Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 2.1

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Day D, hour H, and second C were getting closer and closer, and there was less and less time left, but Stepan chose to simply sleep through the last half of the day before the final part of the operation to create a highly secret long-distance portal. There was nothing more to be done, but it was quite possible to tire and exhaust himself, even despite his impressive magical abilities. And during the pairing ritual, even the smallest mistake would be enough to ruin everything he had planned, just like that horned monster had almost ruined it for him.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:09

So Stepan asked to leave work early, since he had the right to do so, having accumulated free time by meekly accepting extra shifts to recharge his amulets, and then went into town. There, finding his favorite spot on top of a partially destroyed building, he opened a jug of light cider bought at a convenience store and silently drank it all in one go. The main reason for drinking alcohol in proud solitude was, of course, the need to calm his nerves and relieve his migraine. But partly it was in preparation for what was to come — this cider had other properties that significantly increased the plasticity of spiritual bodies and their resistance to many secondary harmful effects of overexertion.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:12

He would definitely have to overexert himself. There was no doubt about that. Even if the future task was assessed as optimistically as possible. Everything was assessed more from a pessimistic point of view. His successfully developed professional paranoia was having an effect. A shaman can afford to be anything he wants, but not careless; otherwise, his fate is sealed. Singha, by the way, felt the same way, and when she wasn't in her favorite “dumb, cocky, hysterical mare” mode, she demonstrated a very good level of competence. Now she, like Stepan, is resting and relaxing with Maego. They have completed their preparations, planned a window in their busy work schedule, and prepared a cover story in case they drop out of the world for a couple of weeks due to exhaustion.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:18

The forces remaining in Dantmark were also working well. His unfortunate student was gradually acquiring a degree of independence and responsibility, or simply learning to hide her mistakes better. Sylvia and her nest continued their dance of pouring from empty to empty, while the lovely de Fell still pressed down on the bloodsucker, trying to lasso her into a not particularly comfortable spiked collar. She stung, pressed, cut off any diplomatic solution, directly showing that she would either have to leave the city or allow herself to be put in that very collar. She was pushing, so to speak, for her to choose the collar herself, remove the spikes, and add a fur lining while she still had the chance. Initially skeptical, Sylvia gradually realized that she was being driven into a corner, no matter how much she wanted the opposite.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:21

Her old contacts were either unable to help or offered only token sympathy. Her new allies turned away or returned her deposit, and the paid assistance or protection amounted to nothing more than offering her the chance to choose her own collar, bargaining for as much as she could. And there was still the opportunity to reap some personal gain. The Lords of the Dead North were far away, but de Dantrel was very close. In a different situation, the bloodsucker might have tried to play such games only in the complete absence of other alternatives, but she would surely have preferred to flee, leaving behind and preserving everything she could not take with her. The lords are far away, but their reach is much longer than that of the conceited de Fell. But now she is stalling for time, waiting for her “favorite pet” to make a decision, yeah. Maybe she'll even decide to reward the Pet and sit on his face.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:26

The shaman sighed gloomily and admitted that once the twin cave was finished, uniting the two free cities into a single network, he would eventually have to deal with de Fell. She was acting too fast. He wanted to hope that Her Milfness would throw in one of her debt assignments on this matter. The fact that he was even considering such an option made him feel painfully ashamed, because he himself was willing to bow to Automilf's jokes. In general, his mood gradually became minor, melancholic, and even gloomy, but he forced himself to chase these thoughts away, forcing himself to focus his energy on tomorrow's event, forcing himself to be confident in tomorrow.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:29

So when the moment of truth arrived, he was already composed, ready, calm, and literally radiating an aura of unshakable confidence. Officially, he wasn't even on the premises, so they met underground, in the very cave they had created together by expanding a small cavity in the rock. The super-gravel from the bottle had already been poured out, crushed, and used up, and its power permeated the place, changing its spiritual reflection. In the eyes of Maega, leaning against the wall of the cave, all the pain of the steppe people was visible, but she recognized her ally's right to dispose of his resources as he saw fit, no matter how wasteful such an approach seemed to her at first, second, and hundredth glance.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:40

Officially, both she and Singha, standing next to her, are now in their white yurt (also known as the White Yurt), performing a ritual to alleviate the anti-harvest curse of an overly nimble distant relative. Purchased through the system and refined by mother and daughter, the large disposable totem can serve as a decoy, a resonator, and a transmitter, allowing all three to be present here. No one is particularly excited or apprehensive. Their oaths are strong enough that they do not fear betrayal, and they have already had time to communicate, get to know each other, and understand each other. The joint chanting of powerful shamans involuntarily reveals not so much their thoughts as their character and essence. It's not that Stepan didn't know a dozen ways to fake such an impression and get into the head of his “ally,” but still, the effect was there.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:43

The same bag of salt that needs to be eaten together, only crammed into a few weeks of mutual alliance. They did not become friends until death and did not recognize loyalty to each other, but at least they no longer feared stupid betrayal, not in a case where all parties have their own interests and betrayal is unnecessary for any of the parties. And the oaths, again, had not gone anywhere, giving them all the opportunity to show such a valuable thing as limited trust. And yet, he would not be able to break the ice completely anytime soon, due to the same joint shamanism — it was difficult to trust a mentalist of his rank, and it was very difficult to hide his specialization in such conditions.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:55

Stepan didn't try at all, and not because he's such an honest guy.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 08:56

Not only for this reason.

Camrad_RIP 10.11.25 в 08:50

"Everything is ready." It's not a question, but a statement of fact, coming from Maega, who is currently more nervous than both System bearers, but certainly has no intention of backing down. "It's time. To begin."

Camrad_RIP 10.11.25 в 08:51

Singha silently stands on the line drawn for her, taking her position. Then they begin to call, when all together, when each one calls something of their own, one by one. Before calling the main guests, it is necessary to properly strengthen the foundation, the very basis of the coming call. And this is what they are doing now, completing what they began many days and weeks before the main act. The spirits summoned in advance crawl out of the totems and contract anchors, the totems take their designated places, break away, creating the spiritual body of the Call, the wonderful melody of throat singing merges together, witchcraft spells flow from Stepan's fingers, soaking into the slightly damp stone of the walls and floor.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:01

The wind whistles, summoned by mother and daughter. Today, one of the highest-ranking guests has windy qualities and aspects, even if only partially, so support from the winds will not hurt. Every call comes incredibly easily; the spirits themselves fawn, strive to please, and listen to every command of the shamans. Such is the nature of the spent super-rubble, a unique reagent that is priceless, for no one would set such a price to sell something like this. Those calls, those appeals, which even with all the preparation would have taken weeks, days, and hours, are completed in hours, minutes, and seconds, without the slightest resistance. First and foremost, there is no resistance from reality and the basic nature of the spirits, against which they would be powerless to come.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:04

The spirit, which cannot be summoned quickly because slowness is one of its aspects, should manifest itself slowly and gradually, hour after hour, passing from the higher spheres into the despicable reality. Instead, it materialized immediately, like a cork from a bottle of sparkling wine flying into the darkness of a cave, without disintegrating in the process, without receiving wounds, without hating the one who pulled it out against its will and the laws of its own nature. A swarm of gnats, from the insectoid and animal spheres at once, capable of influencing the boundary between Reality and the Spheres, distorting space with their influence. They all come at once, all one hundred and one beetle-butterflies, although they should only be summoned one at a time, one after another in strict order, which cannot be broken, or they will take their toll in nightmarish dreams, in the shaman's own voice, forever depriving him of any form of spoken language.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:07

There are dozens of such examples, soon to reach a hundred—the spirits obey, the spirits listen, and in the heart of every shaman, an incredible sense of self-satisfaction from the feeling of their own power involuntarily matures. There is nothing to be done about it; it is simply impossible not to experience this feeling when you see the very basics of the call ceremony crumbling at your will! It's much easier for Stepan. Thanks to the System, he has long been accustomed to the fact that the impossible is possible, and not so long ago, he was a simple, ungifted person who could not see the difference between simple magic and an almost miracle. Singha, too, had grown accustomed over the past few months to all sorts of unimaginable crap happening around her, and she could do it too, because she had access to the Tablets of the Soul, even if it was only guest access.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:29

But Maega keeps going only because of his experience and extreme self-control, refusing to relax and believe in her omnipotence. Because spirits are submissive and obedient, but they still don't forgive mistakes, and the first mistake will lead to the need to check the strength of protective amulets and shields. Some creatures are simply unable to go against their nature, unable to resist stinging when they see an opportunity. And sometimes attack just because, go fuck yourself. Every day, Stepan becomes more and more suspicious that the author of the earthly tale about the scorpion crossing the river was well-versed in shamanism. The first mistake is made not by Maega but by Singha. It's not a mistake, just one of the entities summoned and controlled by her decided that it was okay to disobey, eat its own and others' offerings, grab some power, and make a quick getaway, because there are so many entities here, so many points of attention, that the shamans definitely won't notice.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:35

They didn't even notice. They received a warning from the guardian spirits after the fact, when a ghostly pigeon, squealing with a human child's voice, was torn to pieces by flying maws with eyes. And apart from those maws and eyes, they had nothing else; they needed nothing else. A special contract exclusively for benevolent spirits, which was found in the system knowledge of Singha, who had recently developed this specialty of summoning. They attacked only those who had broken their oaths and promises, only to protect the interests of the summoner, and only in real time. These were not the most surprising properties; Stepan had a bunch of analogues that were easier to summon and less arrogant.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:40

But this particular pack had a certain subtlety of presence that made them like maws with eyes that took up no space, had no effect, and did not even change the background around them. Therefore, they can freely roam the spiritual reflection of the pandemonium, attacking this or that cunning traitor spirit without introducing dissonance or undermining the elements of the upcoming ritual of invocation. The earthling himself has similar appeals at his disposal - heavy artillery and rapid response units, but Singh's pack has also come in handy. So much so that at this stage, they are playing first fiddle, while Stepan's forces are still waiting in reserve.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 09:45

But the preparations are gradually coming to an end. Almost one and a half hundred minor spirits summoned by Stepan alone have already arrived, not counting the nearly one hundred from his allies. Among these flocks are truly unique, rare specialists with an incredibly synergistic set of aspects and spheres. There are such unique entities among his summons and among the results of Singha's call, which is still a little overwhelmed by the scale of systemic knowledge and the ancestral contracts of their entire clan, nurtured and cherished by generations. Strong spirits are already arriving, much more specialized, but still busy only with preparing the groundwork and coordinating their younger brethren.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:04

Reality no longer trembles, stretched thin like a film. It now resembles a sieve with numerous stable holes. Gradually, the cave is being absorbed more and more by the spiritual world, almost merging with it, with the lion's share of calls providing camouflage and deception for the city's scanning signatures. And only when the entire system freezes in a precarious balance, when all the pawns are in position, and the two elders and nearly a dozen strong spirits help keep the call pattern in balance, simultaneously cutting it off from the rest of reality, concealing and hiding the trio of shamans, do they move on to the final chord.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:06

By this point, the three of them are standing in an equilateral triangle, barefoot and extremely tense. Covered in patterns painted with a special paint, Stepan, surrounded by a halo of specific dolls-envoltes, each of which covers a separate part of the aura or spiritual body, breathes like a horse being driven. It is difficult for him, but he is still standing and does not even think of fainting, although not long ago, such a load would have killed him. He is dressed only in short cloth shorts, which could be called a local analogue of family underpants, but he is still the most respectably dressed individual here.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:09

Maega and Singha are dressed only in their amulets, bracelets, necklaces, feathers, and painted patterns, which in other circumstances would make the shaman feel somewhat uncomfortable. But now, when he has left his body, hanging above himself and controlling himself as if he were a puppet, he has no time for the charms of others or thoughts about how he will look Urvag in the eye afterwards. They all swayed in an intricate rhythm, sometimes bending in ways that would have broken a normal person's bones, but they were fine; their joints were filled with spirit, providing elasticity, and a couple of spirits supported their bodies so that they would not fall on the stone during particularly epic-epileptic gymnastic tricks.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:11

In reality, none of the trio is actually present in the body; their bodies simply move along with the flow of spiritual currents, like rags in the wind, which is why their movements are synchronously asynchronous — the currents are the same, affecting one, affecting the others, but each slightly differently. The shamans hover above the bodies and continue to call, formulate the call, describe the task, and receive the corresponding images. The images, whose weight is comparable only to their unnaturalness — the higher spirits invoked right now, even though they are completely bound by contract, even without wanting to cause harm, can send an average shaman to the loony bin or the graveyard with a single package of images. The fact that the three of them are not in the loony bin or in the grave is the clearest evidence of their skill, courage, mastery, and debility, which in itself was a ticket to the mental hospital, if such a thing existed here at all.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:13

Here, their bodies begin to walk in a circle, stepping barefoot directly on the smooth stone floor, covered with numerous holes the size of chicken eggs, like honeycombs. Or, to put it another way, a triphobe's nightmare. Each of these holes is not just an opening, but a natural tube several hundred meters deep, with a spatial anomaly hidden at the bottom, separate for each tube, making it completely bottomless right here and now. Like holes made by an incredibly long needle held in the hands of an impartial and merciless shoemaker. And with each step of the three empty bodies, with each expression of will of the three shamans who have left their bodies, these pipes begin to whistle, begin to scream, begin to sing.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:18

Another set of pure airy steppe spirits, which would never have come to this cave of their own free will, but the super-rubble has changed all the usual rules again. And the wind plays a melody of an intricate nocturne on a flute of stone pipes, only not gutter pipes, as in Mayakovsky's old poem. Every step, every moment, every breath, and its action are echoed by another note, creating a parallel, mirror-like call that literally doubles the original idea. Twice as powerful calls, twice as strong a connection, twice as powerful a chant! The initially insane cacophony gradually acquires completeness; the unearthly beauty of that melody drives one mad, deprives one of reason, and all three bodies temporarily fall deaf.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:20

This sound, amplified by a series of shamanic witchcraft spells, is not dangerous to them, but why test it, why complicate your life? Their bodies are deaf, their auditory nerves temporarily disconnected, and a pure spirit can much more easily endure the madness of this melody. Involuntarily, a question flashes through Stepan's exposed mind: would Sylvia like such a melody? She also has a strong mind, and she herself is a big fan of such psychedelic musical agony, so she might appreciate it. A silly thought at a completely inappropriate time, but given his functioning ++“multiple consciousness,” even in the most tense moments, he sometimes managed to think something completely stupid and inappropriate.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:22

And the melody sounds, their long and drawn-out call sounds, camouflage, balance, and the preparation of three personal window platforms for summoning three different higher spirits merging. This was, without exaggeration, the limit of what two powerful masters could do, one of whom surpassed most magisters in arsenal and knowledge, and a very powerful adept who had come close to the master. Even with the System, it was still the limit, and without it, there was no point in even starting, except for the purpose of killing oneself, possibly along with a bunch of innocent people. The power of the call is such that it is very difficult to hide, and the power of those who responded to the call makes the task completely impossible. That is why they do not hide. Now, quite clear and recognizable spiritual signatures are emanating from the totem in the white yurt, indicating a very powerful call in the center of the city.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:25

This is a prearranged call intended for a perfectly ordinary purpose, nothing surprising, even if you look closely. Somewhere not so far from Morgrave, above the numerous fields of a large latifundia, several powerful spirits are approaching the edge of reality, as well as one elder spirit, even though it hardly manifests itself. These spirits methodically and calmly eat away at the very essence of the curse on this latifundia, killing weeds and pests, further strengthening the blessings on the fields and reinforcing the protective charms, as well as taking care of the harvest of a very stupid and undeserving scummer merchant.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:30

To put it mildly, it was overkill in every respect. A third of the power sent there would have been enough to confidently fulfill the order. But they needed to create a backdrop - a loud echo of the created commotion, behind which the real purpose of the whole idea would be hidden. And so the despicable scummer, who decided to cheat his partners, was incredibly lucky. Urvag is also a hero in this story; he managed to create a multi-layered and completely true legend, casually “allowing” himself to be drawn into a verbal argument that his beloved wife would leave no trace of this curse, and in one go, rather than several consecutive ones, as would have been easier and more logical. That he is so cool that right now he'll snap his fingers and his beloved won't deny him anything, yeah.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:35

According to him, the worst part was vomiting after that dinner party, because he voluntarily drank a very nasty alchemical concoction bought through Stepan's Store, which allowed him to display all the physical and aural signs of intoxication while remaining completely sober. He and Maega even demonstratively quarreled when his beloved wife “understood” that now, for the sake of her husband's reputation, she had to not only save the harvest, but also show superclass and create that very overkill. This bugger even managed to provoke his old enemy into bypassing all his vows to his guests and slipping in a special wine instead of the usual one, one that was spiced, loosened the tongue, and inspired a certain frivolity.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:38

As a result, those very same ill-wishers of the second man in the de Lomer household found themselves in an awkward position, even though they managed to slightly embarrass their long-time enemy. The most important thing is that those guys will not be invited to the next dinner party at that very house, because they were caught red-handed. Urvag himself, of course, “did not recognize” them, and no one rushed to “tell” him, in order to avoid a scandal, but those who liked to spice up their wine were thoroughly discredited. Even if the hosts of the dinner party secretly appreciated the opportunity to dip Urvag himself in shit. They appreciated it and eagerly awaited the fizzle that his overly loud drunken words would turn into.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 11:41

Instead of a fizzle, there was a great thunderclap. Maega showed her class again, together with her daughter, of course, and Urvag confirmed his reputation as a henpecked husband, but one capable of convincing a “crazy steppe bitch” of anything. You can imagine for yourself how flexible his persuasion skills are when it comes to all sorts of vulgar jokes. It is clear that the power of the call went somewhat beyond what was permitted, which is why the House of de Lomer will have to pay a formal fine and then informally render a service to the House of de Mont Ros to make up for it. But the whole city, including the duke's secret service, knew perfectly well, observed, and confirmed the direction of that very call. The wife saved her husband's reputation and will surely pick his brain with a dessert spoon later, so they can laugh behind the scenes for a couple more months, even though they are consumed with fierce envy — they don't have a wife like that.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 12:22

A perfectly staged and brilliantly executed scene that will finally bury any chance of being exposed. Well, unless the shamans slip up and conduct the call according to the original plan. And they won't slip up. They have no right to. Otherwise, the de Lomer family will have legitimate questions. It is then that Urvag will inevitably reveal the story of the particularly intoxicating wine, which he was tricked into praising himself and his wife excessively.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 12:24

And everyone will be looking not for de Lomer's guilt, although they will also be thoroughly investigated, but for those who framed Urvag in order to create background noise for their own ritual. Because Maega and Singha, of course, had no part in that secret call. And anyway, are you out of your mind? What other call underground, if his beloved wife and daughter are connected with the winds of the steppe and the free birds of the sky? Every dog in Morgaf and every mare in the steppe have known this for a long time!

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 12:28

To be honest, watching Urvag do his thing from the sidelines, I couldn't help but feel a mix of respect and fear. He is not a mage, not even gifted, if you don't count his minimal ability to use amulets and contract anchors, but he has much more intelligence and cunning than Maega, for example. She is very smart, but she is used to being direct and sharp, like a storm wind or a steppe hurricane. All her life, she could afford to be that way, seeing no reason to change and bow down to anyone who wasn't at least a strong senior spirit. But her husband, yes, he gets what he wants with his mind and deep planning. In short, he is not the kind of person you would want to quarrel with over trifles. And even over something that is not a trifle, you would think twice about whether it is worth starting a quarrel at all.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 12:32

Thoughts continued to swirl in his head, but the shaman's main focus was strictly on the main task: completing the call. As in the case of summoning the agricultural spirits, everything here happens so quickly and rapidly that it's simply mind-boggling. In an instant, the cries of the hellish flutes beneath his feet take on a particularly nasty note, embodying in the underground hall the Breeze of the Underworld, which influences, influences, influences the very space of this place. This spirit is everywhere and nowhere, it is not expressed in any way, it is even difficult to see with magical or spiritual vision - invisibility is one of its aspects and trump cards. But the One-in-Two is very noticeable in its presence, and its visibility is surprisingly familiar, so much so that you can't tell the difference.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 12:46

There it is, just as it is, a shapeless mass of gray smoke, constantly shimmering like a mirror, and a moment later it is no longer just itself, but another ++Door Opener, exactly the same as the one that remained under the stones of Dantmark. Identical, without the slightest difference, so identical that they are literally the same supreme spirit, only in two places at once. At that very moment, the Breeze finishes its work, and the bottomless pipes of the devil's flute underfoot reach Dantmark, each of them being another miniature and completely indistinguishable portal. The two spirits become one, connected here and there, merging into one, and the distance connected by the omnipresent Breeze, which plays equally joyfully in any Underworld, is despised, forgotten, and trampled upon.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 12:48

It is difficult to describe in spiritual terms, but let's say it's something like the sound of a titanic elastic band from underpants, which had been stretched until now, but then it was released and slapped against an equally titanic buttock. The image couldn't be any duller, but it was the closest to what Stepan perceived, exhaling hoarsely with his real body, into which he was literally pushed by the reverse thrust. Two-thirds of the dolls, created specifically to take the recoil, burn up in a multicolored fire, while the rest, left to their own devices, decay into dust, having exhausted their available resources.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:01

He didn't even have to use his restorative meta-skills. Although he did use up the charge on his general enhancement token, temporarily boosting his stats. He also used the first level of enhancement from the modified Autogoddes meta-skill. Even if it was at the end. So that there would be no rollback in the form of a debuff, and even more so, no perversions or other plays with probability. The whole process of preparation and call in four hours of “free” enhancement could not be completed, but the final stage took only a few minutes, which is why "the gift of a small temporary enhancement of attributes in the name of Liarat si Merinal, Mistress of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innelas Innelay" proved to be a very useful aid. He checked four times to make sure he hadn't forgotten to turn it off when the call was finished and hadn't accidentally activated the second level of enhancement, which was perverted.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:06

Maega and Singha also settle down on the stone floor of the underground cave, which is changing before their eyes. They didn't have any envolts, it wasn't their specialty, and letting Stepan make their dolls... well, that's not the level of trust they've achieved. They managed anyway, although a whole range of totems, amulets, and rare talismans purchased through the system store also burned up, and most of the trinkets were literally blown off their bodies. And the paint seemed to fade instantly, the patterns disappeared as if they had never been there — the images and likenesses of the shamans' spiritual bodies also took the rollback upon themselves and took it to the very bottom of the High Spheres.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:09

For the next couple of days, they will sleep only under the influence of a dreamless potion, and under the supervision of loyal servants who will wake the shamans if they start talking in their sleep. Who knows what might come to them across the bridge they unwittingly built, using the vanished pattern as a transmitter. In principle, they had already done this before, an old family contract, but they had never accepted such a powerful kickback on it before. That is why they will protect their dreams from all kinds of rubbish for two or even three days, not just one night.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:11

Meanwhile, the surrounding cave has finally merged with the refuge beneath Dantmark, and the supreme spirit of the camouflage-spatial type easily absorbs the echoes of the completed ritual. It absorbed, entangled in the labyrinths of its darkness, distorted and distributed throughout the city so that no light would escape. Sylvia Malter, who had been present in the dungeon until the end, holding a resonator box in her hands to make it easier for the Wind to find her signal, successfully returned to her mansion without being seen by anyone. In another moment, hundreds of spirits, spells, closed fields of territorial influence, and totemic structures covered everything around them. Now the shaman was at home, in his place of power, which his guests could not help but feel.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:13

Yes, he had warned all his spirits in advance, forbidding them to attack or be aggressive, but it is difficult, very difficult to remain completely calm when suddenly such a crowd is staring at you, staring from totems, signs on the walls, from the stone altar totem base. The strong and the elders are watching, in large numbers and constantly present here, already here, and not just echoing the right to summon them. The White Yurt is a scary place, but Stepan's underground apartments are not inferior to it in terms of protection and the entities present here, or are not too inferior. In some respects, it even surpasses it, and the list of those aspects is extremely broad.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:18

"We did it, congratulations," he croaks through a dry throat, feeling streams of power, blessings, and healing effects flowing into his body, spirit, and aura. "I can order you to be nourished if you don't consider this an attack."

Camrad_RIP 10.11.25 в 08:53

"Ar-mash lan gulkhra-balat-uk!" Maega breathed back, her voice now croaking like the honorary crow of the entire henhouse, expressing a mixture of emotions, mostly positive, even if her first words had been nothing but expletives. "I don't believe it! But we did it! You were right, Pann! I admit you were right!"

Camrad_RIP 10.11.25 в 08:54

Well, she didn't fully admit it; she still thinks that the gravel could have been spared, but she doesn't say it out loud and hides her thoughts, just not well enough for someone in his place. And yet she is satisfied, very satisfied, because such a call, a triple call of the highest spirit, not counting the nearly dozen elders, the pile of strong ones, and the many small ones, is very valuable in itself. Those very marks on her spiritual body, which will now become noticeably stronger and more powerful, will inspire more fear and respect in the entities she summons. And simply the experience of working with such rare spirits, incredible reagents, and a common goal is already a lot for a truly gifted person who strives for knowledge and power.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 13:45

"Oh, alat-uk-mash..." Singha, despite the presence of the Tablet, endured the ritual harder than her mother; she doesn't have the strength yet, but she also sounds quite cheerful and calm. "I still prefer to get some sleep. In my native place. The center of my and my mother's strength. I really want to see it. Your house. But if I stay, Father will worry."

Camrad_RIP 10.11.25 в 08:56

Yes, he understood that, yes, yes, smiling in response to Singha's equally sly smile, while Maega grimaced in annoyance. Despite her vows, she would not allow her daughter to remain in this place, in the heart of Stepan's power. She had not weakened or lost her fortitude, not in the lair of the one whose aura and spirit she had seen in action. It would be impossible to hide the very specific marks on that very spirit, as well as her rather distinctive ability to conduct spiritual dialogue. Oaths are oaths, but she would not abandon her daughter to the embrace of a charmer-suggestor of his level, even if one disregarded his basic level as a shaman in general.

Camrad_RIP 09.11.25 в 21:37

"Then, at least until the day after tomorrow, my dears, I'm going to bed." His words are true and honest because the fatigue is simply utterly overwhelming; it's enough to knock him unconscious. He should be afraid to stay in the same room with Maega. "In the eyes of everyone at the estate, your worker Stae has irresponsibly disappeared without a trace. He's probably gone on a drinking binge, the bastard. And yes, here's my advice. I'm sure the Tablet has given you something good for your achievements, just as I've also benefited from its generosity. So, listen to me and don't consciously reach for the gift until you come to your senses. Otherwise, you'll be out for a week."

Camrad_RIP 10.11.25 в 09:00