In a grim recitative, the last spell sounded. The Dark One lifted up his hands and howled: “In the names of the Garbageman and the World-Giver I conjure: Come, Messenger of the Order of the Paladins!” The chalk pentagram lines on the floor flashed dazzling yellow, then faded. He fell thick brown smoke, materialized in a two-meter frightening figure. Paladin turned out to be a bright blue color, with a famously twisted mustache and in old smot. With the joy of the guest, you could score medium-sized piles. Paladin hoarsely coughed up and spoke with the otherworldly baritone:
- You called me, Dark One, and I came. I will fulfill your wishes in exchange for your imprisonment in Chaos. After this statement, the guest sneezed loudly, murmured to the side something like “do you shit...” and thunderously concluded:
Think and repent, Dark One! - You change clothes first, the Dark One churned wearily, we are in the Age. The armor of the owner was Paladin not in level. I had to be satisfied with the merchant's shirt. Confusedly looking at the new thing, the messenger Paladinov in an ordinary voice asked:
- What do you want? You know, I'm not a paladin at the top -- middle level, so to speak. About the check, there, or art "for free" - this is not for me. “Step in the kitchen,” the Dark One imperiously threw. In the kitchen there was a set table: two bottles of cognac, shaven lemon, canned salmon and a bowl of Korean salads mixed. The guest was surprised to examine the serving and loudly swallowed.
- “Sit down, cruciferous,” said the Dark One. - I don't want anything. Drinking, sometimes with no one. I'm lonely...
- We understand this, Paladin sympathetically said, moving his stool closer to the table. Half an hour later, the drinkers called each other “brother” and “friend”. The magician, burning up, told about his ex-wife. Drinking, not well mentioning prodigal women. Paladin took out a worn purse from somewhere and showed his drinking companion a photo of three cute little Paladins. Drinking to the kids.
“Listen,” the owner suddenly asked, when the first bottle showed the bottom, “can you do good?” That's what would not be in the service or inclination, but just so? - What is good, Bratello, but not the reverse part of evil? answered the already pretty hung Paladin. The next two hours were devoted to good deeds. With Paladin’s efforts, they added five additional stats and five hundred credits to the nubasik, awarded the first in the Top a lack of luck, sent all players a hearty dinner of four sandwiches, fludanuli on the forum and increased the average yield of the experience in the chaotas to three hundred percent. In addition, the ragged paladin on his own initiative organized that in all battles there were no injuries, and tried to resurrect the format of the Jeweler. The owner, an adherent of the classic BC, persuaded Paladin to bring old new arts to the Berezka. When asked to make the bots in the lab and BE “better”, the guest shrugged his shoulders and admitted that the bots are engaged in General Infernal Evil, to which his competence does not extend. The same inaccessible department, as it turned out, ensured the absence of a sufficient number of passes in the BE, tavern and bookmaker bets.
The final chord was a petty revenge on the extra-clan artnik: Paladin made his art damage comparable to a knife and fixed the position of the block strike forever. After the second bottle, it was the turn of the Dark One. At Paladin's request, he began to knock on the privates of the higher ranks of the Paladins and distract them from their work. When the Paladins responded, the Dark One, giggling vilely, said, “Sorry, I made a mistake in private,” and erased the chat. Fellows did not deny themselves the pleasure of watching the torments of the first Apniki on levels 8 and 9, they fought like a fish on the ice, but could not pass the quest of a blacksmith for 20 teeth. The pioneers wrinkled squeamishly and sharpened a tear from their own whining on a forum about steering classes. Someone ate the quest sandwiches from the Tavern, for which he took clothes, HP fell, dressed clothes, ate a sandwich, again shot clothes singing “I like that muved, muved.”
At the Paladinov hall, at the table, under the sign “Vrkhovny” there was no one, but the office was already furnished with graceful scrolls with Laws within the walls and a stool with buttons, so that the Supreme would more actively “move”. The morning caught my friends tired but satisfied. They shook each other’s hands for a long time, hugged each other and said the felt words. After that, Paladin hid in the Hall of Light, where the Dark One barely managed to slip a tin with beer on a hangover. Having escorted the guest, the Dark One, staggering, reached the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.
Light. Sleeping happy nubas with five stats and credits. The artniks were uneasy. Sleeping well-fed players fed sandwiches. On the internet, they continued to slow down.

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Great