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The Source; medium quest
Topic Started: Sep 13 2012, 07:55 AM (190 Views)
Makarov
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The Source

Difficulty: Medium

Description:

The people of kanassa are telepathic, all linked together by mind. But something has gone wrong. Something has been severing this link inside of their heads. Many kanasans have become sick and have died without heir link to he rest of society. This psychic virus seems to be spreading. As you are not apart of the kanassans mental network you might be able to help out. Find the source of this problem and stop it once and for all.

Reward:+600 zeni, +5 DP, +20 all stats, +5 Rp Credits

Bonus: +100 zeni, +10 all stats
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Makarov
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The sun was shining brightly, clearly another good day on Kanassa, a day with nice weather and a good day for Makarov to meet up with his old friend Master Moot of the Saljuk Order again.

After everything that had happened earlier, it was obvious to Makarov that the Saljuk Master was his best and most trustworthy friend on Kanassa, for it was the old Kanassan born master who had helped him with finding his long lost son and who was now in charge of the rehabilitation of his son, as well as the training which Makarov was undergoing to uphold his promise, the promise he had made to his son.

At that beautiful day, Makarov had been taking a stroll near the temple of Salmon, one of the most respected temples of the Saljuk Order, known for their research on the telepathical and telekinetical developments and properties of many races, with the Kanassans and the Frost Demons or Changelings as their highest priority.

Makarov was training hard to open his mind and to finally be able to communicate with the Kanassans and other people of the Saljuks on their field of communication, rather than using what many of them called the ‘barbaric version of speech’.

For him it was finally, after so many years, time again to expand his horizon, strengthen himself for the task ahead and amongst those ideas, he favored the idea of finally being able to use his mind more properly.

He was respected by the Saljuks, because even though he had some minor flaws to both his behavior and vision, all in all, he was a wise and brave man, who had helped the brothers of the Saljuk Order in more than one occasion, even though those were only small tasks, they gave him the respect he needed and deserved for serving the Order and never questioning their believes.

His stroll in the gardens of the temple were soon ended, as Makarov decided to take a look inside the temple, to perhaps find himself an interesting book to read or to have a talk with some of the local Kanassans that frequently visited the temple.

Yet, as he was walking through the temple’s main hall, he suddenly heard someone call him by his name, which was easy, since in more than one decade, there had only been one Makarov on Kanassa and certainly only one Allaister Makarov.

Swiftly he turned around, his fingers twirling at his moustache to give himself a distinguished look, but he quickly stopped doing that, as he realized to his own surprise that the one calling for him was none other than his good old friend Master Moot.

“Master Moot, how can I be of service?” Makarov greeted the man with a proper bow of his head, but gave it his usual smirk as well. “Don’t tell me you’ve got some new rules of the Order to impose on me.”

It seemed that for the first time ever in their friendship, the Saljuk Order’s Master did not react to the little teases given by the old man, which would’ve meant that there was something wrong, very wrong.

It was also obvious to Makarov that the spiritual leader amongst the Saljuks seemed to be in pain or at least troubled by an important matter, for the Master was constantly rubbing his forehead with the tips of his right hand’s fingers.

“By the Gods,” Makarov sighed, as the two of them were finally close enough to talk to each other in private, though still being in the grand hall of the temple. “You do not look so well, my old friend. Can I ask what is wrong?”

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Makarov
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The Saljuk Order’s Master looked at the old man with a painful expression on his face, as if he had been awake for four days, deeply pondering on some philosophical or theological facts to be used in some upcoming debate amongst the Saljuk Masters.

Of course Makarov knew this all wasn’t the reason for the Master’s worried expression, but he was intrigued to know what it was which was bothering his old friend so much on a beautiful day like it was at that time.

“Come on Moot,” Makarov sighed deeply, disappointed by his old friend’s silence. “Maybe a pint of beer might get you over those worries you seem to be having. I know out of my own experience it has a calming and refreshing property for the mind.”

The Saljuk Master only smiled warily, showing that the joke, nor the idea of having a good and fresh pint of beer, cheered up the Old Kanassan man.

”My dear old friend,” Master Moot said with a deep sigh and a soft cough in between, obviously tired and in a bit of pain. ”I am sorry to come to you in such a bad shape, but it is exactly that which forces me to ask for your assistance in an investigation concerning the health and wellbeing of not only my fellow Saljuk brothers, but also my entire race; the Kanassan people.”

Makarov was almost afraid to say anything, not to mention the fact that he was afraid that whatever it was that the Master was going to ask him, might be way over his head.

“Master moot,” Makarov started, his voice slightly croaking. “What is it exactly that you would need from me in this so called matter of yours, since I know my limits and don’t want to be overestimated for such important tasks as you say so.”

”My dear old Makarov,” Master Moot said, again smiling warily, yet also rubbing his forehead more intensely, while his gills seemed to be flaking a bit. ”I never under-or overestimate people. You are the only man with a good connection to our people, ye for once gifted by your lack of mental prowess, concerning telepathy that is. Somehow my people are dying because of some kind of violent virus which after it has infected someone through a deep telepathic link, it degenerates the brain cells at a rapid level, causing massive hemorrhages and leading to an extremely painful death. It is therefore that I’m asking you to investigate this matter Makarov, because I trust you and know your wisdom and intellect.”

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Makarov was stunned by what Master Moot had to tell him, for he never knew that it was even possible for a virus or a sickness to be passed on to others by mental abilities like telepathy.

But he did understand that if it was possible, that such a wide link, as the Kanassan people had, would be devastating and if not properly taken care off, the disease could be the cause of a widespread decimation of the Kanassans or even a collective genocide.

“By the gods, Moot,” Makarov said with a slightly trembling voice, obviously concerned about both his friend and the Saljuks. “That is certainly not an easy task to bear, but if you trust me with it, I will not disappoint you, my friend. I will do everything in my power to find out what it is that makes your people suffer like this. I think it is good that we’re both here at the temple of the Salmon.”

The Saljuk master simply nodded in agreement, following his old friend Makarov to the sick bay of the temple, where a few Saljuk brothers could take care of the old Kanassan master.

“Rest here,” Makarov ordered his old friend gently. “Do not use your telepathy, just to prevent others from this place to get sick thanks to you. I’lkl pass the order to forbid any use of mental powers until this case has been solved.”

”Thank you, Makarov,” Master Moot said, while slightly coughing as he laid down on the soft bed the brothers had prepared for his examination. ”I knew I could count on you my old friend.”

Makarov, stressed by the new task given to him, turned around, still feeling awkward to see the Saljuk Master being so weak, while it was Master Moot who used to be the first man he could rely on.

He knew what he had to do first; go to the temple’s wise men, to find out if they knew anything about the virus Master Moot had warned him about.

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Just when he entered the room where usually the wise men were constantly bussy with their research to the properties of mental powers, Makarov noticed that two of them had fainted while a third one was breathing heavily, while obviously having developed a fever, supporting himself with all his might against the center table.

“By the gods,” Makarov cursed, as he ran towards the Kanassan who was still conscious, though only barely. “Has the virus already spread to you guys as well?”
The scaled monk, could only nod in agreement before losing consciousness, though before he did so, his hand tapped a large scroll on the table, giving the old man Makarov a hint.

“What is this?” Makarov yelled, as he looked upon the scroll’s writings, clearly shocked by the things written down by the brothers. “Are they going that far?”

Makarov quickly grabbed all the scrolls he thought to be related to the one he had quickly glanced at, before running back to the sick bay, summoning the healers to aid the wise men, where he found Master Moot in an even worse shape than when he had left him there.

It seemed that the virus was rapidly progressing, which only made Makarov more concerned for his old friend than he already was.

“Here, if you can read this,” Makarov said with a serious tone to his old friend while handing over the largest of the scrolls he had gathered. “This is not just some virus we’re looking at here, my old friend. This is nothing biological, at least according to the wise men’s last findings before I had to summon the healers for them.”

Master Moot, even though feeling quite off because of the virus which had already infected him, tried to read the text on the scroll and as his eyes, with all the effort in the universe, managed to gaze at the words and sentences, the Saljuk Master’s eyes widened in surprise and disgust.

”Of all things,” The old Kanassan sighed deeply. “You need to search for Master Karp near the Widower’s nest. He might be the only one who could solve this riddle.”

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Makarov was unsure if he would be in time, but as he managed to fly towards the Widower's nest, he noticed that many of the Kanassan people already seemed to be infected with the incredible virus. He saw how dozens of them had already died, laying down on the streets, because none of the others could help them, either because they were affraid of the infection or because they had already been weakened and thus infected by it themselves.

"This is a catastrophy," Makarov sighed, as he managed to reach the Widower's nest, one of the more secluded temples of the Saljuk Order. "I do really hope that this Master Karp can help me out with this problem, or there wont be a Kanassan left to talk about it."

The old man landed not far from the gates to the terrain, greeting the monks who had seemingly already taken their procautions, by clothing themselves in their emergency outfits, but it made Makarov doubt if they even knew that the infection was starting to spread and that it wasn't the water or the air, but their telepathic properties which was to blame for the rapid spread of the virus.

No time to spare, Makarov made haste, running towards the gates of the small temple, not bothering to wait for any of the monks to open the door for him, the old man simply cracked open the doors to the temple by aiming a strong jab towards the place he was certain of the door's lock to be, breaking it out of the door and thus making it easy for himself to enter the smaller Saljuk Temple.

"Anyone, is anyone here!?!" Makarov yelled, as he ran through the hallway, concerned because of the eerie silence, rather than the usual calm, but warm feeling the Saljuk temples used to give the old man. "Please, I need to speak with Master Karp, this is an emergency!!"

Suddenly the old man managed to find someone; a monk who had heard the noise from inside his chambers.

When noticing that the intruder was neither a Saljuk monk or a Kanassan, he was rather intrigued as to why Makarov had broken into the temple, but was answered by a few yells, swears and curses, which made it clear to the monk that he had to bring the old man to the head of the temple; the famous Master Karp.

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The Saljuk monk lead the old man Makarov through various rooms, halls and doorways, chambers so deep within the planet's crust itself, it was obvious to Makarov that only the exterior was that of a small temple.

The monk finally told him to go alone, as their was a crisis to be contained and every hand was welcome to help the Saljuks in controlling said crisis.

As he was running down the stairs, Makarov looked at his short legs for just a single moment, sighing deeply.

"I think flying is meant as a solution for those tiny legs of mine," Makarov chuckled, the first time in hours since he had seen his old friend Master Moot get sick. "Well, let's get me that Master Karp."

Dropping down to the end of the staircase, Makarov managed to cut off a lot of time and distance, not to mention the fact that he had managed to get down a good ten stories in only two minutes.

"When good things happen," Makarov chuckled again. "I'll remember them slightly better than the bad things."

Looking around as he got out of the room with the big staircase, he managed to find a door which explicitely said: "Master Karp's room."

"Finally some luck in this misery," He sighed, while knocking on the door and opening it without pardon or greeting. "Now hopefully the old coot's here."

"The old coot as you say," A friendly voice said from within the dim light of the candles that were lit in the room. "Is present as you wished and is curious to whatever reason you have to insult him on his age and knowledge, youngster."

Makarov almost jumped into the air out of surprise, when he heard the old man's voice. He finally managed to bow a bit, greeting the old Saljuk Master properly and with the respect he deserved.

"Come now kid," The old Master Karp sighed, as he seemed to turn back to a few scrolls laying in front of him on a large wooden desk. "I know you're here to get to know more on what is causing this so-called infection, is it not?"

Makarov nodded in agreement, amazed that the old Saljuk master was aware of the problem, while it seemed as if the old Kanassan wise man had not left the temple for at least a few decades.

"It's simple to point at the problem," The old master suddenly whispered. "But never easy to point at the solution."

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"So what is the solution than?" Makarov suddenly asked a bit pressingly. "How can we stop this infection from spreading, without demanding every Kanassan to sacrifice their mental ability for it?"

The old master gave a slight cackle, before standing up and walking towards a large dressoir next to the desk he was reading the scrolls at a few moments earlier. Sighing deeply, he opened a few drawers, while taking out of them, a few books, some big and dusty, others small and rusty, but when he had found the books he was seemingly searching for, the scaly old Kanassan master sat back down on his chair.

"I bet you've heard that it isn't a natural but an artificial virus, correct?" The old Saljuk Master asked Makarov calmly. "Well, that is indeed correct, allthough it is not made by Kanassans or anyone who would have anything to do with either the Saljuks or the Kanassan people themselves. I have collected the research given to me by a few brothers hailing from the temple of the salmon and even some notes from your friend Master Moot."

"What is you conclusion on the problem master?" Makarov asked, feeling seriously irritated because the old man seemed to love thrilling people, but this moment was wrongfully picked for such an inner amusement. "What is your idea on the matter, sir?"

The old man cackled again, before coughing slightly, whiping some sweat from his scaly forehead.

"This virus was made a few years ago in one of the factories near the great lake," The old man coughed again, while handing Makarov a paper which seemed official and almost unbelievable. "This is the letter we found after we started this investigation. The virus was laying dormant in a few testing persons who went to that factory to test a new kind of drug, a new kind of medicin."

"Hmm," Makarov hummed, as he read the first words on the head of the paper he was holding in his hands. "Galactic Intelligence Corporation?"

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In a large factory near the massive Great Lake of the planet Kanassa, a man had started opening his safe, taking out all the papers and putting them inside an expensive leather briefcase. He seemed hurried, as he was breathing rapidly, worried by something, that was obvious, but he did not seem to have the time to even be concerned or worried at all, for just as he wanted to walk out of the little office, two large men pushed him back into the room, while a third, slim, yet sinister looking guy entered the office right behind the two brutes.

"I wouldn't want to leave if I was in your place, professor Hatcher," The sinister looking man said with an icecold voice, while apparently unwillingly, his scarred eye twitched constantly as he spoke. "In our company secrecy is a highly valued trait, but you seemed anxious to leave with all the documents in your safe, why is that, my dear friend?"

The professor; a slender, yet small man, apparently an Avalonian by birth, took a few steps back, as he noticed the two brutes cracking their knuckles.

Before he had any idea on what was happening, he could feel the knuckles from one of the brute's fists smack against the side of his face, throwing him completely off balace, as he crashed against the desk inside the office and barely managed to keep himself straight.

As he got up again, the professor only made sure he was still holding his briefcase in between his arms, ignoring the fact that he had a small but deep cut on his cheep, with blood slowly weeling up in it.

"You know damn well why I want to take all this rubbish with me," The professor said with a trembling voice. "If I dont give these documents to the local authorities, the virus will most likely mutate and go beyond the Kanassans' telepathic traits, it will be more likely to attack everything with telepathic skills, not only the Kanassans. This was a mistake, this was supposed to be a cure, not a virus, not a weapon."

"A mistake, a mistake indeed, Professor Hatcher," The sinister guy said softly, sitting comfortably on a chair which he had pulled in front of the only exit of the office, except for the windows of course. The brutes crossed their arms, as they flanked the creepy man. "A mistake to underestimate our intelligence in the matter, does our company's name not say 'Intelligence' in its middle, what do you think that stands for old man?"

The Professor immediatly closed his mouth, affraid to even react to the man, lest he would be killed for just saying something, but he wasn't really certain if he was going to survive this at all. There was no way anyone who had talked to the Snake on such an occassion like this, would ever be found alive again.

"You wont get these documents Snake," The Professor said, while trying to find the right timing to turn around. He watched the men carefully, looking only a few times towards the windows that were still unprotected by the two brutes and the sinister man. "I will make sure that the authorities get these documents, you wont be able to hide this secret, not like the Program 16 debacle you had."

"Kill him, secure the briefcase," The sinister looking guy suddenly said calmly, giving his two brutes the order to apprehend and kill the professor.

However, they seemed to have forgotten the windows, as the priofessor suddenly turned around quickly, limber for his age and build, the old man jumped accross the room, blocking the brutes by pulling the desk in front of them, before leaping to the window.

"Such a fool," The Snake said, as suddenly a sizzling sound ripped through the air, followed by the professor crashing through the window, but only half, as he hung from the window, a hole punctured in his chest. "Get the briefcase, dont let it fall."

The two brutes tried to get to the window, as suddenly the professor coughed and gave a smile, throwing away the briefcase out of the window.

"Bad luck Snake, I won," The professor said, before the furious Snake shot him right through the skull.

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The papers he was holding in his hands had splatters of blood on them, but they were easy to be read and contained valuable information. However, Makarov wasn't a genious when it came to biology or science or math for that matter, but he knew one thing for sure; with this he could find a solution right away.

"How, how did you get this?" Makarov asked in amazement. "These dont seem to be some hoax, these seem to be some kind of official documents from this Galactic Intelligence Corporation, whatever it is?"

"Those are indeed official documents from the factory near the Great Lake of Kanassa and as the documents state, it was a medicin created for the massive headaches and hemorhages one could experience after great extensional periods of telepathic use, which was the Kanassan people's only downside on the mental powers they had," The old man said silently. "However, rather than stopping or controlling these problems, the medicin turned out to mutate into a dangerous virus which made these things happen even more often than normal and eventually lead to what we are experiencing now. You can rest well, since these documents contain the formula of the original medicin and if you can deliver this to the local authorities and a copy to the diciples of the temple of Salmon, you'll have saved your friend Master Moot and the entire Saljuk order, not to forget the Kanassan people in a whole."

Makarov seemed to cheer up, as he noticed the warm and friendly smile on the old man's face. It was clear that the old man did not have the physique to bring the papers around himself, but it did irritate Makarov a bit, since he wanted to know how the old man got those papers in the first place, but that wasn't important, the lives of his friends WERE important though.

A few day§s later, the temple of Salmon had managed to create an vaccin for the virus and was able to treat the sick, while Makarov had the luck to still have his old friend master Moot, this time in a better shape than a few days before.

"Yep," Makarov laughed, while walking through the hall with the Saljuk Master. "The Kanassan people owe me a lot of beer now."

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