Pengantar Psikologi Klinis

by Suprapti Sumarmo Markam

  That made sense, too. The dungeon adapted to the difficulty level of the average of all the players, so you didn’t want four Level 5’s going in with a Level 100 player and having him one-shot all the Level 24 monsters.

  For one, what the hell kind of fun would that be? After the first ‘shooting fish in a barrel’ romp, it would be boring as hell.

  For another, dungeons would just be gold-spewing ATMs – easy loot for no work. It would mean a Level 14 Warlock who owed massive amounts of gold to gangsters could just stroll through a dungeon with a high-leveled player and pick coins off the ground at will, allowing said Level 14 Warlock to easily extricate himself from his potentially life-threatening predicament.

  And that would make life too damn easy, and we couldn’t have that.

  OH no.

  The 5-person/10-level rule was one reason that friends gamed in a group. If you had five people at the same level questing together, they could automatically enter any dungeon they wanted. They could also level up at the same time, so dungeons could be matched more exactly to their playing level. After all, a Level 15 player who’s dungeon diving with four Level 24’s is going to have a hell of a rough time, because the average monster is going to be a Level 22. And a Level 50 player who goes in with four 41’s is probably in for a pretty boring raid.

  But the 5-10 rule wasn’t a hindrance to solo adventurers, just mildly inconvenient. There were always dozens of different-level players hanging around outside dungeons, so you just had to wait around long enough until people near your Level showed up. The computer actually helped you out by alerting you to players in your vicinity who needed folks to round out their five-person roster.

  I figured I could get inside the dungeon numerous times a day and only have to wait 30 minutes at most between sessions.

  Nice.

  “Well, that’s good news,” I told Meera – and it was. I was the happiest I’d been since I woke up.

  “I will go with you,” she offered excitedly.

  “No offense, but if you couldn’t fight off three demons last night, I don’t think you’re going to be much help in a dungeon.”

  Meera became indignant. “I am not allowed to take my sword into the temple, so I left it at home. Otherwise I would have made short work of those demons.”

  I’ll admit it: I entered Condescending Mode. “Yeah, that’s nice you’ve got a butter knife or something, but – ”

  She pulled out a sword handle from the folds of her robes. It was a golden hilt with an elaborately carved guard, grip, and pommel – but no blade. I was about to make a joke about her not even having a butter knife when she activated the sword.

  FWOOOOSH.

  A three-foot-long blade of crackling flames shot out from the handle, just like a lightsaber. Well, a fiery lightsaber wielded by an angel instead of a Jedi.

  Stig jumped back about three feet and trembled all over.

  “…holy shit…” I muttered as I stared at the blazing sword. “Okay, I guess we’re going dungeon diving, then…”

  “Yaaaaay!” Meera cheered.

  “Softer,” I winced at the noise, holding my forehead.

  “Sorry,” she whispered as she retracted the fiery blade.

  FWOOOSH!

  Then she put the hilt back in her toga, wherever she kept it hidden.

  “When do we leave?” she asked eagerly.

  “We should eat breakfast first, but we’ll go after that.”

  She clapped softly but rapidly, like a sorority girl in church who’s just been told she gets to do jello shots after the service. “Yaaaay! Will it just be the two of us?”

  “No, Stig’s coming, too.”

  “Yay,” Stig grunted, the polar opposite of excitement.

  “Booooo,” Meera said petulantly, and stuck out her tongue at Stig. Not ironically, either. Like a five-year-old.

  Jesus. What have I gotten myself into?

  “So it will just be the three of us?” she asked.

  Alaria and Dorp popped into my head for a second.

  Thinking about Alaria made me sad, and thinking about Dorp made me feel ashamed – but I crammed my feelings back down into the darkness.

  “No, actually, we’ll need three other players who…”

  I trailed off as the entire plan came crashing down under the weight of reality.

  “Oh man,” I groaned. “It won’t work.”

  “What?!” Meera asked in alarm. “Why not?!”

  The problem was, dungeons admitted five players. As in real-world gamers. Meera was an NPC. There was no way the dungeon would allow her inside with the rest of us.

  But how was I supposed to explain that to her?

  “Have you ever been in a dungeon before?” I asked.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Well, it’s a rule that dungeons have. Only adventurers are allowed inside.”

  She bristled. “I can be an adventurer!”

  “I’m sure you could, and I’m sure you would be great at it, but… it’s just not going to happen.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Life’s not fair.”

  Boy, didn’t I know THAT one. Ask one teensy favor from a game programmer and your entire world goes to shit.

  “I’m sure if we talked to someone in authority, I could go in with you,” she pleaded.

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “I could have the priest offer burnt offerings to Yanok,” she said hopefully.

  “Yeeaaah, no. That’s not going to work. Besides, there’s another problem.”

  “What?”

  “If you die in battle, do you come back to life?”

  She frowned. “What an odd question.”

  “It’s important. Do you?”

  “I have never died before.”

  “Well, would you if you did?”

  “No – not until the Final Day, when the All-Father raises those who are loyal and faithful to him.”

  “Well, unless the Final Day happens every couple of hours, then that’s no good.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because people typically die a lot in dungeons, so, uh…”

  How to explain this?

  “…so only adventurers with the ability to resurrect themselves can go inside.”

  She stared at me in awe. “You can resurrect yourself?!”

  “Yes.”

  “That is truly amazing!”

  “Uh, yeah… it comes in handy.”

  She thought for a second. “I am a skilled warrior. I do not believe I would die.”

  “We’re still not risking it. Besides, I told you, only adventurers can go inside.”

  She stomped her tiny, strappy-ballet-sandaled foot and whined, “But I want to go too!”

  Jesus she could be annoying.

  “I don’t make the rules. The dungeon does.”

  “Hmph,” she pouted, though the fact that there were Rules That Must Be Obeyed seemed to convince her.

  Serving a Heavenly All-Father who would cast you out of heaven for stupid shit like ‘impure thoughts’ probably had something to do with the mindless acquiescence to The Rules.

  She cast a distasteful glance down at Stig. “So the imp has to stay outside with me?”

  Uh oh.

  “Uh… no, he’s coming with me.”

  Meera’s eyes bugged out. “WHAT?!”

  “Yeah.”

  “But it will die!”

  “Yeah, but he can come back to life.”

  She stared at Stig like she couldn’t believe it. “The IMP can resurrect itself?!”

  “Well, not on his own, but I can resurrect him.”

  “How?!”

  “I’m a Warlock. That’s what I do.”

  Meera stared at me in horror and indignation. “Why would you resurrect IT and not ME?!”

  “Because HE was my slave once upon a time, so he’s bound to me and can do anything I can do.”

  “Yay,” Stig grumbled again, completel
y not on board.

  “I could be your slave, too!” Meera said excitedly.

  I frowned. “That’s not how it works. It’s only good for demons, not angels.”

  “No, I have heard of such things! Special collars that can be placed on anyone! There are stories of warlocks who enslaved angels in the past…”

  She got a look in her eyes, and her breasts began to rise and fall a little faster.

  “…and then whipped them… and took advantage of them… and made them do all sorts of horrible, naughty things…”

  She licked her lips unconsciously. Not because she was trying to be seductive, but because she was turned on.

  “If I were your slave, could you resurrect me?” she asked, her eyes just as doe-like and innocently lustful as last night.

  Okay, this is getting weird.

  “I don’t know, but even if I could, you wouldn’t want to be a slave.”

  “Yes I would,” she insisted.

  “No you wouldn’t. It’s dehumanizing.”

  “That’s alright,” she chirped. “I’m not a human, I’m an angel.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I know a woman who was a slave – ”

  Suddenly my heart felt like it might break.

  Alaria.

  Meera waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, she prompted, “Who was she?”

  “Never mind. The point is, she had lots of bad things done to her by her former masters.”

  “…like what?” Meera asked breathily.

  I swear to God, her nipples were hard beneath her toga.

  Which was getting me hard.

  “NO!” I shouted, then immediately regretted it as my head throbbed. “You think you’d like it, but – what if a giant orc enslaved you? Huh? Or better yet, what if a demon made you his slave?”

  Meera looked down at Stig like he’d let out a wet fart. Obviously, being enslaved to a demon was one of the last things she would ever want. Quite possibly the literal last thing, even further down the list than dying and going to hell.

  Then she looked back at me and her face softened. “But… I like you. I would willingly be your slave.”

  Whoa.

  My chubby got a bit chubbier.

  After all of Alaria’s hatred towards her ex-masters, it was a little shocking to hear from somebody who actually fantasized about that sort of thing.

  On the other hand, I guess that really was the heart of a good… whatever it was Meera wanted. A dom and sub relationship, I guess?

  Alaria was not submissive, that much was for sure.

  But Meera was… and she liked it.

  Still, though. Even if it were possible, the thought of enslaving her turned my stomach.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” I said. “Take Stig, for example. I took his collar off.”

  “I don’t mind wearing one,” she said eagerly.

  “If you wear the collar, you’re not free.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You don’t understa– ”

  “I really really REALLY don’t mind,” she interrupted, her bosom heaving beneath her toga.

  “I think she wants to be your slave, boss,” Stig said.

  Thanks, Captain Obvious.

  Meera nodded eagerly. “Yes. I would enjoy that greatly.”

  I thought about it for a second. If she was right – if it actually was possible to enslave her – then that meant that I could take her into the dungeon with me and resurrect her if she died.

  Which might be a good idea if I wanted to grind as much as possible and make enough gold to pay back Varkus.

  “Well… if we do it… and I’m not saying we will… we’d only do it so I could take you into the dungeon with me.”

  “And at night,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

  “No, just for the – ”

  “Especially at night,” she murmured, her voice low and throaty with desire.

  O-kaaaay…

  I glanced over at Stig to see what he thought about all this.

  Stig looked at her and shook his head.

  “Bitches be crazy,” he muttered under his breath.

  I was going to say You can say that again, but I knew how it would turn out, so I just looked back at Meera. “Okay, assuming we do this, how do we do it?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?!”

  “I am an angel, not a warlock,” she said defensively.

  I groaned. “So all those stories were just stories?! We went around in a circle arguing for five minutes for nothing?!”

  “Isn’t there someone you could ask? Some kind of mentor or trainer?”

  I stopped and stared at her, goggle-eyed.

  Of course.

  I would have slapped myself on the forehead if it wouldn’t have made my hangover worse.

  A trainer. Sort of like the old witch who had first inducted me into the Warlock class, and given me the book and collar that had summoned Stig.

  The trainer would probably have the answers I needed.

  A quest window popped up:

  We’re Off To See The Warlock,

  The Wonderful Warlock of Odd(balls)!

  Go see a Warlock trainer to confirm or refute Meera’s story.

  100 XP

  “Alright, then,” I said. “I guess we’re going to find out.”

  18

  After eating a tasty breakfast of smoked meat, freshly baked bread, and cheese, we set out towards the center of the city.

  “Stick close,” I said to Meera. “And have your sword ready, just to be on the safe side. But for God’s sake, don’t attack anybody unless they attack you first.”

  “Why would I attack anyone?”

  “Because we’re going to be seeing a lot of demons.”

  Her eyes widened, her jaw clenched, and I saw her reach for her sword hilt.

  “We’re not even there yet and you’re pulling this shit?!” I snapped. “THAT’S why you’re not going to be my slave!”

  Chastened, Meera bowed her head and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

  A couple of prosperous Exardus citizens passing by heard my whole ‘slave’ rant and gave me some serious stink-eye.

  “Disgraceful,” a particularly rotund one sniffed with his nose in the air.

  “FUCK OFF!” I shouted, then immediately wished I hadn’t as my hangover reasserted itself.

  “Fuckoff, fuckoff, fuckoff!” Stig chanted, sounding a little like a clucking chicken: bruk, bruk, brukoffff!

  The whole time he was poking his OK symbol with his finger.

  fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap

  The portly fellow’s eyes bugged wide and he hightailed it out of there.

  We finally got to the underside of the bridge that housed the tunnel down to the Underneath. There were several shady characters lounging about the entrance, and they all eyed Meera with a combination of hatred and distrust.

  “What’s she doing here?” a troll asked. He looked like all trolls in OtherWorld: a grotesquely stretched-out face, twice the length of a human head. Long, hooked nose. Severe underbite. Yellowish skin. Tall with a stooped posture. Gangly arms with oversized hands. Long torso and stubby legs.

  Uuuuuu-GLY.

  “She’s with me,” I answered.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked me suspiciously.

  “I’m a Warlock, dumbass,” I snapped. “Mind your own business.”

  Maybe that was the wrong tack.

  The troll narrowed his eyes, and his hand began inching towards the knife on his belt.

  Not to mention the orc, dwarf, and junkie elf all sitting under the bridge started reaching for their weapons, too.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Meera’s hand creeping towards her toga.

  “Not yet,” I whispered harshly, then turned back to the troll. “Look, we’re – ”

  FWOOOSH.

  Meera drew her sword and ignited the bl
ade, illuminating the shadows all around us.

  The troll, elf, orc, and dwarf all drew their weapons simultaneously.

  “God DAMN it!” I snarled, wincing as my hangover flared up, and prepared to cast Doomsday –

  Suddenly the underside of the bridge rang out with the voice of Samuel L. Jackson as filtered through a muppet.

  “CHILL, BITCH!” Stig roared at Meera, then looked at me. “TELL THAT BITCH TO CHILL!”

  Everybody under the bridge froze: me, Meera, and the four derelicts.

  “WELL?!” Stig shouted.

  I turned to Meera. “Chill,” I whispered. “And put out that sword.”

  She got all huffy. “I will not be dictated to by a demon.”

  “Then you’re not going to be my slave,” I snapped.

  She got a mournful and conflicted look on her face, then extinguished the blade.

  FWOOSH.

  The troll, orc, dwarf, and elf looked around at each other in confusion. I’m sure this was a sight they never thought they would see: an angel and a warlock following the instructions of a lowly imp.

  Stig nodded with smug satisfaction, then announced to everyone, “They’re with me.”

  “Oh,” the troll said, confused. “Strange company you keep.”

  “Yup,” Stig agreed.

  “You should tell them not to be so Dvrak-damn stupid,” the orc snarled.

  “Don’t be so STUPID,” Stig lectured me and Meera, obviously enjoying himself.

  Meera tensed up. “I will not be – ”

  “CHILL, BITCH!” Stig roared.

  “Shut UP,” I hissed at the angel.

  Meera went silent, and the four derelicts all sheathed their weapons.

  “See ya!” Stig said happily to the troll as he waddled into the tunnel.

  The troll just nodded at Stig, then watched me and Meera suspiciously as we followed him inside.

  “That was exactly what I was talking about,” I snarled at Meera. “You can’t be pulling that shit in here or you’re going to get us all killed.”

  “I am sorry. Please do not be angry with me,” she said, and she meant it. There was no sarcasm or annoyance like with Alaria. Meera was 100% sincere.

  Which – after weeks of being around Alaria – felt really strange.

  “Just don’t do it again unless I tell you to,” I growled. “Understood?”