'Gentlemen! It is my pleasure to announce this first board meeting regarding this whole chaotic shitstorm which happened because Fidex went out for some beers. Now I present to you the man behind all of this!'
Freakhead, who was well rested after the massive socialist party leaped onto the table and proceeded to munch down Morgen's baby-back Ribs. After a loud and angry complaint from the lawful owner, Freakhead spat right into the plate. Morgen grumbled a long string of curses under his nose and ordered a second helping. I slapped the waitress on her beautiful looking piece of ass, inquiring whether we could meet up later. Someone behind me uttered a sarcastic comment about my run-in with the blacksmith. And the pyre that came soon after that. Someone objected. I heard the sound of a fist colliding with a face. Everyone readily jumped from their seats...
'QUIET!! Fidex, for crying out loud! Are we talking business or what?'
'Easy! Easy! Keep it in your pants, Morgen. I see your ribs are almost ready.'
I looked around the table. I was sitting in the company of Morgenhand and his raid party, who's names I still didn't know, Doser the dwarf with his two buddies, and the Professor.
'My appearance in the game has set in motion a cataclysmic chain of events. Today, thanks to a little luck and my knowledge of all things mystical, we have managed to feed fifteen hundred inquisitors to various demonic entities. And we have yet to see how their bosses will react. Personally, I'd be pissed. Our second pressing issue is that this humble little town has turned from a free barony to the capital of the first Communist Union of the Free People, with baron Zagrald as the first-ever General Secretary. This means that things will quickly escalate into the mess of 1917 in Mother Russia. Several dissidents and counters have already been hanged. The third problem is based just outside of town and is currently drawing up a huge pentagram as we speak. Judging by what we could gather on the forums, I am to be captured, placed in the middle of the gram, and sent off to burn for an eternity in hell. Also, I might need some help in handling the Boyscout. If I don't take care of him, I'll be up for a reroll.'
'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How in the hell are you going to tackle a Raid Boss, who is five times a higher level than you? Who's chewed up the best players on the continent like they were nothing! Who completely ignores physical damage! With complete immunity to darkness, cold and fire! And that's just the stuff we know about. He also seems to give less than a shit about the other schools of magic, restores health be eating players and never leaves his location! We can't lure him anywhere, not into the mountains, not into any body of water!' - one of Bulldozer's buddies exclaimed. I took a closer look.
Bonucard, Man at Arms.
Lvl 69
HP: 7000
'Right. Any helpful suggestions? Or do we appeal straight to the Booze for guidance?'
'You gotta leave, man. You stand out like a bloody phallic idol in an open field. Even when you're in town. There's a price on your head for fifteen thousand gold. The reward for bringing you alive to the Order of Light is variable. Сonsidering what a giant shit you took right onto their heads, they'll probably be handing out legendary items. To every member of the group that brings you in!! They'll most likely lock you up in the darkest deepest respawn point and torture you to death 24 hours a day. The conjurers are offering one-hundred and fifty big ones just for bringing you to the portal. That amount of cash is reason enough to take the town by storm. I don't have any idea about what happens to the poor bastards, who get dragged to the lower planes of our hell. There are rumors... But man, I'm not exactly keen on losing my high-level hero to find out -and neither is anyone else. And I haven't even brought up the personal complaints from all the unlucky bastards you ran into.' Ivan was blankly staring into his plate while relaying this grim speech.
'Yeah, that's a reasonable plan. Just disappear into the mist, till all of this just blows over. But I've still got a bounty on the Fat Fucker from a patriarch of chaos to consider. But hey! I've been lucky so far, I'll come up with something. I think I'll start with the Conjurers. Who's with me?
'Do you have a plan?' - Morgen was hastily devouring his ribs while keeping the ever-hungry chimera at bay.
'I'm confident we'll figure something out. Is anyone coming along?'
Silence. Nobody even budged. All I got was a look reserved for terminally ill people. Full of sorrow and helpless worry.
'I see. Prof, I'll take that tea now.'
'Most certainly, Gentlemen, good day to you.'
I stuffed Freakhead into my bag, threw on my cloak, snatched my stick, and walked out of the tavern without saying goodbye. Nobody called me back or hurried to catch up.
The Prof sensed my foul mood and kept silent.
The bookstore was eerily silent. Anatoly led me into his cabinet and set a hefty kettle over the fire. The firewood combusted all on its own. I landed myself comfortably in an armchair and just stared at the flames. My host proceeded to light several candles, sat behind a desk, and started writing something down. What a delightfully considerate person! I took a moment to examine the cabinet. A pair of armchairs near a fireplace, an elegant little coffee-table. A large circular window showed a small moonlit back yard, and beneath it stood a broad oak writing table. The walls were lined with full bookshelves. It was comfy.
'I hoped that if the World changed - so would the people.'
'Well, that's a surprise! How did you come to harbor such naive notions?'
Prof produced a fancy looking tea set and places several pinches of dry leaves and flowers into a teapot.
'Just basic human hope, I guess. I keep looking for differences, something that sets them apart, but I just don't see any. You can't even tell that three centuries have passed.'
'What exactly were you hoping to see? '
'I don't know! Like some sort of wisdom, I guess. I'm being hunted by an army of players. Most of which are probably like school-age children or blissfull twenty-year-olds. To them, I'm not a Human Being, I'm just a quest objective! A cunning mob, who slips through everyone's fingers. A way to get some cool loot. They don't care what becomes of me. But there must be someone out there who's more akin to you and me!? Are people just objects for them too? I mean they probably understand but none the less they're sitting there, watching the feed, calculating, watching for my reactions. Trying to figure out my weaknesses. Setting the perfect trap. And I perfectly understand those whom I've crossed personally in here. I can relate to Morgen and his squad. To them, I'm a nice guy with a death wish. It's fun watching me get in and out of trouble. But it's dangerous being too close. But what about the rest of them? A continental fucking cos list! The only problem they seem to have with me is that I exist. Everything is just as it was before!'
'The World. The Game. They all impose their own rules. If you found yourself here under different circumstances, you would have found real friends, slain all kinds of monsters and leveled up just like any other bloke. You would have found your path and been happier for it.'
'So you think that I'm not on my right path?'
'You are being carried by some existential current that I cannot seem to fathom. Not many can objectively appreciate the things that came to be with your involvement. Even this archaic communism venture of yours. Who here will remember all of the things this ideology brought forth? Who can assess what it could have brought into the world if not for the individual flaws of the implementors? You're creating something weird and complex on the fly. And although your behavior reminded me that I'm not really limited to behaving like and old man, I urge you to be just a tad more conscious about what it is you're doing.'
'Point taken. Sure hope the locals will have a heck of a blast with communism. Actually, come to think of it, I have a few questions. Why can't I tell the difference between players and indigents? Like it's all there - the thoughts, the emotions, the motives! Have people, like managed to synthesize the soul?'
'Heavens, no! It's a lot simpler than that. A much more interesting. People were able to prove the existence of a soul. But do you know what will happen, if we try and copy everything that makes you who you are? All the terabytes of memories, experience, and motivations? '
'You'll get a second Fidex? '
'Hardly. This second entity will lack identity. It will be a program incapable of emotion, who will not search for purpose. Yes, it will perform certain actions, resembling those of the original. But in the end, it is absolutely incapable of creating something new and original. We don't know why. Since information-wise they're exact copies. So when the people responsible for creating believable NPCs realized this, they came up with the following. The emotions and reactions of the real players are being redirected to and reflected by the NPCs. So the sadness you're feeling now is being felt by some random farmer on the other continent. Your fear is felt by some poor child in the capitol. Your inspiration is helping some dwarven blacksmith craft his masterpiece. So the NPC's by default are reflections of ourselves. That's why they act and feel so very much like humans do.'
'And that's why we can't have cyber-babies?'
'Alas. Oh, And I have prepared the assortment of literature you requested.'
'Thanks, Prof. But I really don't feel like reading. Actually, if you don't mind me asking, why do you read? What are you searching for, aside from the knowledge, of course?'
'Roads which I will never travel. Places I will never see. I can boast that I have seen the ruins of the Coliseum, but they were just dried bones of a once-great empire. Stepping on its sand is not the same, I won't hear the roar of the unhinged crowd, won't feel the scent of blood freshly spilled. And what do you search for in books, young man?'
'I search for people. Not places or miracles, but people. Like a great hero with the habits of a shy infant, or a beggar with the gait of a king. Dreamers and practical minds, egoists, and altruists. Heroes and cowards. Not many authors can write like professionals. Only a small few can create a character that's different from themselves. I mean sure there are little differences. The characters may be slightly taller, slightly more handsome, slightly smarter, slightly more perceptive. But in the end, it's still a self-portrait. And with every book read, I learn about the person the author is. And then I use this knowledge in real life. Because all people are different, but at there core lie the same fundamental principles and thought processes. And when I look into the eyes of a new friend I think: I know someone very much like you. The last time I saw him, he was storming a castle.'
We sat in silence for a while. Until I heard a light rustling come from behind me. I turned around. FreakHead was perched on the writing-table, wearing Prof's spectacles and looming over an unfinished book, carefully flipping the pages with the sharp end of his tail. He seemed to be thoughtfully studying their contents, considering that the book was upside down.
'What is that noise, I wonder?'
'Anatoly, I don't think you wanna know.'
The Prof curiously peeked out from behind his seat, I saw him make a nervous gulp and shrink deeper into his armchair.
'I think I've had a rough day. I might be hallucinating things.'
'Indeed.'
'Some tea perhaps.'
'Oh, yes, please.'
My host carefully took the kettle off the fire and poured the boiling water into the teapot. After slowly counting to forty under his breath, he filled two small cups and handed one over to me. All of this was done in a gracious and concentrated manner, without even a glance toward the writing-table.
My nostrils were assailed by the tart aroma of them oolong tea with a very distinct wooded flavor. We silently enjoyed the tea refilling the teapot twice. The clock struck midnight.
'Professor, I have a favor to ask of you. Can I leave some of my stuff here for safekeeping?'
'Of course, Oleg. Where are you off to? You're not thinking of running, are you?'
'Don't be silly, of course not! This is all a game. At least for me, it is. And a worthy challenge. I'll manage.'
The Professor gave a heavy sigh and invited me to the next room, which turned out to be a small closet with no windows which was filled with all kinds of stuff. He silently motioned towards a small dusty chest. I quickly undressed left only my pants, pulled out my fresh shirt from my bag, and put the rest of my belongings where the Prof showed me to. I picked up my spear, caught FreakHead, waved goodbye to my host and left his humble abode.
'Fidex, hey! You aren't mad, are you?'
'Not in the slightest, Morgen! Why should I be?'
'Well, I thought you'd get upset because nobody was keen on joining you on your crazy adventures.'
'Morgenhand, you were all driven by your common sense and survival instincts. And those are two things I don't go well with. So I don't blame you. I'll handle the Conjuration Order, and we can talk about all of this later.'
'You're still going after them? Please tell me you've got some plan on surviving this?'
'Just doodles. You wanna come along?'
'You're inviting me again?'
'Well, yeah! If you agree - you'll be sorry, but you bet your ass you're gonna like it.'
' Ah, what the hell! Haven't had this much fun in ages!'
'I'll tell FreakHead the good news! We are now an army of three! Oh and by the way, get some booze, will you?'
' What for?'
'Honestly? I'm just feeling a little skittish.'
'Gotcha. When are we moving out?'
'Like now.'
'Right, I'll be at the gate in ten minutes.'
I was there first, and I came upon a desperately yawning guard. It seemed as though this was his normal state: this is the second time I ran into him, and each time he clearly didn't have enough sleep.
'Are you leaving town, Commandante Fidex?' - From a greeting like that I nearly tripped over.
'Right you are! Off to battle the enemies of our great regime. In any case, don't think ill of me.'
'The people believe in you, commandant. Your fiery speeches have set our hearts ablaze with a purpose! Our lives now have true meaning! Thanks to you. But may I ask a question?'
' Of course, soldier.'
'What is it like living under communism?'
'Only our children will come to now it's paradise, soldier! Our duty is to ignite the fire of the worldwide revolution and to fertilize a new generation with the ashes of our enemies. Libertad o Muerte!' - I shouted, throwing out my right arm in a classic zig gesture.
'Libertad o Muerte!' - The soldier repeated my gesture with enthusiasm.
I swear I felt with the hairs on the back of my neck how Stalin, Adolf and all the other ideologists great and small spinning in their graves with the hairs on the back of my neck. I really do need to be more careful at this rate I just might shift the Earth's rotation axis.
'Hey, Fidex! You having fun again?' - Both of us were approached by my new partner in crime.
'Yeup, making fun of historical accuracy.'
'So are we going or not?'
'Sure. What did you bring?'
'Three bottles of orcish whiskey.'
We walked boldly right out of the front gate.
'Well, my young friend. Now don't be asking any questions, just follow my lead. Gimme the bottle.'
I snatched the bottle from Morgen's hands which were around a liter in volume pulled out the cork, swirled the contents around and emptied the whole thing into my throat. The burning liquid made its way into my stomach. Sweet Jesus! It was like sparkling rubbing alcohol with a really nasty aftertaste! Tears burst from my eyes, and a lump crawled up in my throat. In desperation, I just sniffed FreakHead. The musky smell of dead flesh and mucus was enough to bring me back to reality.
'This is some heavy-duty shit, right here! - I managed to cough out.
'Do they like, infuse it with like dirty underwear?!'
' With horse hoofs actually. Fidex, Can I respectfully get a rain check.'
'No way, Jose! You either do it, or you stay here with the rest of the pussies! Have courage, Morgen! Your Motherland will not forget you! Or rather will remember you forever young and handsome!' - My vision was spinning out of control like mad.
My companion shakily took the bottle in his hands and gave it a swirl. In the end, crying and suffocating, Morgen grabbed Freakhead and inhaled as deep as he could. I retrieved my chimera from the nearly fainting warrior and proceeded to give it a taste of our medicine. It growled and spat furiously.
'Don't you dare waste our precious resources!' - I gave the head several violent shakes and smacked it against the town wall. - 'Drink, You Hellish Fiend!'
Freakhead stared at me defiantly as he let me pour the booze into his maw and was soon crunching down the bottle itself out of desperation.
'So where are these damn Conjurers!?' - The whiskey was quickly being processed, and my thoughts were getting hazy, but my body felt light as a feather.
' Hic, they're somewhere that-a-ways...' - Morgen waved his hand in a broad gesture.
'Hey, do you hic- know the Ghost rider song?'
'Can't say that I do -hic.'
' C'mon hic. I'll teach you...'