by G. R. Cooper
Wulfgar was confused. His Omegaverse account held nearly one hundred million credits - about a hundred thousand U.S. dollars - that he’d purchased when he cleaned out all of his earthly bank, investment and retirement accounts once he’d decided to enter the Omegaverse permanently.
“There’s a mistake,” he said, the cold from his hand washing over him as a wave of fear - that his life savings was gone - swept over him, “I have one hundred million credits in my account.”
She looked confused.
She held up one finger.
“We deal in copper,” she raised another finger, “silver,” a third finger, “and gold. Not credit,” she lowered her hand. “Now, if you would like to open an account, we can reset so that your hand will establish your identify for us and you’ll be able to deposit and withdraw from any bank in the world.”
“I, uh,” he said, quaking, confused. “Maybe later.”
He turned, stunned, and made his way back out of the bank where he sat on the steps, scratching Bear’s ears and thinking.
Wulfgar sat for a few minutes, watching the flow of foot traffic pass around the square. A horse, the first he’d seen inside the city - at least, the first that wasn’t pissing on him - passed by, its rider resplendent in shining armor, a large two handed sword hanging in a scabbard draped from the pommel. The shining white horse, head proudly held high, approached the gate to the King’s Keep and swept through the doors that two guards closed behind it.
“Of course! That’s it!” said Wulfgar, happily, standing and walking toward the gate, “C’mon, Bear, let’s go see the King!”
“You what?” asked the guard, incredulously.
“I need to see King Clive, please,” Wulfgar repeated, “I’m a friend of his.”
The guards looked at each other.
“I know that I don’t look like much, but, really, I’m a friend of his. I’m sure he’ll make it worth your while if you could get him a message that I’m here. Tell him it’s Duncan Sheriden.”
The first guard nodded, smiling.
“Of course sir, just a moment.”
Wulfgar sagged, relief flooding through him.
“You remember, Burt,” said the first guard, looking the second, “just last night the King was telling us to be on the watch for his bosom chum Dunden Sherican and that we should let him right through to the Chamberlain, even if he did look like a stinkin’ Highlander that a stray tomcat had just coughed up.”
“Oh, right,” laughed the second guard. “This way, Sir Shamidan Dundas, the King is expecting you.”
They broke down laughing, then waved Wulfgar away.
“Fuck!” swore Wulfgar under his breath as he turned, out of ideas. He looked around, trying to decide what to do next, when he felt his right arm tugged.
“C’mon,” said a young woman.
Wulfgar looked at her - she was much shorter than him, between a meter and a half and two meters tall, and blond. Pretty, but not in a conventional sense. She had kind of a square jaw and an athletic build. She wore a white muslin shirt, rolled to her well defined biceps, and black leather pants and boots. On top of that, she wore a black leather apron that nearly dropped to the ground.
“C’mon,” she repeated, smiling this time.
“Where to?”
“I’m going to let you buy me a drink,” she said laughing, “and then, after, if you’re really, really lucky …”
She paused, looking at him coyly.
“Maybe I’ll let you buy me lunch!” she laughed again, louder. “Don’t hate the player,” she said, winking, pointing at herself, “hate the game!” Then she spread her arms around, indicating the rest of the world.
Wulfgar finally understood - this was another player. A human. As far as he knew, the first that he’d met since leaving the outside Omegaverse.
She turned and began walking quickly toward the opposite side of the square.
“Hang on,” he said, “just a sec,” as he caught up with her.
She turned to look at him, then shouted, “OOOH! Is that your dog? I love him!” She fell to her knees, arms wide, and Bear obligingly rushed into them and began exchanging rapid kisses with her.
She looked up at Wulfgar, imploringly.
“Where did you get him?”
“I brought him with me,” he said, then coughed, “from outside.”
“You can do that? Dammit!” She continued scratching the dog as she stood, “I had no idea.”
“Neither did I, until I did it, but then,” he shrugged, “I have no freaking idea how this whole world works.”
“That was kind of obvious.” She looked at him, seriously, “How long have you been in?”
“About a day.”
She nodded again.
“What’s your name?”
“Wulfgar,” he said, “or did you mean …”
She interrupted him.
“That’s exactly what I meant. We don’t exchange true names in here.”
He nodded, “I get that, the whole role play …”
She waved her hands, vigorously.
“No. I mean, never, never, tell anyone your true name.”
He tilted his head, raised one eyebrow.
“Because,” she continued, “your true name holds power over you,” she waved a hand, “at least it does in here.” She twisted her fingers in front of her lips, indicating a locked mouth, and looked at him questioningly.
“Got it,” he nodded. “Tick a lock.”
She nodded, then smiled again.
“C’mon,” she said again, “I was serious about that drink.”
Wulfgar followed as she sped across the square, and Bear bounded up to her, gaining another ear scratch in the process.
“Traitor,” muttered Wulfgar behind him, then, more loudly, “hey! What’s your name?”
“Oh,” she laughed over her shoulder, “sorry! I’m Lauren.”
“Lauren. Got it, thanks.”
“I spelled it with a break at the syllables with an accent on the first, you know, all fantasy book style, but it’s really just Lauren,” she smiled as she turned down into a narrow street.
“I need to get some new clothes.”
She nodded, slowing. “Ok, I know just the place,” then continued down the street.
“What do you think so far,” she asked, “you know, of the whole game world?”
“It’s really, really weird,” he shook his head. They began passing underneath an overhang - one of the building’s second story had been built out over the street. As they neared the end of the building, where the skyline opened up once again, someone in the building above shouted out.
“Gardyloo!”
“What the hell does that …” Wulfgar looked up and was rewarded, for the second time that day, with a face full of urine. Shocked, he quickly wiped off his face, shaking the piss off of his hand and moved, quickly, away from the building overhang. He looked up in time to see an old woman pulling a wooden bucket inside of a window, whose shutter she pushed shut.
“What the hell?” swore Wulfgar again, looking at Lauren. She shrugged.
“Hell if I know,” she said, obviously trying not to laugh, “I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Then she lost control, laughing hysterically. She held up her hands in supplication, backing away from Wulfgar.
“I’m sorry,” she snorted, “but that was damn funny.”
“It’s the second time today!” he sputtered, “And yesterday a freaking eagle shit on me!”
She just shook her head, still laughing.
“Hang on,” she said after a moment, “let’s group.”
Wulfgar nodded, and Lauren added him to a group she’d created. She paused for a moment.
“I get it now,” she said, “you have zero Fortune. And check out what it says under your Abilities.”
Wulfgar brought up his character sheet and scrolled down to Abilities.
No Luck: ??? Fortune favors the fortunate; you, however, ar
e screwed!
“What the hell?” he repeated.
“You aren’t paranoid if the universe really is out to get you,” she laughed. “And zero Personality. I’m guessing that the NPC’s haven’t exactly been treating you as a long, lost friend, have they?”
Wulfgar shook his head, and looked at the other entry under Abilities.
Highlander: +1 AGI. +1 Climbing. +10 PRS with other Highlanders.
That explained why Heather the Herbalist had been so sweet to him.
Lauren continued speaking.
“You’d better let me do your shopping for you, at least for now. Zero Personality will likely mean that the shop keepers are going to gouge you for every copper that they can.” She continued reading for a moment, “Do you have any money?”
He nodded, and handed her the small bag, “Eight silver and twelve coppers.”
“More than enough,” she said taking it. “Wait here,” she looked up to the sign of the outfitters, “I’ll just be a second.” She looked him up and down, sizing him up, then left, entering the store.
Wulfgar took a moment and looked over Lauren’s character sheet.
Laur’ En.
Level 5. She was a way ahead of him, but he had no idea how far. He had gained one level in one day. Was she ten days ahead? A hundred? Months? Years? Then he looked down to skills.
Blacksmith. Level 12. He smiled. That explained her biceps - she’d been doing a lot of hammer swinging.
Imbuing. Level 2. He had no idea what that meant. He scanned down the rest. Except for level 1 Magic, they were all combat arms skills. Small Blade. Large Blade. Two-handed Blade. Axe. Mace. All were at level 1. There seemed to be no direction in her choices, it was as if she couldn’t decide what she wanted to be.
He looked up as she returned, grinning. She handed him a folded stack of leather. He took off the top item and let it fall open. Leather pants. Wulfgar handed her the rest and pulled the pants on underneath his kilted blanket. After he’d fastened the buttons in the front, he un-looped his belt and pulled the cloth off, letting it fall to the ground. She handed him a pair of shoes - full foot sandals, actually - and he sat to pull them on.
“They’re better for stealthy movement than boots, so I assumed …” she left the rest of her point hanging.
“You assumed correctly,” he said standing. Smiling, he nodded to her, “Thanks!” He looked at her, then cocked his head. She was trying not to laugh.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Here’s your shirt,” she handed him the beautifully made leather shirt and he pulled it over his head, straightened the front and back, and pulled his belt around his hips, cinching the shirt.
“What?” he repeated.
She was barely controlling her laughter.
“I knew it,” she chortled, looking him up and down. “Tall, trim. Dark hair and tight leather pants. My new friend is Freddie Mercury!”
“How much,” Wulfgar asked as they walked through the crowd toward the inn Lauren had chosen.
“Oh, yeah,” she turned to him, handing him his coin purse, “it was eight silvers, all told.”
Four days pay for a city guard, for a suit of clothes.
“I got you a discount,” she continued, “I do a lot of business with him. Through my shop.”
Four days pay, and that was at a discount. At his old job, nearly a week’s wages on one suit of clothes would have been the equivalent of having it tailor made on Saville Row in London. But that, he reflected, was an exactly apt comparison. There were no automated manufacturing processes in this world. Everything was made by hand. He looked at Lauren. That seemed to be her chosen role here, an artisan. To craft metals.
“How long does it take you to make a sword?”
“A good one? At least a week, and that’s without factoring in the failures,” she said over her shoulder, “and I’m not even very good yet. That’s just a basic blade. Once I’ve advanced in Imbuing, it will take much longer. It’ll be a much more intensive process.”
“Imbuing?”
She opened the door to the inn, holding it as Wulfgar and Bear went through, then pointed to a small table between a bar and a fireplace. The place seemed interchangeable with the inn that he’d eaten at the night before.
“It’s difficult to explain,” she began as they sat. A barmaid brought them a pair of large, full, mugs and put them on the table in front of them. “It’s when you impart some additional qualities to the weapon. Or armor.” She took a drink, “For instance, if you were to work with me using your Herb Lore skill, I could imbue a blade that caused a bleeding wound. All it would take is our combined skills, some of the required herbs, and a whole lot of luck.”
“Luck?”
“Yup, the failure rate is insane. And you use up a lot of materials,” she smiled, “not only the imbuing materials, like the herbs, but the item itself. You can only try an imbuing on an item one time. If it fails, it will always fail again in the future. If it succeeds, however, you can try again with another property, and keep going as long as you succeed.”
“Wow, really? That seems pretty powerful.”
She nodded.
“Yup, but I haven’t heard of anyone successfully imbuing more than one quality onto a single item, except for once. It was a shield, and they managed to make it both fire resistant as well as dragon resistant.”
“Dragon?”
She smiled, showing off a mouth full of large white teeth.
“Oh yeah, that was a special order that someone made for this group that wanted to head directly into a dragon’s lair.” She paused, raised one eyebrow, “I heard they got eaten.”
“But by luck,” Wulfgar said, sipping his beer, “do you mean Fortune?”
She thought for a moment.
“I don’t really know. Maybe that factors into it.”
“So I should start raising my Fortune attribute before we try any imbuing.”
She looked at him levelly.
“Absolutely not,” she said seriously.
“What? Why?”
“Because, walking around with someone who’s always having piss and shit rain down on them is hilarious!” she laughed as her face once again broke into a flash of teeth. She took another sip of her beer, then leaned back.
“But seriously,” she continued, “yes, I would get those attributes out of zero as soon as you level up.”
That reminded him.
“I did just level up this morning, and I haven’t done anything with that yet.”
“Cool! Congratulations. That also means that, at level two, you have two attribute points to spend. I’d drop one each into Personality and Fortune.”
“At level two? Is it different, based on level?”
“For sure,” she looked up and smiled as they were served another pair of pints, then looked back at Wulfgar, “on even levels, you get attribute points to spend, on odd levels you get skill points. But,” she pushed away her old, empty mug and grabbed the fresh one, “those points are kind of front loaded during your development. You get two attribute points at levels two, four and six, then one attribute point at levels eight and ten. After that, the points start coming at every other even level. Fourteen and eighteen for attributes. It’s the same for skill points, but like I said, on odd numbered levels. As you level higher, the gap gets much longer.”
He looked at her and nodded.
“That seems to make your choices feel kind of semi-permanent.”
“It does, but given that we’re here indefinitely, it makes sense. Otherwise, you’d have folks at level gazillion with forty-million strength and such.”
“I assume that leveling takes progressively more effort as you gain as well.”
“Yup! I think it took me about twice as long to get from level four to level five as it did for me to get from level three to level four.”
He nodded.
“How long have you been here?”
She frowned.
“I und
erstand why you’re asking, but it’s not something we really talk about. Players, that is.” She raised one eyebrow, “One thing that people want to try to determine is how much the older person’s time in game is compared to their last memory out there,” she nodded her head sideways, which Wulfgar took to mean she was talking about outside of the Omegaverse. Before they died. He nodded as well.
“But that doesn’t always track. Say, for example, that my last memory was on a March night. That doesn’t mean, though, that I died the next day. I might have left on a long vacation. I might have not been under the VR helmet for a month or more before I died. And there’s no way I’d know. Your last memory is only up to the last time you put on the helmet, at least that’s how it was explained to me.”
She shrugged.
“And plus, maybe we weren’t” she looked for the word she wanted, “revived after the same interval as everyone else. Maybe I was kept on ice for a few months longer than you were, for whatever reason. So even if our last memory occurs on the same day, you might have a long head start in game.” She smiled ruefully, “there’s just no way to tell, and people have tried. And besides, there’s usually the big question. How did you die? Unless we were suffering from a long illness, or had some premonition, we just don’t know.”
He nodded. He wanted to ask her about the revival process. What she’d experienced, what she’d been told. How it felt. But he didn’t want to give anything about his own story away - Clive had told him that his processing was different, and that he knew a lot more about the Omegaverse and its purpose than the other players he’d meet.
“Are there a lot of us? I mean, as far as I know, you’re the first I’ve met.”
She laughed.
“It’s really kind of hard to tell sometimes. The AI is really that good. Just about the only time you’ll be sure that you’re seeing a player is when they’re new and they do something stupid.”
“Like trying to get in to see King Clive?”
She laughed again.
“Exactly. But even so, you’ll kind of get the hang of spotting us,” she smiled and drank, “and most of us, so far, seem pretty cool.”
“But there is an etiquette.”
“Yeah. It’s not like it’s written in stone, and maybe it’ll change in the coming years, but a lot of folks just seem to want to forget about the past and get on with their future, some just want to tell you everything about their lives. It depends on the person.”