He lazily examined me with his four red eyes. They blinked out of sync; very disconcerting. "Sorry if I pronounced your name wrong. Can you please tell me about this place?" In the games of old, the dialogue options usually just popped up. Without any prompt floating around, or any marker that this furry charcoal was a quest giver, might as well just try asking and see what’d happen.
"A youngling?" he spoke in a soft yet commanding tone. "And all alone? The ancestors' blessing must be upon you to stumble upon my humble abode in the depths of this treacherous Golden Forest unscathed and well."
"Unscathed?" I said with a derisive snort. "Sure, let's go with that. Praise the ancestors!"
Closing all his eyes, Mehubanarath stretched forth his hand big enough to palm my whole head. "I sense...a Cidule. There is one budding inside you. A youngling that has come of age? Truly a pleasing sight, for it is proof our bloodlines continue despite our imprisonment.
"Yet, sorrow gnaws at my heart, for I yearn to see younglings run freely across the plains. However, you are trapped here, with us adults none the wiser to solve our predicament despite the passing of a thousand moons."
A dozen questions formed in my mind, but I didn't want to be trapped in tales about the Mardukryon race. Surely, this NPC couldn't just be a lore-giver if he was hidden away in this bullshit location. It was interesting that he had a similar explanation as Chaplain Cobbles for the Compressed Integral Data Module that the Dalkanus gave me.
"Yes, I have come of age and received my Cidule," I said. It was a similar starting scenario for my human character. "But I don't know what to do next. I came from the cliffs and followed the smoke from your cooking."
"The cliffs, eh?" With one front hoof stepping forward causing a slight tremor, and then the other, followed by his hind legs straightening, The Big M pushed himself up and towered over me. "Offering prayers to the ancestors as you trace the path to adulthood...I barely remember my ritual. I suppose I should congratulate you and give you a gift as is customary."
[ Received: Mehubanarath’s Old Sling ]
"Thank you so much for this, Mehubanarath, sir," I said. I took it out of my inventory to examine it. A ranged-weapon?
Mehubanarath’s Old Sling | Item Level: 1
Rare | Ranged | One-Handed
8-18 Physical Damage
1.2 Attacks per Second
--------------------
+4-6 Physical Fire Damage
15% Chance to Burn Targets for 5 seconds
It was just two thick ropes tied to a pouch. The end of one side of the ropes had a loop while the other had a tied knot. I was about to be disappointed with the design, but then again, it's just a fucking sling. How many ways could the artists make a sling look badass? Add spikes to this?
While not on the level of the slotted Basilard I received as a quest reward from Captain Edmund, this sling not only had more damage than the rusty dagger, its range also offered versatility that may be useful in the future. The chance to burn was an inconsequential bonus.
"A sling wrought by my father’s own hands to commemorate his first Great Hunt," the old Mardukryon boomed with pride. "He and his brothers, my brave uncles, felled a Fulgurian Mammoth, a fierce thrust from his spear delivering the final blow to the mighty beast. With spare strands of its prized hair, he wove this simple sling as a gift to me when I was a youngling like yourself."
"It's an honor to receive this," I said, bowing with gratitude.
"And the honorable history of my family is the only gift I can give." He looked over his shoulder at his hut then back to me, gesturing with open arms. "The ways of the spear is nary but a memory, and I have not even a spare one to offer as the traditional present for receiving your Cidule. No matter! The Village Chief certainly has the appropriate gift for you."
"I'm fine with this sling. I'll make good use of it." The humongous Mardukryon was a cool guy, reminding me of a doting grandfather. If I built relations with this NPC, I might get more freebies. Unlike the real world, it was quite easy to read NPCs and act appropriately—or in the case of old games, pick the correct dialogue option.
"A sling is simple yet effective," Mehubanarath explained. "A fitting weapon to learn for a youngling. With it, you can hunt small game."
"Like Mirdabons?" Hit-and-run tactics might just do the trick against those murderous furballs.
"Those cursed offspring of the Guardian?" The old Mardukryon shook his head, the rings on his tusks swayed back and forth, making an eerie jingling noise. "Perhaps one or two can be felled with the sling before you are overwhelmed. Make no mistake, more will come. And more, and more, each one fiercer than the last. If you are unlucky, Buvalu, the most fearsome of the Mirdabons, might come. Is this lesson no longer taught to younglings?"
"I know that lesson alright. I'll still try to make it work." I filed the name ‘Buvalu’ in my head. That must be the powerful monster wandering this area that I’ve read about.
"The spawns of the Mountain Guardian are for seasoned warriors to hunt." Mehubanarath beckoned for me to follow him to the entrance of his little enclosure. "As for you, you should go back to the village to complete your ceremony. Learn of the ways of our people...the new ways...ways I no longer follow."
"Wait...that's it?" He's just shooing me away? There had to be more to this than receiving a sling. "What are you doing here, away from the village?" I hastily asked to keep the conversation going.
That did make him stop. "Keeping my Ancestral Flame burning pure and true."
"The Ancestral Flame?"
"The essence of a Mardukryon! The piece of divinity that is our birthright!" Mehubanarath pounded his chest with his fist. Snow delicately perched on the leaves of the surrounding trees fell as he made his powerful declaration. I also took a step back from the sheer badassery. The aging Mardukryon cupped his palms in front of his chest, and his body began to glow like coals on a grill getting fanned. In the middle hands, a small flame sparked to life.
"When I learn how to do that someday," I said with a smirk, "I'm going to toast so many fucking Mirdabons that I'll drive them to extinction."
"Passed down from our ancestors," the Big M said, the floating fire burning brighter and bigger, "and their ancestors before them, all the way to the Venerable Bull God of yore—"
"Bull God? Holy cow!"
"—that lived in the Furnace of Souls, the primal energy within us is now sealed by the soul chains of Frost Titans after we lost the War of the Eight Titans."
"How does isolating yourself from the rest of the Mardukryons keep the Ancestral Flame, what was that again, uh, pure?"
"Our people maintain only a pitiful few of the sacred traditions of our forefathers and even fewer of the ancient arts of Ancestral Flame manipulation. Relying on the energy from the golden crystals sapped from the veins of the Heart of the Mountain is so ingrained in the way of life of Kurghal Village that the Ancestral Flame in each and every Mardukryon is tainted.
"My own as well. Only after living in seclusion for a hundred years, avoiding the emanations of the Heart of the Mountain, meditating, cultivating my Ancestral Flame, coaxing it back to full strength, have I achieved the purity required to put into practice the knowledge of our ancestors."
"What about me?" I said. "I’m from the village, although I haven’t entered there yet. I hope I didn't mess with your whole setup here."
"Melding with the Cidule stokes the embers of the Ancestral Flames in your heart. It burns pure; I can feel its warmth. But once you have returned to the village after your prayer at the cliffs, I would have never allowed you to step in here. Even my nephew, the only one who still visits me, is not allowed to enter this place."
Fucking good luck that I haven't entered the village! In a way, I also had to thank Luds, the clown, for this. My efforts in finding this place were going to pay off. "You mentioned you practice the knowledge of ancestors. Does that mean to say you have Ocadules? Ancestral Flame Ocadules perhaps?"
"Indeed I do! Ocadules that are what's left of the memories of our once-great race." He tilted his head towards his hut, probably pointing out the scrolls inside. "If I hadn’t kept and studied those, the arts of pure Ancestral Flame manipulation would've gone the way of the names of the Mardukryon heroes who valiantly fought during the War of the Eight Titans, lost to history, never to be remembered again."
"Can you teach me about your Ocadules, your hugeness, sir?" Once again, I, Herald Stone, was right that this old Mardukryon was a treasure trove of secrets. I figured I could start the questline, go to bed, and research more on this tomorrow.
It’d be hard to find information because this wasn't the 'recommended' path for beginners and there were only a few Mardukryon players left. But there should be some information hidden out there in the vast internet from the early days of MCO. Perhaps a buried forum post, a video with barely any views—
"No."
"Sir?" I wondered if I did something wrong. "You won't share your Ocadules? I'll be a good student."
"Youngling, your place is with our people in Kurghal Village. The burden to restore the Ancestral Flame Arts is my own, a sacrifice I promised myself to solely bear. Many moons have I spent with our people and I am satisfied. I don’t want to deny a youngling that experience.”
“The village is overrated. I can live out here.” I planted my four hooves firmly on the ground. “Do I have to do something to prove myself? Kill a thousand Mirdabons?”
“Return to me someday after you have learned all that you can from our people.”
“But you said that’ll taint my Ancestral Flame.”
“Then you will spend one hundred years in isolation.”
“What the fuck?!”
Mehubanarath raised his hand. The flame on his palm exploded into a barrier of light. It slowly expanded to fill the whole enclosure, driving me out. When it reached me, I tried to push against it, but it keep on shoving me back. “Safe travels to the village, youngling. May the ancestors watch over you.”
“You can’t kick me out like this after the time I spent looking for this place!”
