Evening Stroll Through the Houses of Tolerance in the Computer World.

Yes, this picture is meant to grab attention...

Yes, I have no taste...

Boring preface.

As always, I’ll start from afar. Nowadays, unlike before, there must be a thin thread of romance woven into the plot of any self-respecting role-playing game, leading eventually to a puritanical scene demonstrating pre-intimacy caresses. This scene will undoubtedly provoke an outcry from the guardians of morality, the church, and the deputies of the State Duma. Players, however, usually see nothing reprehensible in such scenes, nor even anything intimate. Love is a necessary thing, but passionate kisses from blue-skinned alien beauties or pointy-eared elven charms have organically blended into the RPG genre, becoming trite and cliché.

However, not every game features characters of an entirely different kind. Their bodies can be accessed without excessive wordiness, long and exhausting courtships, easily and simply, paying hard-earned pennies. Long live monetary relationships - love-money-love! Here we will take a small excursion into the services of paid love that I encountered on my journey through computer worlds, to get acquainted with the current state of affairs on the love fronts, or just to gawk, as one may prefer.

Oh yes, I almost forgot, a warning first – hands off the girls, seriously, don’t even think about it, well, at least don’t think about it without paying for it in advance.

I

To begin with, let’s head to the island of Khorinis, to the port city of the Gothic world, divided into two quarters, the quarter of rich pompous individuals and the quarter of poverty and peasants. The brothel is located in the impoverished area, so we are headed there. The poor part of the city is entirely made of wood and consists of a couple of dozen gray wooden houses, and the house of tolerance looks the same. It is distinguished from the other half-shed buildings only by a small advertisement – a sign in the form of a bed above the entrance doors, hinting at...

The brothel is located by the ocean sea, in close proximity to a tavern, which theoretically should positively affect the number of clients; however, we have noticed none. Above the entrance door, day and night, a torch burns brightly. Does anyone know the number for the fire inspector? At the entrance to the brothel stands a bouncer, who is also a peddler, citizen Borka. If we can manage to chat with the lackey, he will recommend spending time with some Nadezhda, I suppose I will heed his advice. Well then, let’s go inside.

The interior decoration of the establishment does not set the mood for intimacy at all; the walls made of gray boards are decorated with ship wheels, hinting at the orientation of this institution towards a certain type of clientele - brave sailors and fishermen. However, since some time ago, ships have stopped entering the port of Khorinis, and thus the number of clients has decreased. Behind the owner, who has settled behind an empty bar, there is a nearly faded painting depicting a knight's battle with a harpy.

In a corner, there are a couple of chairs, though one of them is permanently occupied, as if sewn to it by a woman of easy virtue. On the shabby floor, for the rare client’s entertainment, a hookah is set up, and they charge no money for smoking it, so we will take advantage of that, right?


The active rest rooms are located on the second floor and look uniform. An enormous swordfish taxidermy and a single bed, on which the main act will unfold, are obligatory. In general, everything is plain, poor, and tasteless.

There are only three workers in this brothel, although Khorinis is a small, and poor, town, so there are probably enough love workers. The girls' names are a bit strange; let’s see, Nadezhda, Sonya, and, behold, Vanya!!! Yes, we observe a certain similarity in these names, they have come to gothic Khorinis from the Russian hinterlands.


Let’s chat with the lovely ladies to choose the one that suits us. Unquestionably, the queen of this wooden shed is Nadezhda. Nadya, unashamedly, drinks something strong straight from the throat of the bottle in the middle of the hall, and then, well-drunk, begins to dance jig-druzy. She refuses to talk to us until we pay for her services.

Ah yes, just the signature hot dance...\[/b\]\]

The second madam bears the proud name of Sonya, she is, as if paralyzed, glued to one of the chairs against the wall. When attempting to engage in conversation, she grumbles, like a salesclerk in a rural fish market, repeating the same phrase monotonously:

–If you want to talk, find yourself a woman and marry her!

-I’m married, dear! – I reply nervously -And by the way, I couldn’t care less about your advice; that’s not why I came here! Give me the complaint book!


Not waiting for the complaint book, I went to chat soulfully with the last of the shed butterflies, forgive me, Lord, Vanya. Vanya turns out to be a dark-skinned lady residing in one of the second-floor rooms, never leaving it for a moment. Usually she discusses something with her dark-skinned counterpart, the bouncer Peck, but even if she is alone in the room, she is clearly not in the mood for conversation, politely sending me away, citing her supposed busyness. It seems laziness and rudeness are common phenomena in this brothel.


So, it’s time to converse with the owner of the house of ill repute and settle all the points on the «i»; the customer is always right, let him explain this to his charges. What can I say, the fish rots from the head down, the owner turned out to be just as chaotic as everything happening in his establishment. Just imagine, he offered me no choice. Having paid for the intimate services, which, by the way, cost 50 gold, I was left with the drunken dancer Nadezhda by default.


Moment of truth... Or maybe I should just steal her wallet?

Accompanied by the slow-moving alcoholic upstairs, I proceed to the debauchery that is presented to us in a simple short video, apparently, there are hidden cameras set up in the brothel. The romantic escapades with Nadya are, of course, a pleasure; during intercourse, the lady skillfully changes positions, you start to somewhat respect the drunkard; no doubt - a professional.


However, the limited choice of partner does weigh down, for the first, second, and every subsequent time, the workaholic Nadya climbs upstairs, wobbling. The other ladies remain in their places and frankly don’t care about my needs.

At first, I tried to assert my right to freely choose the product amicably, relying on legal terms, citing my consumer rights point by point to the brothel owner - all in vain. The owner pays no heed to my pleas, repeatedly sending me back to the room with Nadya. Eventually, frustrated and offended, shouting “May you burn in righteous fire!” I killed all the inhabitants of the brothel one by one and went elsewhere where I would receive much better service.


Having stepped over the corpses of the ruthlessly executed, I leisurely stepped outside. What can I say, an unfriendly, wooden, dirty port brothel reflects the entire essence of the Gothic world. It is never simply cozy and comfortable; its grayness borders only on the blackness of its dungeons and the crimson blood splattered on the roadsides, this indescribable atmosphere is loved wholeheartedly by many, and a part of that atmosphere is also carefully transmitted in such a small fragment as a port brothel. Let us applaud and move on.

II

Let us proceed further, but we won’t have to go far; in front of us stands the creation of the same guys who built the last brothel - the cozy Harbor Town brothel from the déjà vu game Risen. Even as we approach the brothel, we can smell a familiar scent; it smells not at all like what you might think, it’s the scent of the sea.


Yes, the brothel is also situated in the port area, and although the economic situation in the city of Harbor Town is no better, if not worse, than the Gothic city of Khorinis, the brothel appears much more pleasant, as does the city itself. The building is made of stone, is one story, surrounded by a fence, a cozy garden, and enticing red lanterns.

At the entrance to the brothel stands a lady named Lili, with her hands on her hips. Lili, demonstrating her charms, serves as a kind of living advertisement for the brothel, though her pose resembles nothing more than the stance of a wife waiting for her wayward husband out of the tavern. Really, one would expect her to have a frying pan in her hands to complete the image. Talking to her is like talking to a girl dressed in a traditional Tyrolean costume advertising synthetic margarine in a supermarket – her phrases are learned by heart. She claims that Madame Sonya's house of delights is the best brothel on the island. We don’t doubt it, since you’re the only one, why wouldn’t you be the best?


We know very well that we won’t pass by, so we ascend the stairs, noticing that right at the entrance to the house of tolerance grows a bush of medicinal herb. Tuck my shirt into my trousers - this is a sign! I immediately pick it, who knows what awaits us inside; perhaps we’ll catch some ailment, so it’ll be something to cure that nagging inflammation.


We step inside and find the owner of the establishment, Madame Sonya, who, without paying us any attention, is flipping through a huge book. What this tome contains, history is silent; perhaps it’s the accounting book of the brothel, filled with formulas for calculating labor hours and the efficiency coefficient of work, it doesn’t matter. For now, I’ll leave her alone, let her read, and I will take a look around.


The brothel space is spacious, the floor is covered with carpets, and there’s a hookah, with which, by the way, we are no longer surprised. I notice on one of the walls a shelf filled with books; what can I say, it’s delightful to see that the ladies are well-read, and I hope this fact won’t require an extra fee, as citing Hegel in bed is quite excess for me, I’m not fond of Hegel, ha.


There are interesting moments in the previous brothel that have not been used, for example, a bathroom featuring two wooden tubs filled to the brim with water. One tub is occupied; one of the girls is soaking after a long working day. No matter how hard I try, I can’t join her, so I take the other tub. Look at the diligent way I scrub my heels with a pumice stone, washing away the dirt of the roads and the dust of travels; if the girls in this brothel were a bit more proactive, I wouldn’t mind handing over a dozen jingling coins for a gentle back scrub.

Scrubbing the chimney...

While my calluses are softening, out of boredom, I strike up a conversation with Gwen from the neighboring tub, soon regretting it. Instead of useful assistance and the due fountain of flattery, I am met with complaints; it turns out they have a client who has taken to getting hands-on. So the courtesan has decided to entrust me with the work of dealing with the rude one, because they have no security, and the city guard is overwhelmed, and educating clients in good manners isn’t their primary mission. For providing this service, she offers a reward in the form of a small amount of money.


The choice is as simple as two plus two: send the lady off into the woods and continue scrubbing my feet, or engage in something more entertaining - a drunken brothel brawl. What difference does it really make why the fight is on? It’s something new, and that means there will be excitement. I step out of the bath; in the hall, on a wooden bench, sits Lili's offender, devouring a huge loaf of bread.


The guy’s name is Erikson, to say the least, an awful name, a conceited face, and boorish manners; hitting such a guy would be enjoyable, so let’s get started.

-You’re no gentleman, -I tell the miscreant, drawing my blade.

-Whatcha? -the nasty hoodlum asks, not understanding the principle of my complaint.

-Don’t hit ladies! And, moreover, kindly leave this public space; you are unkempt and create revulsion in people! -I declare, hinting that it’s time to begin.


The opponent leisurely removes a loaf from his jacket, but instead, in the hands of the punk, a hefty sledgehammer appears out of nowhere. The battle commenced; Erikson grips the hammer tightly and advances; his strike is heavy, the massive hammer would shatter bones at will, but his movements are slow, and after each swing, the blockhead receives a dose of my blows. I’m no stranger to fighting, and Erikson isn’t the toughest opponent; a few minutes and it will all be over, the punk will collapse to the floor, devoid of strength.


Hmm, well no, not this time; but usually, I win against everyone, honestly… Okay, forget it. A bath, then a fight, I’m getting distracted from the main purpose of our visit, which is to get acquainted with the services this cozy corner of debauchery can offer; it’s time to distract the owner from her reading. I must say, the owner Sonya (why is that name familiar?) seemed to be a friendly lady, she revealed a lot about the city, its residents, and the lawlessness happening on the island. I hint softly that we’re not against some fun, she immediately understands, and the service again costs 50 coins, which we pay without hesitation.


We are directed to the lady who will fulfill all our whims, the owner characterizes her as sweet and extremely flexible, and my imagination conjures an angelic image reminiscent of Alina Kabaeva. But not so fast, the girl looks terrifying and angular, broad-shouldered, strong-handed, and crooked-faced, just like any other dame from the world of Risen. She dances a jig in the corner of the brothel for some sailor, who reacts to her convulsive movements lethargically, alternating between munching on something and drinking.


Now, here’s the most interesting part, it turns out the girl we were sent to is called none other than Olga! No, seriously, this is becoming tedious, after the last brothel filled with Slavic immigrants, encountering a girl named Olga in an entirely different universe is a significant event. I mean, after journeying across nine lands, and it’s not Helga, not Olivia, for crying out loud.

Rickets were merciless to her...

Despite my unabashed indignation, I invite the lady to the lounge, she, checking the receipt, obediently follows me, promising that the time spent with her will linger in our memories throughout our lives and we will think of her even on our deathbeds. This is somewhat alarming; wait, no, hold on, this is frightening!

The active rest room where I am to engage in carnal exploits is utterly gray, entirely devoid of any elegance. In the middle of the room, there is a wooden bed, adorned with a striped mattress reminiscent of “hospital-army-jail.” Around the bed stand candelabra, and a meaningless painting in avant-garde style hangs on the wall. Taking another deep breath of disappointment, regretting the 50 groszy spent, we proceed to the carnal delights.


And the pleasures, in fact, end exactly when they begin, and this is due to my alter-ego’s pathological impatience, starved for caresses after a long journey. We are offered absolutely nothing, not even a puritanical video, just post-factum musings from Olga that subtly suggest that “you, dear, oh wow, and ahead of you are many glorious feats to come.” At this moment, I want to scream “Farce! Lies! I demand proof of the act of intercourse!” throw a fit breaking dishes and demanding back my groszy, but all of this is in vain. But that’s not even the worst part; not only is there no other available relaxation option apart from Olga in the brothel, it turns out I can only engage Olga Andreyevna’s services once.

Of course, I burst with rage; this, ladies and gentlemen, is not evolution, this is a regression in pure form. I tried a few times to kill everyone in the brothel, but time and again got beaten down like a yard mutt, so frustrated, angry, and hungry for erotic adventures, I moved on.

So what remains in my heart after visiting the port brothel in Harbor Town? Absolutely nothing. It didn’t surprise me at all; it frustrated me with its stubborn repetition of what I had already seen, the entire world of Risen is amorphous and flat, and pink-gray.

III

Well, here we are at the final stop; however, in my opinion, it’s the most interesting, as the next brothel is the pinnacle of creation, no less, it’s the Darkless Boudoir from Fable, ha.

To reach this corner of debauchery, one must traverse forest thickets and marshy bogs. The location of this house of tolerance may seem surprising; after all, who in their right mind would travel through a lycanthrope-infested forest for women? However, there’s a different marketing ploy at play here. The forest paths are filled with wandering traders and travelers; who, tell me, being strayed from a troll or lycanthrope, would refuse to visit a corner of tranquility and peace to indulge in carnal pleasures?


In reality, the contrast between the filthy bogs and the green glade where the brothel is located is remarkable, and when we emerge from the foul wetlands into the sunlit park with manicured lawns and fountains, the effect is astounding.

At the entrance to the brothel, we are met by its charming hostess - Madame Minje (oh, stop staring at the chest of the distinguished woman and drooling, little scoundrels!). Madame Minje is an extravagant lady, practically runs the brothel, solving all problems while not being its owner. All the cream from the profitable business is skimmed by Mr. Pereshchup, who is considered the legal owner of the house of tolerance. I must say, the old pervert obtained the property illegally, but bringing him to justice is very much within our powers. However, now is not the time for good deeds; that’s not why we came, oh no.


First, it’s worth “working up an appetite,” so let’s admire the establishment itself and its surroundings. As you might have noticed, for convenience, I’ve dropped my pants as they won’t be needed in the near future. In the park adjacent to the brothel, there are a couple of fountains, a pond, and cozy benches; in general, there’s plenty of places to rest after a session with the ladies. There are also statues, one dedicated to the goddess of tender love, the other, so to speak, the tough one. Guess with two tries which one, holding a whip, is right in front of you.


At the very entrance to this den of vice stands a third statue, erected in honor of Madame Minje herself. What must a person do to have a statue erected in their lifetime, you may ask? Maybe save a hundred or so wayward travelers from bandits? Or put an end to universal evil by sacrificing their life? Not really; the statue honors Madame Minje's “martial” feats in the realm of paid love. It is said that the devilishly hot lady had fiery passion, and her red hair conquered more men than all the witches of Albion combined. But fortunately, we didn’t live in those times; now Madame has left her career, and if there’s anything that reminds of her, it’s only the statue, and oh yes, that too revealing neckline.


Time to step inside and take a look around. At the entrance to the house of tolerance stands a fretful owner, cursing his charges as best he can.

-Get sexier! – shouts the awful old man, in a whiny voice, as if he knows anything about it. Then he continues: –Don't just stand there, show your assets!


The internal decoration of the brothel can be described as classic. There’s a bar, thus allowing the weary traveler to purchase a mug or two of hot drinks at exorbitant prices. The walls of the brothel are painted the color of passion - red, featuring a simple smeared-textured pattern. The sofas are also red, the tables covered with red tablecloths, completing the display is a red rug. There are beams with carvings depicting naked beauties in enticing poses. The true adornment of the hall is the paintings - portraits of generously-breasted ladies. The beauties gaze at us from the walls with such fervent passion that it involuntarily makes one expect the same from the workers of this establishment, which is to no avail, the girls stare at you tiredly and sadly.

In a barrel of honey, there's always a spoonful of tar; there is one significant shortcoming: the brothel contains only one “working space,” that is the bed. It’s located on the second floor and moreover is not separated by walls from the common room, which is at least odd for a brothel of this level. The ladies wander aimlessly about the hall, swaying, for an unknown reason they stare at the ceiling, awaiting clients. You guys finally got lucky, we're here, Yož and our merry group are ready to choose, and there’s much to choose from here.

The first on the list of workers is Sweet Polly. You know, one doesn’t need exceptional intuition to feel the moment when one should leave the profession and slam the door behind. Polly has problems with that. The grandma of retirement age still continues to do her beloved job, accepting clients at half price. The services of the grizzled woman will cost us 50 hard-earned coins. Not expensive and straightforward. I must say that the bedroom scenes in Fable are limited to just going to bed; then we watch a dark screen and hear the rehearsed cries of the ladies; for some reason, upon ordering Aunt Polly for my pleasures, I start to feel relief at that fact. Love games with Polly are accompanied by a chorus of elder sighs and pleas not to be so active, “Auntie Polly is not as flexible as she used to be.”


Next, let’s have a closer look at a certain Amelia, representing a classic form in the realm of love delights. There’s really not much to say about her; she’s a classic, and a classic she is, priced at 100 rubles, and the sighs and gasps are all standard—no surprises here.


And here’s the exotic option, Lucretia, to be honest, differs from the classic only in color and the price of two hundred bucks; otherwise, it’s the same grabbles just darker.


Lady Sophia is a true professional; she provides services of the highest class. She demands more than the previous ladies, significantly – a thousand rubles. We’ll see what we get for such a generous payment, and what we will receive is an endless flow of flattery towards us and heaps of high-sounding expressions like “I will wrap myself around you like a northern cloak.” Ugh! I’m starting to miss Sweet Polly.


The last character, though undoubtedly the most striking, is Madame Jadwiga, a tatted brunette in leather straps with a characteristic pseudo-German accent, aimed at those who have already tried everything and are ready, so to speak, to “experiment.” For Madame Jadwiga, they disassemble the bed, turning the “workplace” into a sort of medieval torture chamber. In bed, the Madame is hot, calling the hero a little worm and ordering him, “Don’t stop!” Of the two thousand rubles given to her, you regret not a bit.


After satiating our base needs, pleased with ourselves, we leave this sanctified corner. As a farewell, we wave to Madame Minje, pat Sweet Polly on the behind, and promise to return.

The results of this excursion to such an interesting establishment are predictable, in my humble opinion, to which I hope you will agree. The Darkless Boudoir is conveniently placed, and visiting it is enjoyable and interesting. The atmosphere of the Darkless Boudoir is comically insane, filled with dark humor as thick as soot, absolutely aligns with the spirit of the game, might enrich it, adding memorable characters with remarkable traits, caricatured with popular cliches, such as Sweet Polly or Madame Jadwiga, fully integrating into the overarching concept of the parody universe.

Well then, our evening promenade is over; I hope it was pleasant or at least interesting. Finally, I will try to deliver a small overall boring conclusion to our stroll. The banal shaking loose gold reserves from the player's alter-ego’s pockets in exchange for an uncomplicated puritanical roll, is not so important and does not serve as the main function of game brothels. Without introducing debauchery and darkness into the game universes they occupy, brothels, like setting accents, create ambiance in the game world, adding adulthood and seriousness in some games while emphasizing general madness in others. Meanwhile, what looks organic, bringing fresh air and being apropos is undoubtedly good for the game as a whole.

Once again Exstas, again for G.ru. I’m not serious about all this, see you again.