Grigory Shargorodsky eccentric wrong thief samizdat. eccentric
Grigory Shargorodsky
Oddball. Wrong thief
The wind tore the silver hair of the son of the forest and ran on, raising waves of feather grass. Thanks to these gusts, the steppe seemed like an endless sea, and the hills looked like huge waves.
Here nothing restrained the violence of the air element, and there was no power comparable to it. But despite this power, fire was still closer to Zarandil. A strange choice for a light elf, and yet he made it, although no one knew how to achieve such a fusion of opposite principles. Many hours spent pouring over the legends and traditions of the Great Forest even answered this crazy question. The young mellorn died, another son of the forest became an outcast, but this gave Zarandil the opportunity to touch the Flame.
The elf with a cold face once again tried to take in the entire steppe with his gaze, and then turned to the top of the hill, where the craftsmen were bustlingly working.
- For a long time? – barely holding back a grimace of irritation, he asked.
“Don’t look at me here, long-eared one,” snorted the dwarf, who only had a potato nose and a thick beard sticking out from under his armor, “we’re not playing spillikins here.”
– You might think it’s a ballistic missile...
The words, strange for a fairy-tale setting, ruined the charm of the moment, and the elf turned away from the dwarf.
In the distance, the citadel of the Green-faced clan rose like an alien growth in the steppe between two hills. Outwardly, it seemed that the earthen ramparts, studded only with wooden stakes, were not very good protection, but this world had its own laws, and the savage fortifications were not very inferior to the stone walls of Avalon.
At the moment, a green-brown wave of orcs was pouring through the ramparts. The guards of the Green-faced clan - the Iron Fists - were rushing to the hill on which the dwarves were mounting siege equipment.
“Well, it’s time...” the elf quietly said to the half-gnome from his squad.
“It’s time,” the tank nodded without much emotion. Hitting his armored chest with his fist, where the thinnest sprout was depicted, splitting a stone slab, he sharply placed a closed helmet on his bearded head.
After taking a dozen steps, the half-gnome closed the gap in a row of thirty of the same tanks.
Behind this steel wall, at least fifty swordsmen gathered, among whom both humans and half-elves could be seen. The third line of defense, made up of magicians and archers, completed the formation, and the highest on the slope stood the clan leader, the elf Zarandil.
The wave of orcs had already covered half the distance from the camp to the hill, and the elf began to move. It was like a graceful dance. In principle, an ordinary gesture would have been enough to cast the spell, but the elf made a real show out of this action. Ordinary people cannot understand how delightful every step is and how every movement of the hand, made without pain, fills with joy.
The wind once again lifted the elf's long hair, as if putting an end to the complex knot of hands. A fireball appeared in the air in front of Zarandil and, having become slightly denser, rushed towards the orcs.
Following the clan leader’s spell, other fireballs, lightning bolts and thin spokes of super-strong ice rushed towards the enemy.
Zarandil was proud to see a wave of the world's fiercest grunts bounce powerlessly off the wall of his clan's tanks, but that was where the defenders' success ended. The Iron Fists were too strong.
The second onslaught broke through the defenses, and the swordsmen of the Living clan took over.
Behind the orcs, their shamans began to howl, and gusts of wind began to scatter players in different directions. The air spirits raised huge clouds of dust, from which the spear flew. The blow was so strong that the elf’s body was thrown five meters back and pinned to the frame of a half-assembled ballista.
A huge figure of an orc stepped out of the swirls of dust towards the elf hanging on the spear. Through tactical glasses, Zarandil saw that his own life bar had practically disappeared, which was not surprising - the orc’s weapon was very difficult. Sparks ran along the shaft covered with bloody patterns and pierced the elf's body, causing short convulsions and pain. But Zarandil only smiled wryly.
“Is this pain?”
The orc's figure was fully revealed in the whirlwinds of dust and smoke. The green muzzle stretched into a smile, revealing sharp fangs.
- What did you expect, lively? Who were you going to compete with?
A huge paw grabbed the shaft of the spear, and a particularly strong attack of pain pierced the elf’s body, but he held back a groan and only quietly whispered the lines of haiku, which, according to legend, strengthened spells. But only if the poems came from the very depths of the heart:
With sad pain
Petals of fire grow.
Everything will become ashes.
-What are you babbling there? – the orc growled displeasedly.
In response, Zarandil only smiled, feeling a wave of heat running through his skin.
For this, he abandoned natural magic and destroyed mellorn, and yet it was worth it. As soon as the last points of life had sunk into oblivion, the elf’s body blazed like a supernova, at the same time carrying away to rebirth not only the orc that killed him, but also everyone who had gathered on this hill.
Today the clan of the Living will receive neither fame nor experience, moreover, they will all take a step back in their development, but all this will be paid for in hard cash.
“It’s not a pity to die a hundred times Here to save one life there. For this I will do anything,” thought the elf, dissolving in a fiery whirlwind of flame and viscous pain.
The fire engulfed the top of the hill, indiscriminately burning both players and dummies of siege artillery. At the same moment, from the other side, real ballistas began to hit the fortifications of the Orc camp, sending huge fiery comets with tails billowing black smoke into the sky.
The siege has begun.
Part one
The weather outside the window of the commuter train was deteriorating, and it was bad. However, at the moment such a nuance could not affect my mood in any way. If there were any doubts, they are in the past. From an early age, my psyche was shaped under the motto expressed by Mayakovsky: “What is good and what is bad.” Now I was about to commit what, at worst, could be regarded as theft, and at best, as looting. Although which of this is more reprehensible is a rather controversial question. I could only hope that my relatives would never find out about such an offense. First of all, my mother and sister, and, of course, my uncle. But the choice was made, and doubts could not make me refuse the main prize - the opportunity to touch a fairy tale.
The slanting strokes of the drops made grooves on the foggy glass, but did not make the world outside the window any clearer; on the contrary, they added mystery to it and seemed to personify the line that I had to cross.
Current page: 1 (book has 20 pages total) [available reading passage: 14 pages]
Grigory Shargorodsky
Oddball. Wrong thief
Prologue
The wind tore the silver hair of the son of the forest and ran on, raising waves of feather grass. Thanks to these gusts, the steppe seemed like an endless sea, and the hills looked like huge waves.
Here nothing restrained the violence of the air element, and there was no power comparable to it. But despite this power, fire was still closer to Zarandil. A strange choice for a light elf, and yet he made it, although no one knew how to achieve such a fusion of opposite principles. Many hours spent pouring over the legends and traditions of the Great Forest even answered this crazy question. The young mellorn died, another son of the forest became an outcast, but this gave Zarandil the opportunity to touch the Flame.
The elf with a cold face once again tried to take in the entire steppe with his gaze, and then turned to the top of the hill, where the craftsmen were bustlingly working.
- For a long time? – barely holding back a grimace of irritation, he asked.
“Don’t look at me here, long-eared one,” snorted the dwarf, who only had a potato nose and a thick beard sticking out from under his armor, “we’re not playing spillikins here.”
– You might think it’s a ballistic missile...
The words, strange for a fairy-tale setting, ruined the charm of the moment, and the elf turned away from the dwarf.
In the distance, the citadel of the Green-faced clan rose like an alien growth in the steppe between two hills. Outwardly, it seemed that the earthen ramparts, studded only with wooden stakes, were not very good protection, but this world had its own laws, and the savage fortifications were not very inferior to the stone walls of Avalon.
At the moment, a green-brown wave of orcs was pouring through the ramparts. The guards of the Green-faced clan - the Iron Fists - were rushing to the hill on which the dwarves were mounting siege equipment.
“Well, it’s time...” the elf quietly said to the half-gnome from his squad.
“It’s time,” the tank nodded without much emotion. Hitting his armored chest with his fist, where the thinnest sprout was depicted, splitting a stone slab, he sharply placed a closed helmet on his bearded head.
After taking a dozen steps, the half-gnome closed the gap in a row of thirty of the same tanks.
Behind this steel wall, at least fifty swordsmen gathered, among whom both humans and half-elves could be seen. The third line of defense, made up of magicians and archers, completed the formation, and the highest on the slope stood the clan leader, the elf Zarandil.
The wave of orcs had already covered half the distance from the camp to the hill, and the elf began to move. It was like a graceful dance. In principle, an ordinary gesture would have been enough to cast the spell, but the elf made a real show out of this action. Ordinary people cannot understand how delightful every step is and how every movement of the hand, made without pain, fills with joy.
The wind once again lifted the elf's long hair, as if putting an end to the complex knot of hands. A fireball appeared in the air in front of Zarandil and, having become slightly denser, rushed towards the orcs.
Following the clan leader’s spell, other fireballs, lightning bolts and thin spokes of super-strong ice rushed towards the enemy.
Zarandil was proud to see a wave of the world's fiercest grunts bounce powerlessly off the wall of his clan's tanks, but that was where the defenders' success ended. The Iron Fists were too strong.
The second onslaught broke through the defenses, and the swordsmen of the Living clan took over.
Behind the orcs, their shamans began to howl, and gusts of wind began to scatter players in different directions. The air spirits raised huge clouds of dust, from which the spear flew. The blow was so strong that the elf’s body was thrown five meters back and pinned to the frame of a half-assembled ballista.
A huge figure of an orc stepped out of the swirls of dust towards the elf hanging on the spear. Through tactical glasses, Zarandil saw that his own life bar had practically disappeared, which was not surprising - the orc’s weapon was very difficult. Sparks ran along the shaft covered with bloody patterns and pierced the elf's body, causing short convulsions and pain. But Zarandil only smiled wryly.
“Is this pain?”
The orc's figure was fully revealed in the whirlwinds of dust and smoke. The green muzzle stretched into a smile, revealing sharp fangs.
- What did you expect, lively? Who were you going to compete with?
A huge paw grabbed the shaft of the spear, and a particularly strong attack of pain pierced the elf’s body, but he held back a groan and only quietly whispered the lines of haiku, which, according to legend, strengthened spells. But only if the poems came from the very depths of the heart:
With sad painPetals of fire grow.
Everything will become ashes.
-What are you babbling there? – the orc growled displeasedly.
In response, Zarandil only smiled, feeling a wave of heat running through his skin.
For this, he abandoned natural magic and destroyed mellorn, and yet it was worth it. As soon as the last points of life had sunk into oblivion, the elf’s body blazed like a supernova, at the same time carrying away to rebirth not only the orc that killed him, but also everyone who had gathered on this hill.
Today the clan of the Living will receive neither fame nor experience, moreover, they will all take a step back in their development, but all this will be paid for in hard cash.
“It’s not a pity to die a hundred times Here to save one life there. For this I will do anything,” thought the elf, dissolving in a fiery whirlwind of flame and viscous pain.
The fire engulfed the top of the hill, indiscriminately burning both players and dummies of siege artillery. At the same moment, from the other side, real ballistas began to hit the fortifications of the Orc camp, sending huge fiery comets with tails billowing black smoke into the sky.
The siege has begun.
Part one
Thief
Chapter 1
The weather outside the window of the commuter train was deteriorating, and it was bad. However, at the moment such a nuance could not affect my mood in any way. If there were any doubts, they are in the past. From an early age, my psyche was shaped under the motto expressed by Mayakovsky: “What is good and what is bad.” Now I was about to commit what, at worst, could be regarded as theft, and at best, as looting. Although which of this is more reprehensible is a rather controversial question. I could only hope that my relatives would never find out about such an offense. First of all, my mother and sister, and, of course, my uncle. But the choice was made, and doubts could not make me refuse the main prize - the opportunity to touch a fairy tale.
The slanting strokes of the drops made grooves on the foggy glass, but did not make the world outside the window any clearer; on the contrary, they added mystery to it and seemed to personify the line that I had to cross.
At the moment, the carriage window remained only a symbol, and I had to step not beyond the edge of reality, but simply into the chilly air of the autumn evening.
I don’t know what was the reason for this - upbringing without a tough father’s hand or genetic inclination, but for some reason I was not quite ready for the harsh realities of this world. School and institute, by and large, were no different from kindergarten. They made it possible to live in greenhouse conditions, building an algorithm of behavior according to rules gleaned from books read rather than based on life experience. Considering that the books were mostly fantastic, my encounter with adult reality was reminiscent of a handcar meeting a freight train.
In an attempt to find my place in this world, I had to change three jobs in three years. Moreover, the last two dismissals happened in the same year. It is still a mystery to me why a petty nonentity, who through a misunderstanding became a boss, can wipe his feet on his subordinates with impunity. Alas, righteous indignation and sincere words on this matter had only one consequence - the first dismissal in my life. The second job was a little better, but there was also a fly in the ointment.
The situation was striking in its absurdity: I quit my second job due to sexual attraction that did not exist. The boss is a fairly smart and competent specialist, but in addition to all his advantages, he had a serious drawback - extreme jealousy. I didn’t even have time to understand whether his wife really liked him, when I immediately found myself “in the air.”
The only positive aspect of working under the leadership of a jealous boss was a casual acquaintance with the employees of the regional branch of the Fujiwara Corporation. I was able to see the head of the department only briefly, but this was enough for my Plan - yes, that’s right, with a capital P - to acquire one more detail.
The third job finally put an end to my desire to climb the comfortable steps of the office career ladder. I managed to put up with an inappropriate boss - at least he wasn’t a dumbass - I even managed to find a common language with the team, which was thoroughly saturated with intrigue, but here Mayakovsky’s notorious dogma came into play.
A real estate company was preparing to casually deprive an elderly couple of their only apartment. I was outraged not even by the fact of fraud, but by the carelessness and cynicism with which it was all carried out. I won’t say that I became the pebble that ruined the criminal millstones, but I ruined the deal and pretty much spoiled the mood of my boss.
As a result, the old people changed their minds about selling the apartment, and they fired me, providing me with a promise to break my legs instead of a graduation payout.
I won’t say that I am a highly moral person; every action has its own price. But honestly, I’m glad that there wasn’t a solid counterweight on the other side of the scale to influence simple human decency.
Losing my third job would have been catastrophic if I hadn’t had a Plan in place by then. And the absurdity of the situation was that having lost my job at the behest of my conscience, I was going to break the law.
To avoid being in a cast, I had to lie low, but this in no way interfered with my Plan. So I took the commuter train without the slightest doubt. Of course, there were concerns about possible threats to my family, but Uncle Tolya held the position of deputy head of our police department and personified the image of a real sheriff - formidable, but fair. So neither mom nor sister Tamara were in danger. The failure of the deal for a two-room apartment was clearly not worth a quarrel with a government official, even on a local scale. Moreover, the hero of the “triumph” himself will not be nearby; and yet it is worth warning my uncle.
I had to look for the required name in the phone, so to speak, with a not entirely steady hand.
“Hello,” came the confident voice of the “real sheriff” from the speaker.
- Uncle Tolya, it’s me.
- Where're you gone? – the guy asked calmly, but with metallic notes in his voice. - Mother is worried.
- Here things are like this... in general, I found myself in an unpleasant situation.
- Problems with law? – my relative immediately tensed.
– No, rather the opposite: he foiled a scam for his former employers to sell the apartment of two old people.
- Do you need help? – my uncle asked still laconicly, but to my joy, approval was felt in his voice.
- No, I'm fine. Just take care of your mom and sister.
- Don't worry. I don’t think that your enemies are idiots, and if they are idiots, it’s worse for them. You don’t have to call your mother, I’ll explain everything,” the guy immediately got down to business. -Will you lie where I think?
- Ok, I’ll tell Olya, let him wait with the paperwork for the house. You never know, we are still dealing with realtors.
- Thank you.
- Need money?
“No, Uncle Tol, everything is fine,” I hastened to reassure my relative, although the money was really needed. Unsuccessful work jumps brought my moneybox to a deplorable state.
- Welcome, see you later.
“See you later,” I said to the already disconnected subscriber.
What can you do, my uncle is harsh and strict, but he never managed to hide a caring soul under this mask.
As if sensing the improvement in my mood, the rain decided to hold off, and the wind cheerfully swept away the beads of drops from the glass, allowing me to take a closer look at the slowing panorama of the pine forest.
Well, here's my stop.
Picking up a backpack with simple belongings, I quickly walked around the carriage and got off onto the wet platform.
It’s good that from the stop to Vasilki there was no more than ten minutes’ walk. But this is in a straight line, but along the main road it takes a little longer. The forest greeted me with quiet autumn sadness, but thanks to the fact that everything around was breathing pine freshness, this sadness was not so hopeless. And yet the green of the needles in the robes of the silent giants has already become somewhat faded.
The path, not burdened by thickets of bushes, led me without any problems to, so to speak, the back entrance to the village, and its branch generally allowed me to reach the house of our distant relative, bypassing the street.
Since the late Svetlana Borisovna had no children, she transferred all her unspent maternal love to Tamara and me, so the surrounding forest and village were familiar to me like the back of my hand. But at the moment, my gaze was drawn not to the places memorable from childhood and not to the old house of a relative, but to the neater building next door.
Outwardly, the neighboring property resembled a small fortress. A small house with an attic converted into housing was surrounded by a two-meter fence made of concrete slabs. This provided protection from prying eyes from almost all directions, but not from the attic of the neighboring house. It was possible to leave the fortress courtyard only through a massive gate or through an equally strong gate leading into the forest.
The bad weather, which had given me a head start, was about to cancel its indulgence, so I had to speed up my pace, and in a couple of minutes I was already entering the lopsided gate in the garden of the dacha that our family had inherited.
The house had not changed since my childhood; everything here was just as familiar and uncomfortable in a rustic way. Previously, I didn’t care about this, but until that moment, what was required from the “mansion” was not long-term shelter, but a roof for one night on the occasion of going on a picnic. It was precisely this incident that triggered the chain of events that flowed into my Plan.
It all started a year ago. Tamara, me and mutual friends decided to spend the weekend in an orphaned house. At the height of the fun, when the first portion of kebabs was eaten and the second was already languishing on the grill, a large van stopped near the house and called to our attention with a short signal.
I had to go to the gate, where a guy in overalls was waiting for me.
– This is Lesnaya, twenty-eight?
“No, friend,” I shook my head, once again complaining about the chip on the white enamel of our house number, which turned a six into an eight. - You need to go to your neighbor.
“Thank you,” the guy nodded and was about to return to the car when Tamara’s voice was heard behind me:
– Marat, who’s there?
The guy immediately perked up and stretched his smile to all thirty-two teeth.
What can I say, my little sister looked stunning in a crop top and tight jeans.
“I got the wrong number,” the guy said immediately and sighed sadly. “Although I really regret that I’m not coming to you.”
“Then stay,” this fidget smiled sweetly, although I knew for sure that the guy was not her type.
- Tom, don’t fool a man’s head.
My dissatisfaction was shared by the passenger in the van's cabin, which he expressed by sounding the car horn.
“I would have stayed,” the guy looked around nervously, without taking a step from the gate.
Looking out from behind the fence, I saw a Japanese man leaning out of the cabin, and this person was known to me.
I wonder what a representative of the Fujiwara Corporation is doing here? The desire to clarify what was happening even made my hands itch.
The angry shout of the authorities had an effect, and the car drove away from our house, but immediately stopped. I, leaving all the guests, quickly climbed into the attic. The shingles pushed aside gave me the opportunity to see everything that was going on in the neighboring yard.
The crazy guess turned out to be one hundred percent correct. Four loaders removed from the bowels of the van a massive box that could contain nothing but a capsule. It is noteworthy that the driver remained in the cab, and even the brain-inflamed memories of my sister did not force him to leave his post. The loaders, who all turned out to be Japanese, contrary to all safety rules, were traveling inside the van, which once again confirmed my guesses about the value of the cargo and its specifics.
Accompanied by the colorful owner of the house, the whole company went inside, and at this point the flow of information dried up for a good two hours. All this time, curiosity never let me leave the attic, for which I was rewarded later.
Part of the roof of a neighboring mansion was quickly dismantled. The removed covering was replaced with some kind of film, but I still managed to notice how the workers installed a satellite dish of a rather remarkable design in the attic. Everything fit - the neighbor turned out to be a very rich Pinocchio and the owner of my dream.
Memories captured me, and I carried out the process of bringing the insides of the house into a habitable state automatically. Rave reviews about the new game that I had found online flashed through my head, which made me even more nervous.
Information breaking through the Internet and the media has been exciting the consciousness of all gamers in the world for more than two years. This mania did not bypass me either, but the realities of life muffled my mental anguish, building a wall of unattainability. And at that memorable picnic, although the wall did not completely fall, it gave a fair crack.
This crack became a breach two weeks ago when I happened to see a news report about a fatal accident and recognized the victim as my neighbor. There could be no mistake - he had too remarkable an appearance.
At that moment, work and personal life pushed inflamed thoughts about the fairy-tale world into the background. All that was enough for me was to call my uncle with a request to clarify the identity of the deceased. The reason was the fictitious interest of one of my friends, who allegedly recognized the victim as her relative. I really don’t like lying, especially to people close to me, but the temptation was too great. My uncle managed to find out everything and told me that according to his passport, the deceased was listed as Nikodimov Yuri Sergeevich - divorced, without children. It turned out to be strange that the deceased was registered many kilometers from our city.
At that time, this information was useless, but after the incident with the old people’s apartment, all the shackles holding me back disappeared. Hopes of settling down in the big world melted away like spring snow, so it was possible to afford a little adventure.
With a chill in my chest, I climbed into the attic and again created a hatch to inspect the neighbor's yard. My actions were immediately noticed by a security guard in the person of a large dog of the Moscow watchdog breed. There were a couple of gray spots on the almost completely white skin of the dog, and a black ear adorned its white head, evoking certain associations. In general, the neighbor's yard was under reliable supervision, but the condition of the dog confirmed all my assumptions. The big dog, instead of barking at me again, suddenly howled, and this howl sent shivers down my spine.
Why are you suffering such torment, poor fellow?
That's right - my neighbor died in an accident, one can only be surprised that the dog has not yet died of hunger.
Dusk was already covering the village, and here and there lights were lit in the windows, but it would have been cruel to wait until morning. But what to feed the poor fellow? I only have canned food with me. Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness there was information that in this case, fresh meat would be best.
Quickly getting ready, I walked halfway through the street and knocked on the gate of a neat, though not rich, house. Immediately, a live alarm went off in the form of a small, ear-ringingly vocal dog.
- Who is wandering around there at night? – Mityai’s dissatisfied voice rang out.
“Mitya, take the gun,” his wife’s voice immediately cut through.
In the village it is not customary to visit after sunset, so the reaction is quite predictable. Lida, of course, lied about the gun, but it’s still better to indicate your presence:
- Mityai, it’s me, Hook!
- Oh, Marat, hello, why are you wandering around at night? – the friend of my childhood games perked up.
- There is a matter; Do you still breed rabbits?
- Well, yes, but why do you need it?
- Yes, I wanted some meat.
For another ten minutes we had to dodge with explanations and persuade Mitya to take money for the rabbit killed outside of school hours. Fortunately, Lida helped, taking both the money and the overly curious husband into the house.
Returning to my place, I cut the purchased carcass into pieces and, having selected a small piece without skin, climbed onto the ladder attached to the fence.
The dog was already waiting for me on the other side of the concrete slab and growled displeasedly.
“Hello,” I greeted and, without much preamble, threw the hungry beast, so to speak, a dietary ration.
But the dog is not simple... and perhaps I will have more problems with it than expected. The dog continued to glare at me, not even thinking about bending down to the meat, although all his desires were revealed by abundant saliva.
Okay, let's not embarrass the guy, let him eat without witnesses.
Ten minutes later, a second trip to the stairs showed that the offering had been accepted, but they did not treat me any more gently.
It’s okay, don’t wash it like that by rolling. In the matter of acquiring someone else's property, haste can only do harm.
- So, friend, you and I have a long conversation ahead of us, and we need to contact you somehow. I have no idea what your name is, but your ear leaves no options. You will be Bim.
Having completed the monologue addressed to the dog, I called the dog a new name several times. In response, I received an ironic look, from which it was clear that the piece of rabbit meat had changed absolutely nothing in our relationship. The maximum that could be counted on was that when I tried to cross the perimeter, I would not be bitten to death, but simply bitten severely.
Grigory Shargorodsky
Oddball. Wrong thief
The wind tore the silver hair of the son of the forest and ran on, raising waves of feather grass. Thanks to these gusts, the steppe seemed like an endless sea, and the hills looked like huge waves.
Here nothing restrained the violence of the air element, and there was no power comparable to it. But despite this power, fire was still closer to Zarandil. A strange choice for a light elf, and yet he made it, although no one knew how to achieve such a fusion of opposite principles. Many hours spent pouring over the legends and traditions of the Great Forest even answered this crazy question. The young mellorn died, another son of the forest became an outcast, but this gave Zarandil the opportunity to touch the Flame.
The elf with a cold face once again tried to take in the entire steppe with his gaze, and then turned to the top of the hill, where the craftsmen were bustlingly working.
- For a long time? – barely holding back a grimace of irritation, he asked.
“Don’t look at me here, long-eared one,” snorted the dwarf, who only had a potato nose and a thick beard sticking out from under his armor, “we’re not playing spillikins here.”
– You might think it’s a ballistic missile...
The words, strange for a fairy-tale setting, ruined the charm of the moment, and the elf turned away from the dwarf.
In the distance, the citadel of the Green-faced clan rose like an alien growth in the steppe between two hills. Outwardly, it seemed that the earthen ramparts, studded only with wooden stakes, were not very good protection, but this world had its own laws, and the savage fortifications were not very inferior to the stone walls of Avalon.
At the moment, a green-brown wave of orcs was pouring through the ramparts. The guards of the Green-faced clan - the Iron Fists - were rushing to the hill on which the dwarves were mounting siege equipment.
“Well, it’s time...” the elf quietly said to the half-gnome from his squad.
“It’s time,” the tank nodded without much emotion. Hitting his armored chest with his fist, where the thinnest sprout was depicted, splitting a stone slab, he sharply placed a closed helmet on his bearded head.
After taking a dozen steps, the half-gnome closed the gap in a row of thirty of the same tanks.
Behind this steel wall, at least fifty swordsmen gathered, among whom both humans and half-elves could be seen. The third line of defense, made up of magicians and archers, completed the formation, and the highest on the slope stood the clan leader, the elf Zarandil.
The wave of orcs had already covered half the distance from the camp to the hill, and the elf began to move. It was like a graceful dance. In principle, an ordinary gesture would have been enough to cast the spell, but the elf made a real show out of this action. Ordinary people cannot understand how delightful every step is and how every movement of the hand, made without pain, fills with joy.
The wind once again lifted the elf's long hair, as if putting an end to the complex knot of hands. A fireball appeared in the air in front of Zarandil and, having become slightly denser, rushed towards the orcs.
Following the clan leader’s spell, other fireballs, lightning bolts and thin spokes of super-strong ice rushed towards the enemy.
Zarandil was proud to see a wave of the world's fiercest grunts bounce powerlessly off the wall of his clan's tanks, but that was where the defenders' success ended. The Iron Fists were too strong.
The second onslaught broke through the defenses, and the swordsmen of the Living clan took over.
Behind the orcs, their shamans began to howl, and gusts of wind began to scatter players in different directions. The air spirits raised huge clouds of dust, from which the spear flew. The blow was so strong that the elf’s body was thrown five meters back and pinned to the frame of a half-assembled ballista.
A huge figure of an orc stepped out of the swirls of dust towards the elf hanging on the spear. Through tactical glasses, Zarandil saw that his own life bar had practically disappeared, which was not surprising - the orc’s weapon was very difficult. Sparks ran along the shaft covered with bloody patterns and pierced the elf's body, causing short convulsions and pain. But Zarandil only smiled wryly.
“Is this pain?”
The orc's figure was fully revealed in the whirlwinds of dust and smoke. The green muzzle stretched into a smile, revealing sharp fangs.
- What did you expect, lively? Who were you going to compete with?
A huge paw grabbed the shaft of the spear, and a particularly strong attack of pain pierced the elf’s body, but he held back a groan and only quietly whispered the lines of haiku, which, according to legend, strengthened spells. But only if the poems came from the very depths of the heart:
With sad pain
Petals of fire grow.
Everything will become ashes.
-What are you babbling there? – the orc growled displeasedly.
In response, Zarandil only smiled, feeling a wave of heat running through his skin.
For this, he abandoned natural magic and destroyed mellorn, and yet it was worth it. As soon as the last points of life had sunk into oblivion, the elf’s body blazed like a supernova, at the same time carrying away to rebirth not only the orc that killed him, but also everyone who had gathered on this hill.
Today the clan of the Living will receive neither fame nor experience, moreover, they will all take a step back in their development, but all this will be paid for in hard cash.
“It’s not a pity to die a hundred times Here to save one life there. For this I will do anything,” thought the elf, dissolving in a fiery whirlwind of flame and viscous pain.
The fire engulfed the top of the hill, indiscriminately burning both players and dummies of siege artillery. At the same moment, from the other side, real ballistas began to hit the fortifications of the Orc camp, sending huge fiery comets with tails billowing black smoke into the sky.
The siege has begun.
Part one
The weather outside the window of the commuter train was deteriorating, and it was bad. However, at the moment such a nuance could not affect my mood in any way. If there were any doubts, they are in the past. From an early age, my psyche was shaped under the motto expressed by Mayakovsky: “What is good and what is bad.” Now I was about to commit what, at worst, could be regarded as theft, and at best, as looting. Although which of this is more reprehensible is a rather controversial question. I could only hope that my relatives would never find out about such an offense. First of all, my mother and sister, and, of course, my uncle. But the choice was made, and doubts could not make me refuse the main prize - the opportunity to touch a fairy tale.
The slanting strokes of the drops made grooves on the foggy glass, but did not make the world outside the window any clearer; on the contrary, they added mystery to it and seemed to personify the line that I had to cross.
At the moment, the carriage window remained only a symbol, and I had to step not beyond the edge of reality, but simply into the chilly air of the autumn evening.
I don’t know what was the reason for this - upbringing without a tough father’s hand or genetic inclination, but for some reason I was not quite ready for the harsh realities of this world. School and institute, by and large, were no different from kindergarten. They made it possible to live in greenhouse conditions, building an algorithm of behavior according to rules gleaned from books read rather than based on life experience. Considering that the books were mostly fantastic, my encounter with adult reality was reminiscent of a handcar meeting a freight train.
In an attempt to find my place in this world, I had to change three jobs in three years. Moreover, the last two dismissals happened in the same year. It is still a mystery to me why a petty nonentity, who through a misunderstanding became a boss, can wipe his feet on his subordinates with impunity. Alas, righteous indignation and sincere words on this matter had only one consequence - the first dismissal in my life. The second job was a little better, but there was also a fly in the ointment.
The situation was striking in its absurdity: I quit my second job due to sexual attraction that did not exist. The boss is a fairly smart and competent specialist, but in addition to all his advantages, he had a serious drawback - extreme jealousy. I didn’t even have time to understand whether his wife really liked him, when I immediately found myself “in the air.”
The only positive aspect of working under the leadership of a jealous boss was a casual acquaintance with the employees of the regional branch of the Fujiwara Corporation. I was able to see the head of the department only briefly, but this was enough for my Plan - yes, that’s right, with a capital P - to acquire one more detail.
The third job finally put an end to my desire to climb the comfortable steps of the office career ladder. I managed to put up with an inappropriate boss - at least he wasn’t a dumbass - I even managed to find a common language with the team, which was thoroughly saturated with intrigue, but here Mayakovsky’s notorious dogma came into play.
Prologue
The wind tore the silver hair of the son of the forest and ran on, raising waves of feather grass. Thanks to these gusts, the steppe seemed like an endless sea, and the hills looked like huge waves.
Here nothing restrained the violence of the air element, and there was no power comparable to it. But despite this power, fire was still closer to Zarandil. A strange choice for a light elf, and yet he made it, although no one knew how to achieve such a fusion of opposite principles. Many hours spent pouring over the legends and traditions of the Great Forest even answered this crazy question. The young mellorn died, another son of the forest became an outcast, but this gave Zarandil the opportunity to touch the Flame.
The elf with a cold face once again tried to take in the entire steppe with his gaze, and then turned to the top of the hill, where the craftsmen were bustlingly working.
- For a long time? – barely holding back a grimace of irritation, he asked.
“Don’t look at me here, long-eared one,” snorted the dwarf, who only had a potato nose and a thick beard sticking out from under his armor, “we’re not playing spillikins here.”
– You might think it’s a ballistic missile...
The words, strange for a fairy-tale setting, ruined the charm of the moment, and the elf turned away from the dwarf.
In the distance, the citadel of the Green-faced clan rose like an alien growth in the steppe between two hills. Outwardly, it seemed that the earthen ramparts, studded only with wooden stakes, were not very good protection, but this world had its own laws, and the savage fortifications were not very inferior to the stone walls of Avalon.
At the moment, a green-brown wave of orcs was pouring through the ramparts. The guards of the Green-faced clan - the Iron Fists - were rushing to the hill on which the dwarves were mounting siege equipment.
“Well, it’s time...” the elf quietly said to the half-gnome from his squad.
“It’s time,” the tank nodded without much emotion. Hitting his armored chest with his fist, where the thinnest sprout was depicted, splitting a stone slab, he sharply placed a closed helmet on his bearded head.
After taking a dozen steps, the half-gnome closed the gap in a row of thirty of the same tanks.
Behind this steel wall, at least fifty swordsmen gathered, among whom both humans and half-elves could be seen. The third line of defense, made up of magicians and archers, completed the formation, and the highest on the slope stood the clan leader, the elf Zarandil.
The wave of orcs had already covered half the distance from the camp to the hill, and the elf began to move. It was like a graceful dance. In principle, an ordinary gesture would have been enough to cast the spell, but the elf made a real show out of this action. Ordinary people cannot understand how delightful every step is and how every movement of the hand, made without pain, fills with joy.
The wind once again lifted the elf's long hair, as if putting an end to the complex knot of hands. A fireball appeared in the air in front of Zarandil and, having become slightly denser, rushed towards the orcs.
Following the clan leader’s spell, other fireballs, lightning bolts and thin spokes of super-strong ice rushed towards the enemy.
Zarandil was proud to see a wave of the world's fiercest grunts bounce powerlessly off the wall of his clan's tanks, but that was where the defenders' success ended. The Iron Fists were too strong.
The second onslaught broke through the defenses, and the swordsmen of the Living clan took over.
Behind the orcs, their shamans began to howl, and gusts of wind began to scatter players in different directions. The air spirits raised huge clouds of dust, from which the spear flew. The blow was so strong that the elf’s body was thrown five meters back and pinned to the frame of a half-assembled ballista.
A huge figure of an orc stepped out of the swirls of dust towards the elf hanging on the spear. Through tactical glasses, Zarandil saw that his own life bar had practically disappeared, which was not surprising - the orc’s weapon was very difficult. Sparks ran along the shaft covered with bloody patterns and pierced the elf's body, causing short convulsions and pain. But Zarandil only smiled wryly.
“Is this pain?”
The orc's figure was fully revealed in the whirlwinds of dust and smoke. The green muzzle stretched into a smile, revealing sharp fangs.
- What did you expect, lively? Who were you going to compete with?
A huge paw grabbed the shaft of the spear, and a particularly strong attack of pain pierced the elf’s body, but he held back a groan and only quietly whispered the lines of haiku, which, according to legend, strengthened spells. But only if the poems came from the very depths of the heart:
With sad painPetals of fire grow.
Everything will become ashes.
-What are you babbling there? – the orc growled displeasedly.
In response, Zarandil only smiled, feeling a wave of heat running through his skin.
For this, he abandoned natural magic and destroyed mellorn, and yet it was worth it. As soon as the last points of life had sunk into oblivion, the elf’s body blazed like a supernova, at the same time carrying away to rebirth not only the orc that killed him, but also everyone who had gathered on this hill.
Today the clan of the Living will receive neither fame nor experience, moreover, they will all take a step back in their development, but all this will be paid for in hard cash.
“It’s not a pity to die a hundred times Here to save one life there. For this I will do anything,” thought the elf, dissolving in a fiery whirlwind of flame and viscous pain.
The fire engulfed the top of the hill, indiscriminately burning both players and dummies of siege artillery. At the same moment, from the other side, real ballistas began to hit the fortifications of the Orc camp, sending huge fiery comets with tails billowing black smoke into the sky.
The siege has begun.
Part one
Thief
Chapter 1
The weather outside the window of the commuter train was deteriorating, and it was bad. However, at the moment such a nuance could not affect my mood in any way. If there were any doubts, they are in the past. From an early age, my psyche was shaped under the motto expressed by Mayakovsky: “What is good and what is bad.” Now I was about to commit what, at worst, could be regarded as theft, and at best, as looting. Although which of this is more reprehensible is a rather controversial question. I could only hope that my relatives would never find out about such an offense. First of all, my mother and sister, and, of course, my uncle. But the choice was made, and doubts could not make me refuse the main prize - the opportunity to touch a fairy tale.
The slanting strokes of the drops made grooves on the foggy glass, but did not make the world outside the window any clearer; on the contrary, they added mystery to it and seemed to personify the line that I had to cross.
At the moment, the carriage window remained only a symbol, and I had to step not beyond the edge of reality, but simply into the chilly air of the autumn evening.
I don’t know what was the reason for this - upbringing without a tough father’s hand or genetic inclination, but for some reason I was not quite ready for the harsh realities of this world. School and institute, by and large, were no different from kindergarten. They made it possible to live in greenhouse conditions, building an algorithm of behavior according to rules gleaned from books read rather than based on life experience. Considering that the books were mostly fantastic, my encounter with adult reality was reminiscent of a handcar meeting a freight train.
In an attempt to find my place in this world, I had to change three jobs in three years. Moreover, the last two dismissals happened in the same year. It is still a mystery to me why a petty nonentity, who through a misunderstanding became a boss, can wipe his feet on his subordinates with impunity. Alas, righteous indignation and sincere words on this matter had only one consequence - the first dismissal in my life. The second job was a little better, but there was also a fly in the ointment.
The situation was striking in its absurdity: I quit my second job due to sexual attraction that did not exist. The boss is a fairly smart and competent specialist, but in addition to all his advantages, he had a serious drawback - extreme jealousy. I didn’t even have time to understand whether his wife really liked him, when I immediately found myself “in the air.”
The only positive aspect of working under the leadership of a jealous boss was a casual acquaintance with the employees of the regional branch of the Fujiwara Corporation. I was able to see the head of the department only briefly, but this was enough for my Plan - yes, that’s right, with a capital P - to acquire one more detail.
The third job finally put an end to my desire to climb the comfortable steps of the office career ladder. I managed to put up with an inappropriate boss - at least he wasn’t a dumbass - I even managed to find a common language with the team, which was thoroughly saturated with intrigue, but here Mayakovsky’s notorious dogma came into play.
A real estate company was preparing to casually deprive an elderly couple of their only apartment. I was outraged not even by the fact of fraud, but by the carelessness and cynicism with which it was all carried out. I won’t say that I became the pebble that ruined the criminal millstones, but I ruined the deal and pretty much spoiled the mood of my boss.
As a result, the old people changed their minds about selling the apartment, and they fired me, providing me with a promise to break my legs instead of a graduation payout.
I won’t say that I am a highly moral person; every action has its own price. But honestly, I’m glad that there wasn’t a solid counterweight on the other side of the scale to influence simple human decency.
Losing my third job would have been catastrophic if I hadn’t had a Plan in place by then. And the absurdity of the situation was that having lost my job at the behest of my conscience, I was going to break the law.
To avoid being in a cast, I had to lie low, but this in no way interfered with my Plan. So I took the commuter train without the slightest doubt. Of course, there were concerns about possible threats to my family, but Uncle Tolya held the position of deputy head of our police department and personified the image of a real sheriff - formidable, but fair. So neither mom nor sister Tamara were in danger. The failure of the deal for a two-room apartment was clearly not worth a quarrel with a government official, even on a local scale. Moreover, the hero of the “triumph” himself will not be nearby; and yet it is worth warning my uncle.
I had to look for the required name in the phone, so to speak, with a not entirely steady hand.
“Hello,” came the confident voice of the “real sheriff” from the speaker.
- Uncle Tolya, it’s me.
- Where're you gone? – the guy asked calmly, but with metallic notes in his voice. - Mother is worried.
- Here things are like this... in general, I found myself in an unpleasant situation.
- Problems with law? – my relative immediately tensed.
– No, rather the opposite: he foiled a scam for his former employers to sell the apartment of two old people.
- Do you need help? – my uncle asked still laconicly, but to my joy, approval was felt in his voice.
- No, I'm fine. Just take care of your mom and sister.
- Don't worry. I don’t think that your enemies are idiots, and if they are idiots, it’s worse for them. You don’t have to call your mother, I’ll explain everything,” the guy immediately got down to business. -Will you lie where I think?
- Ok, I’ll tell Olya, let him wait with the paperwork for the house. You never know, we are still dealing with realtors.
- Thank you.
- Need money?
“No, Uncle Tol, everything is fine,” I hastened to reassure my relative, although the money was really needed. Unsuccessful work jumps brought my moneybox to a deplorable state.
- Welcome, see you later.
“See you later,” I said to the already disconnected subscriber.
What can you do, my uncle is harsh and strict, but he never managed to hide a caring soul under this mask.
As if sensing the improvement in my mood, the rain decided to hold off, and the wind cheerfully swept away the beads of drops from the glass, allowing me to take a closer look at the slowing panorama of the pine forest.
Well, here's my stop.
Picking up a backpack with simple belongings, I quickly walked around the carriage and got off onto the wet platform.
It’s good that from the stop to Vasilki there was no more than ten minutes’ walk. But this is in a straight line, but along the main road it takes a little longer. The forest greeted me with quiet autumn sadness, but thanks to the fact that everything around was breathing pine freshness, this sadness was not so hopeless. And yet the green of the needles in the robes of the silent giants has already become somewhat faded.
The path, not burdened by thickets of bushes, led me without any problems to, so to speak, the back entrance to the village, and its branch generally allowed me to reach the house of our distant relative, bypassing the street.
Since the late Svetlana Borisovna had no children, she transferred all her unspent maternal love to Tamara and me, so the surrounding forest and village were familiar to me like the back of my hand. But at the moment, my gaze was drawn not to the places memorable from childhood and not to the old house of a relative, but to the neater building next door.
Outwardly, the neighboring property resembled a small fortress. A small house with an attic converted into housing was surrounded by a two-meter fence made of concrete slabs. This provided protection from prying eyes from almost all directions, but not from the attic of the neighboring house. It was possible to leave the fortress courtyard only through a massive gate or through an equally strong gate leading into the forest.
The bad weather, which had given me a head start, was about to cancel its indulgence, so I had to speed up my pace, and in a couple of minutes I was already entering the lopsided gate in the garden of the dacha that our family had inherited.
The house had not changed since my childhood; everything here was just as familiar and uncomfortable in a rustic way. Previously, I didn’t care about this, but until that moment, what was required from the “mansion” was not long-term shelter, but a roof for one night on the occasion of going on a picnic. It was precisely this incident that triggered the chain of events that flowed into my Plan.
It all started a year ago. Tamara, me and mutual friends decided to spend the weekend in an orphaned house. At the height of the fun, when the first portion of kebabs was eaten and the second was already languishing on the grill, a large van stopped near the house and called to our attention with a short signal.
I had to go to the gate, where a guy in overalls was waiting for me.
– This is Lesnaya, twenty-eight?
“No, friend,” I shook my head, once again complaining about the chip on the white enamel of our house number, which turned a six into an eight. - You need to go to your neighbor.
“Thank you,” the guy nodded and was about to return to the car when Tamara’s voice was heard behind me:
– Marat, who’s there?
The guy immediately perked up and stretched his smile to all thirty-two teeth.
What can I say, my little sister looked stunning in a crop top and tight jeans.
“I got the wrong number,” the guy said immediately and sighed sadly. “Although I really regret that I’m not coming to you.”
“Then stay,” this fidget smiled sweetly, although I knew for sure that the guy was not her type.
- Tom, don’t fool a man’s head.
My dissatisfaction was shared by the passenger in the van's cabin, which he expressed by sounding the car horn.
“I would have stayed,” the guy looked around nervously, without taking a step from the gate.
Looking out from behind the fence, I saw a Japanese man leaning out of the cabin, and this person was known to me.
I wonder what a representative of the Fujiwara Corporation is doing here? The desire to clarify what was happening even made my hands itch.
The angry shout of the authorities had an effect, and the car drove away from our house, but immediately stopped. I, leaving all the guests, quickly climbed into the attic. The shingles pushed aside gave me the opportunity to see everything that was going on in the neighboring yard.
The crazy guess turned out to be one hundred percent correct. Four loaders removed from the bowels of the van a massive box that could contain nothing but a capsule. It is noteworthy that the driver remained in the cab, and even the brain-inflamed memories of my sister did not force him to leave his post. The loaders, who all turned out to be Japanese, contrary to all safety rules, were traveling inside the van, which once again confirmed my guesses about the value of the cargo and its specifics.
Accompanied by the colorful owner of the house, the whole company went inside, and at this point the flow of information dried up for a good two hours. All this time, curiosity never let me leave the attic, for which I was rewarded later.
Part of the roof of a neighboring mansion was quickly dismantled. The removed covering was replaced with some kind of film, but I still managed to notice how the workers installed a satellite dish of a rather remarkable design in the attic. Everything fit - the neighbor turned out to be a very rich Pinocchio and the owner of my dream.
Memories captured me, and I carried out the process of bringing the insides of the house into a habitable state automatically. Rave reviews about the new game that I had found online flashed through my head, which made me even more nervous.
Information breaking through the Internet and the media has been exciting the consciousness of all gamers in the world for more than two years. This mania did not bypass me either, but the realities of life muffled my mental anguish, building a wall of unattainability. And at that memorable picnic, although the wall did not completely fall, it gave a fair crack.
This crack became a breach two weeks ago when I happened to see a news report about a fatal accident and recognized the victim as my neighbor. There could be no mistake - he had too remarkable an appearance.
At that moment, work and personal life pushed inflamed thoughts about the fairy-tale world into the background. All that was enough for me was to call my uncle with a request to clarify the identity of the deceased. The reason was the fictitious interest of one of my friends, who allegedly recognized the victim as her relative. I really don’t like lying, especially to people close to me, but the temptation was too great. My uncle managed to find out everything and told me that according to his passport, the deceased was listed as Nikodimov Yuri Sergeevich - divorced, without children. It turned out to be strange that the deceased was registered many kilometers from our city.
At that time, this information was useless, but after the incident with the old people’s apartment, all the shackles holding me back disappeared. Hopes of settling down in the big world melted away like spring snow, so it was possible to afford a little adventure.
With a chill in my chest, I climbed into the attic and again created a hatch to inspect the neighbor's yard. My actions were immediately noticed by a security guard in the person of a large dog of the Moscow watchdog breed. There were a couple of gray spots on the almost completely white skin of the dog, and a black ear adorned its white head, evoking certain associations. In general, the neighbor's yard was under reliable supervision, but the condition of the dog confirmed all my assumptions. The big dog, instead of barking at me again, suddenly howled, and this howl sent shivers down my spine.
Why are you suffering such torment, poor fellow?
That's right - my neighbor died in an accident, one can only be surprised that the dog has not yet died of hunger.
Dusk was already covering the village, and here and there lights were lit in the windows, but it would have been cruel to wait until morning. But what to feed the poor fellow? I only have canned food with me. Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness there was information that in this case, fresh meat would be best.
Quickly getting ready, I walked halfway through the street and knocked on the gate of a neat, though not rich, house. Immediately, a live alarm went off in the form of a small, ear-ringingly vocal dog.
- Who is wandering around there at night? – Mityai’s dissatisfied voice rang out.
“Mitya, take the gun,” his wife’s voice immediately cut through.
In the village it is not customary to visit after sunset, so the reaction is quite predictable. Lida, of course, lied about the gun, but it’s still better to indicate your presence:
- Mityai, it’s me, Hook!
- Oh, Marat, hello, why are you wandering around at night? – the friend of my childhood games perked up.
- There is a matter; Do you still breed rabbits?
- Well, yes, but why do you need it?
- Yes, I wanted some meat.
For another ten minutes we had to dodge with explanations and persuade Mitya to take money for the rabbit killed outside of school hours. Fortunately, Lida helped, taking both the money and the overly curious husband into the house.
Returning to my place, I cut the purchased carcass into pieces and, having selected a small piece without skin, climbed onto the ladder attached to the fence.
The dog was already waiting for me on the other side of the concrete slab and growled displeasedly.
“Hello,” I greeted and, without much preamble, threw the hungry beast, so to speak, a dietary ration.
But the dog is not simple... and perhaps I will have more problems with it than expected. The dog continued to glare at me, not even thinking about bending down to the meat, although all his desires were revealed by abundant saliva.
Okay, let's not embarrass the guy, let him eat without witnesses.
Ten minutes later, a second trip to the stairs showed that the offering had been accepted, but they did not treat me any more gently.
It’s okay, don’t wash it like that by rolling. In the matter of acquiring someone else's property, haste can only do harm.
- So, friend, you and I have a long conversation ahead of us, and we need to contact you somehow. I have no idea what your name is, but your ear leaves no options. You will be Bim.
Having completed the monologue addressed to the dog, I called the dog a new name several times. In response, I received an ironic look, from which it was clear that the piece of rabbit meat had changed absolutely nothing in our relationship. The maximum that could be counted on was that when I tried to cross the perimeter, I would not be bitten to death, but simply bitten severely.