Камрад
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Darken Z
Извини, погорячился. А теперь по порядку:
Пошло это из-за того, что ритуал бессмертия не удался. Вернее, удался, но с таким вот неприятным побочным эффектом. Тени - сама натура магии Рэйвел. А ТТО призывает их с планов в свою крепость и посылает охотиться за Безом.
"What went wrong with the ritual?"
"Puzzle-fleshed broken, beautiful, beautiful mortal man, the ritual was not... knot? Knot... not a finished thing." Ravel's brows wrinkled, and her talons picked at her hair, tugging on a lone strand. "The ritual gave you what you wanted, but *great* were the costs... the casting of shadows, the quiet, violent deaths of the mind, and the pain-taking emptiness... these things, a-dangerous were are in such a fragile vessel, no matter how strong a mortal man. Regret them and the ritual do I."
"Ungrateful shades... but ungrateful without cause? The shades... they hate you, Nameless One, for they are fathered by you, your children, once forsaken, they will never forgive. They will do everything they can to destroy the parent... such is the way of children."
"How do I father shades... these shadows?"
"You cast shadows on existence, Nameless One. With every death, a shadow arises fresh from the fields of your flesh. They a-wander for a time, but always they a-return, looking to murder their parent. Such is the way of many offspring..." Ravel pursed her lips in disapproval, then suddenly poked me in the chest with a talon. "...and thankless young men such as yourself." I felt a numbing despair at her words. I had been treating death almost as a game, a brief interlude that was little different from sleep for a mortal man. Instead, each death had consequences. Ravel must not be telling me the whole truth, or had forgotten it. These shadows couldn't spring solely from my substance, something else was involved. I brought my attention back to her words.
"A thousand deaths, and you recover from each. Not so the mind, the mind is much more fragile. Its scars run deep and do not heal. The brain is encased in a hard bone shell, difficult to breach, but with no defense against that which eats at it from within. You have a whole where... wear? Wear your mortality once lay within your shell." She made her hand into a fist and shook it. "*Rattle-rattle* goes the hollow man, a baby's plaything, with naught but a tiny stone that a-clatters and clacks in your frame."
Что до куклы, ей можно молиться, богохульствовать и играть. И почему геймовер? Из мейза выбраться легко достаточно.
Изменено: operf1, 26-05-2004 в 07:16
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Cпасибо, что напомнил. 
