I shake my head, Romka is a good guy but I don't need such sacrifice.

– If possible… I'd like to ask you for a different thing…

– Whatever you need!

– I'll have to flee, to tangle my traces. I don't want to use hotels… if it'd be possible to stay at your place for a couple of months, until the noise calms down…

I don't know myself why do I ask for that. Maybe I just don't want to leave the Deep completely? To be able to watch the virtual world at least through Romka's eyes? To feel the electronic pulse, to swallow information…

– I won't be a burden… – I add.

But looking at Romka's face I understand that the offer didn't pass.

– No.

– Sorry. – I shrug, – I understand.

We fear each other anyway, it's easier for us to sacrifice huge money and to calm our conscience with that than to disclose who we are.

– You don't understand a thing… – mumbles Romka, – Do you want me to give you my real address? A city, a street, a house?

– No.

– I really can't receive you, – he averts his look, – These are… family problems.

We build palaces for ourselves in the Deep, but what about the real world?

For instance, I can accept guests despite the size of my apartment, but what if for the one of the same size Romka has a wife, mother in law and three snotty kids?

– Understood, – I put my hand on his shoulder, – I really understand, no offence.

But Romka looks past me anyway.

– I should go, – I say.

– Will you be at the meeting?

– Sure.

– And where are you going now?

It's a great temptation to keep mysterious silence and this surely would be the most reasonable choice, but I reply anyway:

– To scare the Elves a little. I need to go, Romka. See you.

When I leave "Three Piglets", he takes one more glass of vodka. Lord, this is atrocious! Or is he such a strong diver that doesn't feel intoxicated of so much alcohol?

Role-players don't advertise themselves much. There are exceptions like "Elvish Meadows" but this is more of a tourist attraction where the fairy tales' characters earn their living… or rather money to pay electricity and phone bills to be exact.

The server where Lorien is built belongs to somebody in Russia, this is all that I could find out without breaking laws, and the company that hangs there is mostly Russian– speaking. Of course I could drop by there as a tourist too, but who knows how this would end? This is just like if a Christian would arrive to Mecca and immediately drag himself to see the Black Rock in boots, hat and with a golden plated cross on the chest.

No, I'd better be a newbie who read too much Tolkien, Howard, Perumov and all those others who paid their tribute to the romantics of swords and dragons!

I get out of the cab by the shabby two floor lopsided wreck. I must admit that the squalor of the building is done well, it's much harder to imitate poverty and desolation than wealth and splendor.

The whole street here doesn't shock with beauty though: some blind buildings, warehouses, offices closed until better times. Role-players don't like noise. Vika isn't here for some reason, just some Elf hangs about the entrance: a fragile golden-haired creature of vague gender and age, dressed in light-green tights and darker jacket, a bow and a quiver with arrows is behind Elf's back.

I stop by the door and wait. The Elf squints his eyes at me, then takes a cigarette and lighter from the bosom. He inhales then releases a cloud of smoke. Smoking Elf isn't a look for the weak nerved person: looks like he would die after the very first inhalation, illustrating the harm nicotine might cause… Geez!

– Vi… – I start and cut off, what if it isn't her?

– Vi-vi! – says the Elf cheerfully, – Both Vi and Mi… Lenia?

The voice is changed too, must be a sound correction program. It looks as if Robertino Loretti have got into virtuality somehow.

– You? – I ask just in case.

Vika understands my doubts.

– Hobbit isn't only costly fur! – she informs joyfully, – Recognized me?

– Why the Elf?

– We're on their territory after all, it'll be safer.

– And what's your name?

– MacKerel.

– What?!

– A nice Elvish name. I'm from the Scottish Elves.

I get a slight suspicion that Vika also got a use of something 'cheering up'.

– So… who are you, he or she?

– I didn't draw the details, didn't have time for that, – declares Vika-MacKerel carelessly, – We'll act according to situation.

It's stupid to hang by the building any longer and we enter. A narrow dark corridor, the walls covered by some sort of graffiti of a battle genre. A white shining glows at the end of the corridor, a human figure can be guessed vaguely behind it.

– Who are you? – we are called.

– We heard the summons of fair Legolas and came to help! – I shout.

– Stay where you are! What are your names?

– MacKerel of the fair Loch Ness Elves! – declares Vika.

– Elenium the Healer, from the country of Tranquilia! { Elenium – a tranquilizer drug } Vika elbows me under my ribs but nothing can be done – the name is already invented and told.

The man that hides behind the shining, thinks.

– Did you come together?

– Yes, – answers Vika. She takes the leadership and I'm glad, I'm not in the best mood now to play the fool thoughtfully and seriously.

– And what could befriend the fair Elf and the human healer?

– In a fight with the Orcs I was treacherously wounded with a yew arrow! – exclaims Vika. She still avoids defining her gender. – If it wasn't for the magic powers of Elenium, you wouldn't see me now stranger!

I stand there with a stony straight mug but it takes a great effort.

– What will you say Elenium?

– A gang of foul Dwarves, formed in a hird… – I remember the tale of the little hobbit, – treacherously attacked me! If it wasn't for MacKerel's bravery, I'd…. I'd…

I don't know how to finish and just cover my face with both hands. Silent laughter sounds very much like crying.

The glow gives way and the old man steps into the corridor. His moves are so abrupt and the voice is so young that he doesn't fit for more than 20.

– I'm glad to welcome the brave Elf and his… her… – he hesitates, – his wise healer friend! You're safe now!

– Thanks, – I whisper.

– You, wise Elenium, get 10 points of skill, five of stamina and five – of strength, – informs the old guy, – As for you… errr… MacKerel… you get 10 points of skill, 10 of stamina, 10 of strength and 10 – of bravery.

– Hey, why was I left without bravery? – I say with indignation.

– Tears don't fit men! – proclaims the old man grandly, but MacKerel backs me up using the obvious fact that the gatekeeper sympathizes him… or her.

– Elenium cries his bitter tears in the memory of his older brother Seduksen who perished by foul Dwarves' paws! { Seduksen – another tranquilizer } Oy, I think Vika overplays…

Luckily, the young old guy either doesn't know pharmacology or has a sense of humor.

– Okay, you'll get 5 points of bravery, – he decides generously. – Thus, enter the fair city of Lorien and gather your strength before the final battle!

Obeying to his gesture, we enter the shining and discover a massive iron door at the end of the corridor.

– Seduksen the older brother you say? – I whisper standing behind Vika's back.

– Oh come on, don't be mad…

Then we enter the streets of Lorien.

I stand there for a couple of minutes, looking around. Damned, it's really beautiful!

Giant trees with snow-white rind, dark green and crimson gold of the foliage. Paths paved with white stone. Some kinds of platforms and dwellings are built in the trees, connected with wooden stairs.

– Nice work, – comments Vika professionally, – Fine fellows, to build all this just of pure enthusiasm…