Ment
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| Henry and Quen-Quen Henry was walking home from the office party in high spirits. No, don't get the wrong idea — he didn't enjoy the get-togethers, the booze-ups, or the alcohol (well, okay, he did enjoy the alcohol). The real pleasure came from watching his alcohol-intolerant colleagues, always so serious, those mighty managers who had the entire local construction industry under their thumb, all those brilliant senior programmers, all those architects, AutoCAD drafters, designers, secretaries, salespeople, and advertisers of every stripe... Once they'd had a bit too much, they'd start belting out stupid songs, sticking tails on donkeys, dancing on tables, running to the toilet to relieve themselves, and, of course, hitting on each other with gusto. Truly a theater of the absurd! And these are the very same people who, a couple of days later, straight out of a brutal hangover, will walk into the office, sit down at their computers, and continue working on the local cathedral altar project. Astonishing duplicity — if only the authorities knew who they'd entrusted with such an important structure for culture and tourism... Though, perhaps not just for culture and tourism, but for a peculiar sort of religion as well. The structure was called the "Temple of All Spirits and Beliefs," and it resembled a sort of coliseum. Henry knew with one hundred percent certainty that no spirits or gods exist, but the worldwide community of freaks of every stripe disagreed with him, spawning an entire industry of pseudo-religious entertainment. And while the more traditional religions were still keeping afloat, how could they compete with a multi-billion-dollar business? And right now, a little pygmy kid with a big dog is walking toward Henry. What a nuisance — he's bound to ruin such a nice evening... Henry listened to the Papuan's nonsense without really listening. As usual, the new "Shaman №1" app on smartphones, the latest news about all the tournaments being held, our firm will test you for the ability to see spirits, with a five percent chance anyone can become the Chosen One and open their chakras, discounted merch, and so on, and so forth. How tiresome... — Spirits don't exist. And get your dog away from me, why isn't it wearing a muzzle anyway? The Guinean kid blinked in surprise at this: — Because it's my guardian, and it's not a dog, but a hyena spirit? Spirits don't need to wear muzzles. — That's right, — the hyena remarked, somewhat irritably. — So, you can see?.. Well then, you definitely need our app to track... — Oh, go bother someone else, both of you! — said Henry, and hurried on his way home, habitually ignoring the crusader knight and the Saracen with a scimitar fighting in the square, the dragon living under the bridge, the cat in a kimono wielding a katana, the Italian astronomer loudly cursing the Moon Princess because she was blocking the astronomer's view of the Moon... And all the other typical manifestations of his madness, which remained astonishingly consistent time after time. *** Henry was actively playing something on his antique Sega while some large bear-like creature, not for the first time, rummaged through his fridge, loudly smacking its lips. And then, after a long period of suffering in an attempt at denial, the guy's patience snapped, and he turned straight to the animal in his kitchen. — Listen, you, bear... hedgehog! — in the middle of saying this, Henry realized the beast had large quills growing all over its body, and its snout was a bit elongated, so the classification should be changed. The animal, however, turned out to disagree with that definition. — I believe I introduced myself when I came into the apartment, didn't I? My name is Quen-Quen, and I am an echidna... I have the honor of being the former guardian spirit of the greatest New Zealand shaman... — An echidna? Like Knuckles, or what? — I don't know anyone by that name. — Really? Strange. I thought my madness would know everything I know about video games... Like, you live in my brain, so why wouldn't you... — I am not your... As you put it, madness. This is a misunderstanding. And I'll have you know, I'm already fifteen hundred years old, so how about a little more respect? Though I'm actually surprised you suddenly decided to talk — may I ask why? — Eh. Well, I figured that if I'm incurable, I might as well enjoy it. — ? — Do you know how to use a controller? The echidna came over and looked carefully at the device in Henry's hands, and the second one lying on the couch. — You see, here's the thing, but I have paws... — Come on, I constantly see a cat with a katana on the street, and it has paws too. Figure something out. — Why would anyone do such a thing? Henry, that's your name, right? You're a shaman, Henry! Do you understand what opportunities are opening up before you? You could sign up for the shaman tournament and... — Or play co-op in "Chip 'n Dale" with my very own madness, — said the American, handing Quen-Quen a controller. — And as a reward, I'll order it a pizza. The echidna was clearly hesitating. — With seafood, perhaps? — Sure, even with pineapples. — I don't like pineapples, but seafood would be very nice indeed... *** Henry had begun to think that his quiet but relatively carefree life, and their evening gaming sessions with his personality disorder glitch named Quen-Quen, would never end, but that turned out to be far too optimistic. The last thing he remembered was the terrifying face of a ghostly little train, and now the guy opens his eyes on some hill in the middle of a desert. With great difficulty, the American got up and looked around, then let out a low whistle. On one side of the horizon, he could clearly see a black shroud. — Fog of war? Great, I've hallucinated myself into some kind of game. Hopefully it's a proper RPG, not some TBS. For a second, cold sweat broke out on Henry when he thought his madness might have transported him into Dota, but fortunately a familiar voice brought him back to reality (?). — Henry? What's happening, Henry? — the familiar oversized echidna materialized beside him. — I thought I'd finally died and gone to the afterlife, but this doesn't look like the afterlife! — The "afterlife" doesn't exist, — the American remarked melancholically. — But I'm still glad that some things in my madness don't change; it gives me a sense of stability. Henry started rummaging through his pockets, with growing anxiety, but ultimately remained unsatisfied with the results of his search: — What the heck? Where did I lose them... — What are you talking about? — My pills... At this, Quen-Quen, already thrown off balance by the sudden change of scenery, unexpectedly even to himself, raised his voice, venting what had long been building up: — HOW LONG CAN YOU KEEP BEING IN THE DENIAL STAGE? YOU'RE A SHAMAN, HENRY, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT? HAVE YOUR PILLS EVER ONCE IN YOUR LIFE HELPED YOU FEEL BETTER? — I FEEL BETTER WHEN I KNOW I'VE SUCCESSFULLY EXPOSED THE CONSPIRACY OF PHARMA COMPANIES THAT SELL SUGAR PILLS INSTEAD OF REAL MEDICINE! — AND WHAT'S GOOD ABOUT THAT? — THEN I WRITE ABOUT IT ON REDDIT AND COLLECT LIKES! IT IMPROVES MY MOOD! — CONGRATULATIONS, IN THIS DESERT THERE'S NO REDDIT FOR MILES AROUND! AND NO COMPUTER EITHER! — THAT'S THE PROBLEM! Oh, wait, I had my smart... — ... — The network isn't picking up for some reason. — BECAUSE WE'RE IN A DESERT! EVEN I KNOW THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS! Both collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, and for a while, a deeply contemplative silence hung in the air. It was broken — by Henry: — You know what? I've had a brilliant idea. — I hope it's not another one of your dumb jokes, Henry. — No, no. It's just... If I have an incurable madness, and it's progressing, then why not enjoy it, right? — I feel like I've heard something like that before... — Surely, being in this state, I must have caused quite a ruckus out on the street, and now I'm lying in a hospital ward with padded walls, — Henry waved his arms around intensely, checking. — Though, they didn't seem to put me in a straitjacket — but maybe I just can't feel it if my mind has completely gone? Yes, I've probably become a psycho, like in "Cyberpunk." But I don't care, because here, in my own head, I can do whatever I want, right? — You'd better focus on surviving first, Henry... I'm a spirit, but for you, this desert could be a deadly experience. — You're not entirely wrong there, of course... If I die here, even if it's "make-believe," something worse could happen to me. I could end up in an even more unpleasant place, or I could have a stroke... Well, from the fear of supposedly "dying." — For a fool who denies the obvious, you're reasoning surprisingly sensibly. — So, you said you were someone's guardian spirit? — Correct, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to be your guardian spirit. — What if I get you a pizza? — ... With seafood? Race: human (child of darkness) Gender: M Age: 34 Height: 177 Faith: atheist Attributes: 15-15-10-6-0-6 Talent - Thread of Fate Medium The player character can see ghosts and communicate with them Skills ??? (discussed a bit with Nebko, I'll post it officially) Taunt Forces enemies to attack you first, for all difficulty levels Quill Shield Reduces damage taken + returns damage in melee combat? For all difficulty levels Leap For a certain number of tiles, to cross small obstacles or chasms. For convenience and mobility, basically. But not upward and not too far. +auto-attack on the same turn? Nullifying Fortress II |